Ariion Kathleen Brindley


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10 Most Famous Lines of Poetry

by

Ariion Kathleen Brindley



Please email Ariion at




The list of the 10 poems follow the article below





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The History of Poetry




Poetry, from the Greek poesis meaning 'making' or 'creating', has a long history. Poetry as an art may out date literacy itself. In prehistoric and ancient societies, poetry was used as a way to record cultural events or tell stories. Poetry is amongst the earliest records of most cultures with poetic fragments found on monoliths, rune stones, and stelae.

The oldest surviving poem is the Epic of Gilgamesh. The poem, based on the history of King Gilgamesh, was written around 3000 BC in Sumer, Mesopotamia in cuneiform script on clay tablets.

Ancient societies such as the Chinese Shi Jing developed canons of poetic works to ritual, as well as aesthetic, importance. Recently, intellectuals have struggled to find a definition that covers the entire poetic compass from the differences of haiku to Shakespearean to slam poetry. Tatakiewicz, a Polish historian of aesthetics, wrote in The Concept of Poetry "poetry expresses a certain state of mind."

Aristotle's Poetics describes three genres of poetry: epic, comic and tragic. Aristotle's work was highly influential throughout the Middle East during the Islamic Golden Age, then through Europe during the Renaissance. Later, aestheticians described poetry to have three major genres: epic, lyric and dramatic, with dramatic holding the subcategories tragic and comedy. During early modern Western tradition, poets and aestheticians sought to distinguish poetry from prose by using the understanding that prose was written in a linear narrative form and used logical explication, while poetry was more abstract and beautiful.

Modern theorists rely less on opposing prose and poetry as to focusing on the poet as an artist. Intellectual disputes over the definition of poetry had erupted throughout the 20th century resulting in rejection of traditional forms and structures of poetry, coinciding with questioning of traditional definitions of poetry and its distinction between prose. More recently, post-modernists began to embrace the role of the reader and highlight the concept of poetry; incorporating its form from other cultures and the past.

Story credit: Poem of Quotes www.poemofquotes.com


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1

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Elizabeth Barrett Browning the poet

Photo credit: Wikipedia en.wikipedia.org


Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Born March 6, 1806, Durham, England
Died June 29, 1861, at age 55, Florence, Italy


Her first poem on record is from the age of six or eight. The manuscript is currently in the Berg Collection of the New York Public Library, but the exact date is doubtful because the "2" in the date 1812 is written over something else that is scratched out

Story credit: Wikipedia en.wikipedia.org





Elizabeth Barrett was born at Coxhoe Hall, Durham, England. Elizabeth was educated at home, learning Greek, Latin, and several modern languages at an early age. In 1819, her father arranged for the printing of one of her poems (she was 13 at the time.)

In 1821, Elizabeth injured her spine as a result of a fall. When her brother died in 1838, she seemingly became a permanent invalid. She spent the majority of her time in her room writing poetry. In 1844, Robert Browning wrote to Elizabeth admiring her Poems. He continued to write to her and they were engaged in 1845.

Elizabeth's father disapproved of the courtship and engagement. In 1846, Elizabeth and Robert were secretly wed. Soon the couple ran off to Italy where Elizabeth's health improved. She continued to live in the villa of Casa Guidi for the remainder of her life.

In 1850, Elizabeth's best known book of poems was published Sonnets from the Portugese. They are not translations, but a sequence of 44 sonnets recording the growth of her love for Robert. He often called her "my little Portuguese" because of her dark complextion.

Elizabeth's poems have a diction and rhythm evoking an attractive, spontaneouse quallity though some may seem sentimental. Many of her poems protest what she considered unjust social conditions. She also wrote poems appealing for political freedom for Italy and other countries controlled by foreign nations.

In 1861, Elizabeth Barrett Browning died at the age of 55. Her son, born 1849, and husband returned to England after her death.

Story credit: Erin's Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning Page www.cswnet.com



How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.







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2

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink

Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Samuel Taylor Coleridge who wrote the Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Photo credit: State University College of New York at Fredonia www.fredonia.edu


Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Born on October 21, 1772 in Ottery St. Mary, Devonshire, England Died on July 25, 1834 in Highgate, near London In 1791 he left Cambridge University because of financial problems. He traveled to London to enlist in the 15th Dragoons, using the pseudonym Silas Tomkyn Comberbache. His friends, recognizing how ill-suited he was for military life, were able to buy him out of this improbable misconception of his destiny and persuaded him to return to Cambridge.





The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Two stanzas)



Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.















3

Shall I compare thee to a summers day

by William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare with earring. Known as the Chandos Portrait, Attributed to John Taylor, c. 1600-10

Photo credit: The Archbishop of Canterbury www.archbishopofcanterbury.org


William Shakespeare

Baptised April 26, 1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon, England Died April 23, 1616 in New Place, his house in Stratford upon Avon, and was buried in Holy Trinity church in Stratford

At the age of 18, he married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Between 1585 and 1592, he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part owner of a playing company called the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men. He appears to have retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive, and there has been considerable speculation about such matters as his physical appearance, sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether the works attributed to him were written by others.

He infamously left his second-best bed to his wife Anne Hathaway and little else, giving most of his estate to his eldest daughter Susanna who has married a prominent and distinguished physician named John Hall in June 1607. This was not as callous as it seems; the Bard's best bed was for guests; his second-best bed was his marriage bed. The Bard's direct line of descendants ended some 54 years later until Susanna’s daughter Elizabeth died in 1670.

Story credit: Refine Org www.refine.org.ua



Shall I compare thee to a summers day (Sonnet 18)

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
















4

Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred

Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Alfred Lord Tennyson made a lord by Queen Victoria

Photo credit: The Virginia-Maryland Regional College of Veterinary Medicine education.vetmed.vt.edu


Alfred Lord Tennyson

Born August 6th, 1809, at Somersby, Lincolnshire, England
Died October 6, 1892, at the age of 83. He died at Aldwort and was buried in the Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey


Late in the 1830s Tennyson grew concerned about his mental health and visited a sanitarium run by Dr. Matthew Allen, with whom he later invested his inheritance (his grandfather had died in 1835) and some of his family's money. When Dr. Allen's scheme for mass-producing wood carvings using steam power went bankrupt, Tennyson, who did not have enough money to marry, ended his engagement to Emily Sellwood, whom he had met at his brother Charles's wedding to her sister Louisa.

Story credit: The Victorian Web www.victorianweb.org



Charge of the Light Brigade

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
`Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

`Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
ome one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and sh
ell, Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!



The Charge of the Light Brigade was in fact the last of four phases in the Battle of Balaclava that was fought on the 25 October 1854 during the Crimean War between Russia, Turkey, Britain and France.

The Crimean Peninsula is the most southerly part of the Ukraine. The peninsula is in effect in the Black Sea, to the east of Odessa.

This war, which was considered one of the worst organized wars in history, resulted in a victory for the alliance consisting of France, Turkey and England.












5

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe died alone and broke

Photo credit: The Free Library poe.thefreelibrary.com


Edgar Allan Poe

Born January 19, 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts, to parents who were itinerant actors
Died October 7, 1849. 40 years old. He was buried in the yard of Westminster Presbyterian Church in Baltimore, Maryland


He married his very young cousin, Virginia Clemm. She had barely passed her 13th birthday and her husband was twenty-seven. The date of their marriage was May of 1836.

Edgar Allan Poe had more editing jobs over the next few years, but never was able to afford more than the barest of necessities for his family, including his mother in law, who lived with Edgar and Virginia. His drinking problem made it very difficult to keep employment for any substantial amount of time.

During this time period, Poe was writing some of his best stories and poetry. When his poem, The Raven, was published in 1845, fame came swiftly, but there was still never enough money to make his family financially secure.

The couple, no matter how distant their age difference, or the reasons for their marriage, were allowed to spend only ten and a half years together. Virginia died of tuberculosis in early 1847. Edgar is said to have wept continually and spent a lot of time at her gravesite. The only constant in his life, his wife, was suddenly gone, as had happened with everything else in his life.

Edgar continued writing for a short time, but his life was cut short in October of 1849. At the age of 40, Edgar Allan Poe died. The story surrounding his death has always been an enigma. Did he die in the streets of Baltimore? In a hospital after collapsing on the street? Rumors of both have circulated, but the true answer is unknown although most think he did indeed die in a hospital in Baltimore after being found in the street and being admitted. The cause of death has also never been determined. It is reported that Poe's last earthly words were "Lord help my poor soul."

The mystery does not end with Poe's death. At a certain point in time, his remains were exhumed and moved to another part of the cemetery, but even later, a scandal developed that seemed to prove they were not Poe's remains after all.

Where lies Edgar Allan Poe? No one knows, but to add still another element of mystification, someone who has become known as the Poe Toaster comes to the gravesite each year on the date of Poe's birth. The Toaster leaves half a bottle of cognac and three red roses at the grave. The act of tribute has been going on since 1949. Edgar would most likely smile to know that attempts to identify the Poe Toaster have not been made due to respect of his privacy as he pays tribute to Poe.

Story credit: essortment Information and advice you want to know www.essortment.com



The Raven (First two stanzas)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door
Only this, and nothing more."










6

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Robert Frost a drawing of the young man

Photo credit: Bethel Park School District www.bpsd.org


Robert Frost

Born on March 26, 1874 in San Francisco, California
Died January 29, 1963 of a heart attack in Boston, Massachusetts. He was 88 years old


New Hampshire clings to its best known poet, but Robert Frost was born in San Francisco, taught in Massachusetts and died in Vermont. Prior to 1900 Frost moved in and out of college, wooed and finally won Elinor White, taught school with little success, lost a son to cholera and his mother to cancer, and sold his first poem for $15.

In 1901 he inherited his grandmother's farm in Derry, NH and taught at Pinkerton Academy there. Over the next decade the Frosts had two children, before Robert chose to teach in Plymouth, NH, then to move instead to England to devote himself to poetry for two years. Back in the states, his reputation growing, Frost moved to Franconia, then to Amherst, NH. His link to the Granite State was forever forged in 1924 when his volume of poems called "New Hampshire" won him his first of four Pulitzer Prizes.

By now Frost had also begun his long association with the Bread Loaf Conference in Vermont, and after flirting with a lifetime college post in Michigan, returned home to New England. As his fame and earning potential increased, his family life seemed to grow worse with his children's divorces, depression and illness. Frost suffered from exhaustion and after his wife Elinor died in 1938, Frost collapsed. Soon after, his son Carol committed suicide.

Amazingly Frost recovered and flourished - teaching, writing, traveling, reading and lecturing. He received innumerable prizes and became, in his final years, advisor to presidents Eisenhower and Kennedy, even meeting with Russian Premier Nikita Khrushchev. During the 20th century Frost was the most popular and best read poet in the nation, offering a vision of New England that is part of our Yankee heritage today.

Story credit: Seacoast NH www.seacoastnh.com



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 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 is 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.












7

By the shore of Gitchie Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,

The Song of Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow with wife and two sons

Photo credit: The Nahant Historical Society www.nahanthistory.org


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Born on February 27, 1807 in Portland, Maine (a district of Massachusetts at that time)
Died March 24, 1882, age 75, of peritonitis, which claimed his life within five days. He lays at rest in Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts


In May of 1826, the fair-haired youth with the azure blue eyes set out for Europe to turn himself into a scholar and a linguist. He had letters of introduction to men of note in England and France, but he had his own idea of how to travel. Between conferences with important people and courses in the universities, Longfellow walked through the countries. He stopped at small inns and cottages, talking to peasants, farmers, traders, his silver flute in his pocket as a passport to friendship. He travelled in Spain, Italy, France, Germany, and England, and returned to America in 1829. At 22, he was launched into his career as a college professor. He had to prepare his own texts, because at that time none were available.

Henry married Mary Storer Potter, on September 14, 1831. He knew Mary from their school days. In 1834, Mary accompanied him when he returned to Europe to study. Her poor health contributed to a miscarriage in 1835, and a few weeks later she died at age 22 in Rotterdam. They were married for four years.

On July 9, 1861, tragedy again tormented Longfellow when his second wife, Frances Appleton, died in a fire at age 44. She and her two youngest daughters, aged five and seven, were in the library. While melting wax to seal envelopes containing cuttings of her children’s hair, Fanny dropped a match onto her dress. Longfellow tried to rescue his wife by smothering the flames with a rug only to receive terrible burns on his hands and face. Since shaving became difficult due to scars from the fire, Longfellow grew a beard. Deeply depressed, Longfellow immersed himself in translating Dante into English and returned to Europe.

Story credit: Auburn University www.auburn.edu



The Song of Hiawatha

By the shore of Gitchie Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.

All the air was full of freshness,
All the earth was bright and joyous,
And before him through the sunshine,
Westward toward the neighboring forest
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo,
Passed the bees, the honey-makers,
Burning, singing in the sunshine.

Bright above him shown the heavens,
Level spread the lake before him;
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon,
Aparkling, flashing in the sunshine;
On its margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water,
Every tree-top had its shadow,
Motionless beneath the water.

From the brow of Hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow,
As the fog from off the water,
And the mist from off the meadow.
With a smile of joy and triumph,
With a look of exultation,
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be, but is not,
Stood and waited Hiawatha.










8

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

Trees by Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

The poet Joyce Kilmer who was killed in World War I

Photo credit: Shelf Life Blog on Syracuse.com by Laura T. Ryan blog.syracuse.com


Joyce Kilmer

Born on December 6, 1886 in New Brunswick, New Jersey
Died July 30, 1918, age 31, killed in action by a sniper during World War I. His body was buried in the Oise-Aisne Cemetery, Fere-en-Tardenois, France


Alfred Joyce Kilmer was an American journalist and poet; his best-known work is "Trees". The poem is notable for its anthropomorphism: the tree in the poem presses its mouth to the earth's breast and looks at God and raises its leafy arms to pray. The poem was given a musical setting that was quite popular in the 1940s and 1950s. His home in New Brunswick is still standing and houses offices.

Kilmer was born in New Brunswick, New Jersey and attended Rutgers College and Columbia (B.A., 1908). His wife was Aline Murray. He was a soldier in the United States Army 165th Infantry, Rainbow Division and was killed in action by a sniper during World War I. His body was buried in the Oise-Aisne Cemetery, Fere-en-Tardenois, France. Kilmer is portrayed as one of the minor characters in the 1940 film The Fighting 69th.

The Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest which is approximately 3,800 acres (15 km˛) of old growth forest is located in the Nantahala National Forest under the management of the USDA Forest Service in Graham County, North Carolina. This forest was purchased by the US government in order to stop extensive over-logging in the area and dedicated to Kilmer's memory on July 10, 1936. It has some of the largest trees east of the Mississippi, and includes the Slickrock Wilderness Area.

In 1942 the U.S. Army opened a new embarkation center and named it Camp Kilmer in honor of Joyce Kilmer.

Kilmer currently has a street named after him in New Brunswick and Edison, New Jersey, as well as many schools in New Jersey, Virginia, Indiana and Wisconsin, most of which were built during the period his poem was famous. A park in the Bronx, New York at 162nd Street and Grand Concourse, also is named for him. The New Jersey Turnpike has a rest area named after him. Boston has also named a street and school in his honor. The Philolexian Society of Columbia University, a collegiate literary society of which he was Vice President, annually holds the infamous Joyce Kilmer Memorial Bad Poetry Contest in his honor.



Story credit: Famous Poets and Poems famouspoetsandpoems.com



Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.












9

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord

The Battle Hymn of the Republic by Julia Ward Howe

Julia Ward Howe, photograph circa 1861, by J.J. Hawes

Photo credit: House Divided Dickinson College housedivided.dickinson.edu


Julia Ward Howe

Born on May 27, 1819 in New York City
Died October 17, 1910, age 91, in Boston Mass


Julia Ward Howe, little known today except as author of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," was famous in her lifetime as poet, essayist, lecturer, reformer and biographer. She worked to end slavery, helped to initiate the women's movement in many states, and organized for international peace—all at a time, she noted, "when to do so was a thankless office, involving public ridicule and private avoidance."

Julia Ward was born in New York City, third of the six children of Julia Rush Cutler and Samuel Ward, a wealthy banker. Julia was tutored at home and at private schools in literature, languages, science and mathematics. She knew French from early childhood, began Italian at 14, later added German, and read Latin and Greek with ease. She had music lessons and voice training with the finest teachers available. The family home on Bond Street included an extensive library and art gallery. At 16 she left school and, in her words, "began thereafter to study in good earnest," continuing throughout her life to read literature, history and philosophy. By the time she was 20, she had written literary criticism published anonymously in the Literary and Theological Review and the New York Review.

Her mother died when Julia was five. Afterwards their father's influence dominated the children's lives. Samuel Ward, an Episcopalian and a strict Calvinist, was fiercely protective of them. Even so they enjoyed the fashionable social scene, especially after Samuel Ward Jr. married into the Astor family. High-spirited Julia, with her auburn hair, blue eyes and beautiful voice, was extremely popular.

In 1848 Julia had poems published in two anthologies, much to her husband's displeasure and her own despair at his refusal to accept her writing. In 1850 the Howes went to Europe with the two younger children. Samuel returned to Boston while Julia and the children wintered in Rome with her sisters. Free of her usual duties and restrictions, she enjoyed the society of the American colony and found "an exhilarating companion" in Horace Binney Wallace. They toured the city and discussed writing and philosophy. His suicide two years later affected her deeply.

During the 1850s Parker and Howe had drawn Julia into William Lloyd Garrison's anti-slavery group. She came to admire him and other abolitionist leaders including Wendell Phillips and Thomas Wentworth Higginson. When war broke out both Howes worked with the Sanitary Commission. On a trip to Washington in 1861, they went to watch a Union army review which was suddenly dispersed by a Confederate attack. On the way back to the city in their carriage surrounded by retreating troops, the Howe party began to sing patriotic songs, including the popular "John Brown's Body." James Freeman Clarke, one of the party, suggested to Julia that she write new and better lyrics for the tune. At the hotel late that night, the words to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" began forming in her mind. Careful not to wake the children, she groped in the dark for pencil and paper and wrote the poem. In the morning she made only one or two changes. In February, 1862, The Atlantic published "The Battle Hymn," paying its author $5. Gradually the song caught on until it swept the North.

In 1908 Julia Ward Howe was the first woman elected to the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Not long before her death Smith College accorded her an honorary degree. The ceremony included "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," often performed to celebrate her appearances.

During Howe's last years younger women sought her out and interviewed her. Her advice to one visitor was "Study Greek, my dear, it's better than a diamond necklace." On her 91st birthday a reporter asked her for a motto for the women of America. She recommended, "Up to date!"

Julia Ward Howe died on October 17, 1910. Services were held at Church of the Disciples and at Symphony Hall with crowds overflowing both buildings. Maud Howe Elliott wrote, "A long succession of meetings of commemoration were held by her church, her clubs, the many associations she had founded and worked for. So great was the outpouring of love and reverence that it seemed as if her beloved name were writ in fire across the firmament."



Story credit: Joan Goodwin www25.uua.org



Battle Hymn of the Republic

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.

He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,
So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave,
Our God is marching on.












10

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,

Out Of The Night That Covers Me by William Ernest Henley

William Ernest Henley old photo

Photo credit: Science Muesum Brought to Life http://www.sciencemuseum.org.uk


William Ernest Henley

Born on August 23, 1849 in Glouchester England
Died July 11, 1903, age 53, in Cockayne Hatley England


William Ernest Henley, English poet, critic and editor, was born at Gloucester and was the eldest of a family of six, five sons and a daughter. His father, William, was a bookseller and stationer who died in 1868 leaving young children and creditors. His mother, Mary Morgan, was descended from the poet and critic, Joseph Warton. From 1861-67 Henley was a pupil at the Crypt Grammar School (founded 1539). A Commission had recently attempted to revive the school by securing the brilliant and academically distinguished T. E. Brown (1830-1897) as headmaster. Brown's appointment was short-lived (c.1857-63) but was a 'revelation' for Henley because it introduced him to a poet and 'man of genius - the first I'd ever seen'. This was the start of a lifelong friendship and Henley wrote a glowing memorial to Brown in the New Review (December, 1897): "He was singularly kind to me at a moment when I needed kindness even more than I needed encouragement".

From the age of 12 Henley suffered from tuberculosis of the bone leading to the amputation of his left leg below the knee either in 1865 or 1868-69.[2] Frequent illness often kept him from school, although the fortunes of his father's business may also have contributed. In 1867, Henley passed the Oxford Local Schools Examination and soon afterwards moved to London where he attempted to establish himself as a journalist.[3] However, his work over the next eight years was interrupted by long periods in hospital because his right foot was also diseased. Henley fought the diagnosis that a second amputation was the only way to save his life by placing himself under the care of the pioneering surgeon Joseph Lister (1827-1912) at the The Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh. After three years in hospital (1873-75), Henley was discharged. Lister's treatment had not effected a complete cure but enabled Henley to lead a relatively active life for nearly 30 years. His friend, Robert Louis Stevenson, based his Treasure Island character, Long John Silver, on Henley.

His literary connections also led to his sickly young daughter, Margaret Emma Henley (b. 4 September 1888), being immortalised by J. M. Barrie in his children's classic Peter Pan[citation needed]. Unable to speak clearly, the young Margaret referred to Barrie as her "Friendy Wendy", leading to the introduction of the name Wendy. Margaret never read the book; she died on 11 February 1894 at the age of 5 and was buried at the country estate of her father's friend, Harry Cockayne Cust, in Cockayne Hatley, Bedfordshire.

After his recovery Henley earned his living in publishing. In 1889 he became editor of the Scots Observer, an Edinburgh journal on the lines of the old Saturday Review but inspired in every paragraph by Henley's vigorous and combative personality. It was transferred to London in 1891 as the National Observer and remained under Henley's editorship until 1893. Though, as Henley confessed, the paper had almost as many writers as readers, and its fame was mainly confined to the literary class, it was a lively and influential feature of the literary life of its time. Henley had the editor's great gift of discerning promise, and the "Men of the Scots Observer," as Henley affectionately and characteristically called his band of contributors, in most instances justified his insight. The paper found utterance for the growing imperialism of its day, and among other services to literature gave to the world Rudyard Kipling's Barrack-Room Ballads

Henley died at the age of 53 and was buried in the same churchyard as his daughter in Cockayne Hatley. His wife was later buried at the same site.



Story credit: Wikipedia en.wikipedia.org





Out of the night that covers me

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.



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