Quotes about lasted, page 27
Believe Nothing
Believe nothing as long as it lacks the truth
Accept everything so long it helps and suits
Think of a moment when it pinches your heart
Refuses to move ahead even with slow start
Neither It is not necessary to go in search
Nor to approach any holy people who preach
You refuse to accept any thing even if come across
As that does not convince you whether it can be or was
Many good things might have been said in the past
Its impression might have prevailed long or lasted
Yet it may fail to take you on those dotted lines
You can surely turn against and put them on side lines
“Your heart is sacred where I reside and utter holy words”
Many such sentences confirm as said by almighty or lords
If that place refuses to obey any outside sentences
Don’t follow such preachers who make you tense
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Grave
Man looking into the sea,
taking the view from those who have as much right to it as
you have to it yourself,
it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing,
but you cannot stand in the middle of this;
the sea has nothing to give but a well excavated grave.
The firs stand in a procession, each with an emerald turkey-
foot at the top,
reserved as their contours, saying nothing;
repression, however, is not the most obvious characteristic of
the sea;
the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.
There are others besides you who have worn that look --
whose expression is no longer a protest; the fish no longer
investigate them
for their bones have not lasted:
men lower nets, unconscious of the fact that they are
desecrating a grave,
and row quickly away -- the blades of the oars
moving together like the feet of water-spiders as if there were
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poem by Marianne Moore
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A Mixed Battle Song
Lo! the Boar’s tail is salted, and the Kangaroo’s exalted,
And his right eye is extinguished by a man-o’-warsman’s cap;
He is flying round the fences where the Southern Sea commences,
And he’s very much excited for a quiet sort of chap.
For his ships have had a scrap and they’ve marked it on the map
Where the H.M.A.S. Sydney dropped across a German trap.
So the Kangaroo’s a-chasing of his Blessed Self, and racing
From Cape York right round to Leeuwin, from the coast to Nevertire;
And of him need be no more said, save that to the tail aforesaid
Is the Blue Australian Ensign firmly fixed with copper wire.
(When he’s filled the map with white men there’ll be little to desire.)
I was sulky, I was moody (I’m inclined to being broody)
When the news appeared in Sydney, bringing joy and bringing tears,
(There’s an undertone of sorrow that you’ll understand to-morrow)
And I felt a something in me that had not been there for years.
Though I lean in the direction of most absolute Protection
(And of wheat on the selection)
And, considering Congestion and the hopeless unemployed,
I’d a notion (but I hid it) that, the way the Emden did it,
’Twould be better for Australia if her “commerce” was destroyed.
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poem by Henry Lawson
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All alone
I could have been better off without him
The chance to live with him became very dim
He never came up honest and very clean
He used to flirt with many and had tendency to lean
All my honor and sanity was at stake
I was not fully prepared or awake
It took for me many more days to decide
The life seemed to me very deep and wide
I was suddenly woke up from dream
I was dragged mercilessly by him
I desperately tried to resist and shout
The relation was to bring an end about
I used to scream and suddenly wake up
Tears may rush from eyes and make me weep
I was unable to maintain calm and hold the nerve
I decided to call it off as no purpose was going to serve
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Luck of Edenhall. From The German Of Uhland
Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call.
He rises at the banquet board,
And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all,
'Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!'
The butler hears the words with pain,
The house's oldest seneschal,
Takes slow from its silken cloth again
The drinking glass of crystal tall;
They call it The Luck of Edenhall.
Then said the Lord, 'This glass to praise,
Fill with red wine from Portugal!'
The graybeard with trembling hand obeys;
A purple light shines over all,
It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.
Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light:
'This glass of flashing crystal tall
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Luck Of Edenhall
Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call;
He rises at the banquet board,
And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all,
'Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!'
The butler hears the words with pain,
The house's oldest seneschal,
Takes slow from its silken cloth again
The drinking-glass of crystal tall;
They call it The Luck of Edenhall.
Then said the Lord: 'This glass to praise,
Fill with red wine from Portugal!'
The graybeard with trembling hand obeys;
A purple light shines over all,
It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.
Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light:
'This glass of flashing crystal tall
[...] Read more
poem by Johann Ludwig Uhland
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6-11 (true Story)
A softball game,
With two 7th grade teams.
In a open grass field kids play,
In the hot sun.
Along the first base line, were the moms
Cheering their girls on.
It was the top of the 8th inning,
No outs and Centrals down by one.
Junction City is up to bat,
Central out in the field.
It took four pitches to get the batter out.
Gale Anders is up next, strike one.
Turning to terror in the next swing of the bat.
The ball goes flying over the fence,
Missis all the moms, all but one,
Nursing her baby she didn’t see the ball coming.
The ball hits the baby in the head whose life has just begun,
Just three weeks ago ReBecca Purkey was born.
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poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Abuse
I see you and I suddenly remember
Your not the same girl
No longer a contender
With plenty fish in the sea
I see
What they were talking about when they spoke your name
I didn't believe at first then came the change
And as I witnessed the beauty become the beast
I thought to myself
'I've been tricked and betrayed'
This beast needs to be slain
Before she takes hold of another
A fellow brother
A hopeless romantic
To make his life tragic
And I know only I have the power
So I lift my sword
But exchange it for a pen and
Begin
To let the ink rain
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poem by Jeremy Rascon
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Two Kopjes
(Made Yeomanry towards End of Boer War)
Only two African kopjes,
Only the cart-tracks that wind
Empty and open between 'em,
Only the Transvaal behind;
Only an Aldershot column
Marching to conquer the land . . .
Only a sudden and solemn
Visit, unarmed, to the Rand.
Then scorn not the African kopje,
The kopje that smiles in the heat,
The wholly unoccupied kopje,
The home of Cornelius and Piet.
You can never be sure of your kopje,
But of this be you blooming well sure,
A kopje is always a kopje,
And a Boojer is always a Boer!
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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Love Made In The First Age. To Chloris.
I.
In the nativity of time,
Chloris! it was not thought a crime
In direct Hebrew for to woe.
Now wee make love, as all on fire,
Ring retrograde our lowd desire,
And court in English backward too.
II.
Thrice happy was that golden age,
When complement was constru'd rage,
And fine words in the center hid;
When cursed NO stain'd no maid's blisse,
And all discourse was summ'd in YES,
And nought forbad, but to forbid.
III.
Love then unstinted love did sip,
And cherries pluck'd fresh from the lip,
On cheeks and roses free he fed;
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poem by Richard Lovelace
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