Remember (1849) By Christina Rossetti Remember me when I am gone - PDF document

Remember (1849) By Christina Rossetti Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.

If By Rudyard Kipling If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream---and not make dreams your master; If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!

Because I could not stop for Death (The Chariot) (1890) By Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death — He kindly stopped for me — The Carriage held but just Ourselves — And Immortality. 5 We slowly drove — He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility — We passed the School, where Children strove 10 At Recess — in the Ring We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain — We passed the Setting Sun — Or rather — He passed Us — The Dews drew quivering and chill — 15 For only Gossamer, my Gown — My Tippet — only Tulle — We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground — The Roof was scarcely visible — 20 The Cornice — in the Ground — Since then — 'tis Centuries — and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity —

London (1794) By William Blake I wandered through each chartered street, Near where the chartered Thames does flow, A mark in every face I meet, Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every man, In every infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forged manacles I hear: How the chimney-sweeper's cry Every blackening church appals, And the hapless soldier's sigh Runs in blood down palace-walls. But most, through midnight streets I hear How the youthful harlot's curse Blasts the new-born infant's tear, And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.

To Helen By Edgar Allan Poe Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicéan barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy-Land!

Stonewall Jackson By Herman Melville Mortally Wounded at Chancellorsville The Man who fiercest charged in fight, Whose sword and prayer were long - Stonewall! Even him who stoutly stood for Wrong, How can we praise? Yet coming days Shall not forget him with this song. Dead is the Man whose Cause is dead, Vainly he died and set his seal - Stonewall! Earnest in error, as we feel; True to the thing he deemed was due, True as John Brown or steel. Relentlessly he routed us; But we relent, for he is low - Stonewall! Justly his fame we outlaw; so We drop a tear on the bold Virginian's bier, Because no wreath we owe.