Bee

_____________________________ Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain! Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain! Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended So long beneath the heaven's o'er-hanging eaves; Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended; Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves ;And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves! ******* Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

--------------------------------------- Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that, the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood, and I -- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. ---------------------------------- ***Robert Frost

_____________________________________ Throughout the echoing chambers of my brain I hear your words in mournful cadence toll Like some slow passing-bell which warns the soul Of sundering darkness. Unrelenting, fain To batter down resistance, fall again Stroke after stroke, insistent diastole, The bitter blows of truth, until the whole Is hammered into fact made strangely plain. Where shall I look for comfort? Not to you. Our worlds are drawn apart, our spirit's suns Divided, and the light of mine burnt dim. Now in the haunted twilight I must do Your will. I grasp the cup which over-runs, And with my trembling lips I touch the rim. ______________________________ Amy Lowell _______________________ ____

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ _______________________ I am a lover of breasts Like pomegranates; Plant then no other trees On my grave but these. ____________________ ___________________ Written by Nasikh in Urdu; Translation: W. Dalrymple

Romance, who loves to nod and sing, With drowsy head and folded wing, Among the green leaves as they shake Far down within some shadowy lake, To me a painted paroquet Hath been- a most familiar bird- Taught me my alphabet to say- To lisp my very earliest word While in the wild wood I did lie, A child- with a most knowing eye. Of late, eternal Condor years So shake the very Heaven on high With tumult as they thunder by, I have no time for idle cares Through gazing on the unquiet sky. And when an hour with calmer wings Its down upon my spirit flings- That little time with lyre and rhyme To while away- forbidden things! My heart would feel to be a crime Unless it trembled with the strings. _____________________ Edgar Allen Poe

_______________________France Prešeren_______________ What was the need of you, little one, My baby dear, my darling son, To me - a girl, a foolish young thing, A mother without a wedding ring? My father cursed and beat me, My mother in tears would entreat me; My friends would blush and pass me by, Strangers pointed at me on the sly. And he who was my own true love - Your father by the will above - He wanders God knows how far from here. Shamed because of us, poor dear. What was the need of you, little one, My baby dear, my darling son? But whether there was need or no, With all my heart I love you so. There seem to open azure skies Whene'er I look into your eyes; And when on me you sweetly smile, All I've suffered is gone for a while. May He, by whom the birds are fed, Joy and blessings on you shed! Whether there was need or no, With all my heart I love you so. _____________________________________ The End*The Unmarried Mother* Translated by: Janko Lavrin

______________________________ The Demon of Rum is about in the land, His victims are falling on every hand, The wise and the simple, the brave and the fair, No station too high for his vengence to spare. O women, the sorrow and pain is with you, And so be the joy and the victory, too; With this for your motto, and succor divine, The lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine, The homes that were happy are ruined and gone. The hearts that were merry are wretched and lone, And lives full of promise of good things to come, Are ruined and wreck'd by the Demon of Rum. Wives, maidens and mothers, to you it is giv'n, To rescue the fallen and point them to heav'n. With us for your guides you shall win by this sign, The lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine. O mothers, whose sons tarry long at the bowl, Who love their good name as you love your own soul, O maidens with fathers, and brothers and beaux; Whose lives you would rescue from infinite woes, Let war be your watch...