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Классная книга. Очень многое объясняет, что скрытое реально происходит в человеке
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The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)
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Entranced because her splendor seemed
To dazzle as it shone,
He conjured all his wiles and beamed
Her burning cheeks upon.
And then she woke, Milady fair,
Enchanted by his art,
To find, 'midst fires a slumb'ring there,
His dart had pierced her heart.
And so the Morning Sun can gain
Milady when he tries,
But Midnight Sons must lose, 'tis plain,
Because they're late to rise.
OWED TO A ROACH
O, Thou, who thru the sink doth blithely go;
(O, Little Roach, how could you sink so low?)
Who pipeth all your kin from kitchens near
Wherever crumbs of comfort may appear;
Who layeth siege, in mural cracks or trenches,
Where grease spots lure or rampant be the stenches;
Who hideth in the dough when bread is rising,—
I ask you to a Feast, of my devising,—
To eat these powders, 'round the plumbing placed,
Until your glutted carcass be effaced.
O, Little Roach, if you would selfish be
And not "ring in" your whole fool family,
We'd tolerate you: nay, a pet would make you
If you'd not scamper all our pie and cake thru!
THE MOODS OF THE WINDS
O, Breezes of Spring!
How they rollick and ring
With delight as they sing
Like birds on the wing.
O, Zephyrs of May!
With your balm and bouquet;
How you gladden the day
Like Fairies at play.
O, Winds of the Fall!
How they thrill and enthrall,
How they hurtle and call
With shrill caterwaul.
O, Winter's bleak Breath!
How it freezes and saith
To the ice-vested wraith,
"Thou'rt shrouded in Death."
THE TOXIC TIPPET
'Tis said that Mary, she of Reader note,
Was wrapped up in her lamb—her lambskin coat—
E'en after his demise, beatified.
He served her well, and for his mistress dyed.
Then Mary died, and took angelic form,
Because the lambskin (used to keep her warm)
Gave her the anthrax: what a cruel blow
To be thus snatched above from furbelow!
TWENTY-THIRD PSALM
My Shepherd careth for His flock:
Beneath a cloudless sky
In pastures green, by spring-cleft rock,
In luxury I lie.
He brings contentment to my soul
And leads me to the Light,
By which I see the Heav'nly goal
From dismal depths of Night.
Though Poverty attend my way
And sorrow fills my heart,
Thy Guidance will disaster stay,
So good and pure Thou art!
Thou, in the presence of my foes,
Bestoweth favors rare,
And giveth pleasure and repose
In answer to my prayer.
To such a Shepherd I will give
My everlasting love,
And glory in the Hope—to live
With Him, at last, Above.
FRIENDSHIP
True Friends are rare: who counts them by the score
Is blest indeed, for we have, seldom, more.
If we possess just one real, trusting friend
Who shares our troubles, loyal to the end;
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Классная книга. Очень многое объясняет, что скрытое реально происходит в человеке