She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? "For beauty," I replied. "And I for truth,—the two are one; We brethren are," he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.

Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and old lang syne? CHORUS: For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne. And surely you'll buy your pint cup! and surely I'll buy mine! And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne. We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine; But we've wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne. We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine; But seas between us broad have roared since auld lang syne. And there's a hand my trusty friend! And give me a hand o' thine! And we'll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne.

Because I have seen Bengal's face I will seek no more; The world has not anything more beautiful to show me. Waking up in darkness, gazing at the fig-tree, I behold Dawn's swallows roosting under huge umbrella-like leaves. I look around me And discover a leafy dome-Jam, Kanthal, Bat, Hijol and Aswatha trees All in a hush, shadowing clumps of cactus and zedoary bushes. When long, long ago, Chand came in his honeycombed boat To a blue Hijal, Bat and Tamal shade near the Champa, he too sighted Bengal's incomparable beauty. One day, alas. In the Ganguri, On a raft, as the waning moon sank on the river's sandbanks, Behula too saw countless aswaths bats besides golden rice fields And heard the thrush's soft song. One day, arriving in Amara, Where gods held court, when she danced like a desolate wagtail, Bengal's rivers, fields, flowers, wailed like strings of bells on her feet.

According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field the whole pageantry of the year was awake tingling near the edge of the sea concerned with itself sweating in the sun that melted the wings' wax unsignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed this was Icarus drowning

All people dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind, Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity. But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people, For they dream their dreams with open eyes, And make them come true.

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he’d call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone I came up with one thing And I don't believe I'm wrong That nobody, But nobody Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone. There are some millionaires With money they can't use Their wives run round like banshees Their children sing the blues They've got expensive doctors To cure their hearts of stone. But nobody No, nobody Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone. Now if you listen closely I'll tell you what I know Storm clouds are gathering The wind is gonna blow The race of man is suffering And I can hear the moan, 'Cause nobody, But nobody Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone.

I sit on one of the dives On Fifty-second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire. Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright And darkened lands of the earth, Obsessing our private lives; The unmentionable odour of death Offends the September night.

Then Tom said "Ma, whenever ya seen cop beating guy Wherever a hungry new born baby cries Wherever there's a fight against the blood and hatred in the air For a decent job or a helping hand Look for me ma, I'll be there Wherever somebody's struggling for a place to stand Wherever somebody is struggling to be free Look in their eyes ma, you'll see me" And the highway is alive tonight Nobody's fooling nobody as to where it goes I'm sitting down here in the campfire light With the ghost of Tom Joad.

Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave, Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And ask'd, if Peace were there, A hollow wind did seem to answer, No: Go seek elsewhere. I did; and going did a rainbow note: Surely, thought I, This is the lace of Peace's coat: I will search out the matter. But while I looked the clouds immediately Did break and scatter. Then went I to a garden and did spy A gallant flower, The crown-imperial: Sure, said I, Peace at the root must dwell. But when I digged, I saw a worm devour What showed so well. At length I met a rev'rend good old man; Whom when for Peace I did demand, he thus began: There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold. He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes. But after death out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat; Which many wond'ring at, got some of those To plant and set. It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth: For they that taste it do rehearse That virtue lies therein; A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth By flight of sin. Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you; Make bread of it: and that repose And peace, which ev'ry where With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there.

How many roads must a man walk down Before you call him a man? How many seas must a white dove sail Before she sleeps in the sand? Yes, and how many times must the cannonballs fly Before they're forever banned? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin' in the wind Yes, and how many years must a mountain exist Before it is washed to the sea? Yes, and how many years can some people exist Before they're allowed to be free? Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head And pretend that he just doesn't see? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin' in the wind Yes, and how many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes, and how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, and how many deaths will it take 'til he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin' in the wind

A snow leopard does not know It's on the endangered species list Mr. &. Mrs. Crab are not into to take in some rotten insects It's not what's up that's going down when you smell yourself on the threshold of extinction It's you and your portable chemical toilet going to hell under friendly fire destroying the world they are crawling to the mud flats It's you and your missile receptor exploding to pieces It's not what's up that's going down The person who OK's biological weapons should not cry about the stench of new diseases The one who cuts off the trees so the orangutans can't hang should not wonder about ecological devastation It's not what's up that's going down It's what's down that's going up It's not what's up that's going down It's what's down that's going up