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A dream lies dead here. May you softly go

Before this place, and turn away your eyes,

Nor seek to know the look of that which dies

Importuning Life for life. Walk not in woe,

But, for little, let your step be slow

And, of your mercy, be not sweetly wise

With words of hope and Spring and tenderer skies.

A dream lies dead; and this all mourners know:


Whenever one drifted petal leaves the tree-

Though white of bloom as it had been before

And proudly waitful of fecundity-

One little loveliness can be more;

And so must Beauty bow her imperfect head

Because a dream has joined the wistful dead!

People make a fuss

When they see us

Because we look alike

He is Spike and I am Mike

We both like to hike

And also ride a bike

But we are stuck

So far no luck

We would love to elope

It is very hard to cope

And we are losing hope

Please, adopt us both

We promise under oath

The love you will receive will be double

And you won’t┬áhave any trouble

We will never, ever start a strike

Best wishes, Spike and Mike!!!

I am black

I am white

You can check

If I am right

Don’t have any preference

Doesn’t make any difference

Love sees no color, it is blind

It is only in people’s minds

A puppy like me is hard to find

So be kind

Please open your heart

And I will do my part

By the way, my name is Todd!!!

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore–

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over–

Like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

Like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep,

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

I eat

I sit

I tweet

I greet

Being very sweet

Don’t quit

And repeat

I roll

In the bowl

Not fussy at all

Trying to entertain

But all this in vain

No results there

It is not fair

Can’t pretend

If you need a friend

I am a godsend

I am a lovable little ball

By the way, my name is Paul!!!

Thou dreamer with the million moods,

Of restless heart like me,

Lay thy white hands against my breast

And cool its pain, O Sea!


O wanderer of the unseen paths,

Restless of heart as I,


Blow hither, from caves of blue,

Wind of the healing sky!


O treader of the fiery way,

With passionate heart like mine,

Hold to my lips thy healthful cup

Brimmed with its blood-red wine!


O countless watchers of the night,

Of sleepless heart like me,

Pour your white beauty in my soul,

Till I grow calm as ye!


O sea, O sun, O wind and stars,

(O hungry heart that longs!)

Feed my starved lips with life, with love,

And touch my tongue with songs!


When June comes dancing o’er the death of May,

With scarlet roses tinting her green breast,

And mating thrushes ushering in her day,

And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest,


I always see the evening when we met—

The first of June baptized in tender rain—

And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet,

Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love’s pain.


I always see the cheerful little room,

And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed,

Sweet scented with a delicate perfume,

Wherein for one night only we were wed;


Where in the starlit stillness we lay mute,

And heard the whispering showers all night long,

And your brown burning body was a lute

Whereon my passion played his fevered song.


When June comes dancing o’er the death of May,

With scarlet roses staining her fair feet,

My soul takes leave of me to sing all day

A love so fugitive and so complete.

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,

When our mother Nature laughs around;

When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?


There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,

And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;

The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,

And the wilding bee hums merrily by.


The clouds are at play in the azure space,

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,

And here they stretch to the frolic chase,

And there they roll on the easy gale.


There’s a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,

There’s a titter of winds on that beechen tree,

There’s a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,

And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.


And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles

On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,

On the leaping waters and gay young isles;

At, look, and he’ll smile thy gloom away.

Old things need not be therefore true,

O brother men, nor yet the new,

Ah! still awhile the old thought retain,

And yet consider it again!


The souls of now two thousand years

Have laid up here their toils and tears,

And all the earnings of their pain,-

Ah, yet consider it again!


We! what do we see? each a space

Of some few yards before his face;

Does that the whole wide plan explain?

Ah, yet consider it again!


Alas! the great world goes its way,

And takes its truth from each new day;

They do not quit, nor can retain,

Far less consider it again.