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Funny Marriage Proposal Reject in Mall by Poor Indian
Marriage proposal fail
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The Wreck of the Hesperus by Longfellow
Longfellow The Wreck of the Hesperus IT was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailòr, Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 'I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. 'Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!' The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. 'Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow.' He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. 'O father! I hear the church-bells ring, Oh say, what may it be?' ''Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!'— And he steered for the open sea. 'O father! I hear the sound of guns, Oh say, what may it be?' 'Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!' 'O father. I see a gleaming light, Oh say, what may it be?' But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That savèd she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho! ho! the breakers roared! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!
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ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) - Poem
Abou Ben Adhem James Henry Leigh Hunt ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw—within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom— An angel, writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, 'What writest thou?'—The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, 'The names of those who love the Lord.' 'And is mine one?' said Abou. 'Nay, not so,' Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still, and said, 'I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow men.' The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
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Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a Poem
Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a Poem IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But O, that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced; Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she play'd, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me, Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
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UK da haal by Singh
UK da haal by singh
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The Artilleryman's Vision Walt Whitman - Poem
The Artilleryman's Vision Walt Whitman, poem WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes, And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my infant, There in the room, as I wake from sleep, this vision presses upon me: The engagement opens there and then, in fantasy unreal; The skirmishers begin—they crawl cautiously ahead—I hear the irregular snap! snap! I hear the sounds of the different missiles—the short t-h-t! t-h-t! of the rifle balls; I see the shells exploding, leaving small white clouds—I hear the great shells shrieking as they pass; The grape, like the hum and whirr of wind through the trees, (quick, tumultuous, now the contest rages!) All the scenes at the batteries themselves rise in detail before me again; The crashing and smoking—the pride of the men in their pieces; The chief gunner ranges and sights his piece, and selects a fuse of the right time; After firing, I see him lean aside, and look eagerly off to note the effect; —Elsewhere I hear the cry of a regiment charging—(the young colonel leads himself this time, with brandish'd sword;) I see the gaps cut by the enemy's volleys, (quickly fill'd up, no delay;) I breathe the suffocating smoke—then the flat clouds hover low, concealing all; Now a strange lull comes for a few seconds, not a shot fired on either side; Then resumed, the chaos louder than ever, with eager calls, and orders of officers; While from some distant part of the field the wind wafts to my ears a shout of applause, (some special success;) And ever the sound of the cannon, far or near, (rousing, even in dreams, a devilish exultation, and all the old mad joy, in the depths of my soul;) And ever the hastening of infantry shifting positions—batteries, cavalry, moving hither and thither; (The falling, dying, I heed not—the wounded, dripping and red, I heed not—some to the rear are hobbling;) Grime, heat, rush—aid-de-camps galloping by, or on a full run; With the patter of small arms, the warning s-s-t of the rifles, (these in my vision I hear or see,) And bombs busting in air, and at night the vari-color'd rockets.
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In Grave Danger of Falling Food - Bill Mollinson
In Grave Danger of Falling Food - Bill Mollinson
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Running Train Stunt by Indian boys
Very dangerous stunt by Indian boys on train
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For Annie by Edgar Allen Poe, a Poem
http://illustrated-poetry.blogspot.com/2012/04/poe-for-annie-edgar-allen.html Edgar Allen Poe For Annie THANK Heaven! the crisis— The danger is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last— And the fever called 'Living' Is conquer'd at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length: But no matter—I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly Now, in my bed, That any beholder Might fancy me dead— Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart—ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing! The sickness—the nausea— The pitiless pain— Have ceased, with the fever That madden'd my brain— With the fever called 'Living' That burn'd in my brain. And O! of all tortures That torture the worst Has abated—the terrible Torture of thirst For the naphthaline river Of Passion accurst— I have drunk of a water That quenches all thirst. —Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground— From a cavern not very far Down under ground. And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy, And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed— And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never Regretting its roses— Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses: For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies A holier odour About it, of pansies— A rosemary odour, Commingled with pansies— With rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies. And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie— Drown'd in a bath Of the tresses of Annie. She tenderly kiss'd me, She fondly caress'd, And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast— Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast. When the light was extinguish'd, She cover'd me warm, And she pray'd to the angels To keep me from harm— To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. And I lie so composedly, Now, in my bed (Knowing her love), That you fancy me dead— And I rest so contentedly, Now, in my bed (With her love at my breast), That you fancy me dead— That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead. But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie— It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie— With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie.
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Six Action Shoes
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