By. M. Maley
“Don’t lie”, She said
I’ll try”, He said
“My eye”, She Said
“Don’t cry”, he said
“I’ll die”, She said
“Oh my”, She said
it told about a girl who would left by her boy friend, she felt sad and she expressed her sorrow before she said good bye.
The Sick Rose
(By. William Blake)
Oh Rose, thou art sick
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Has found out thy bed
Of the crimson joy
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy
It told about a women who sad because of her self fault.
Mrs. O’Neil
(Richad Hill)
Every Evening
Before she went to bed
Mrs. O’neil said
Good night
To the nice announcer
On her small TV
Because she was eighty
And very much alone
And when she died
He never event went
To her funeral.
it told about lonely elder, she lived alone, and just her small TV who accompanied her, and till she died.
LUCY
by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
- SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
- Beside the springs of Dove,
- A Maid whom there were none to praise
- And very few to love:
- A violet by a mossy stone
- Half hidden from the eye!
- Fair as a star, when only one
- Is shining in the sky.
- She lived unknown, and few could know
- When Lucy ceased to be;
- But she is in her grave, and oh,
- The difference to me!
- it told about a lady who lived isolated, though she was not known by people, doesn't mean that no body who love her.
by: Robert Louis Stevenson
- UNDER the wide and starry sky,
- Dig the grave and let me lie.
- Glad did I live and gladly die,
- And I laid me down with a will.
- This be the verse you grave for me:
- Here he lies where he longed to be;
- Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
- And the hunter home from the hill.
- Upon Westminster Bridge
- by William Wordsworth
- Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent , bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did the sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Leisure
By. W. H. Davies
WHAT is this life if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare?— No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
By. Robert Lee Frost (1187-1963)
