Poems you ought to know . ep;To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, theres the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause: theres the respectThat makes calamity of so long life;For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressors wrong, the proud mans contumely,The pangs of despisd love, the laws delay,The insolence of office, and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary that the dread
Poems you ought to know . ep;To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, theres the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause: theres the respectThat makes calamity of so long life;For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressors wrong, the proud mans contumely,The pangs of despisd love, the laws delay,The insolence of office, and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary that the dread of something after death—The undiscoverd country from whose bournNo traveler returns—puzzles the willAnd makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of ?Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied oer with the pale cast of enterprises of great pith and momentWith this regard their currents turns awryAnd lose the name of TO A WATER FOWL. BY WILLIAM CULLEN , midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowlers eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee , darkly painted on the crimson sky. Thy figure floats along. ^ 4c :{: H: :)< H( ?|C There is a power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast—The desert and illimitable air— Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere. Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome the dark night is near. Thourt gone; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,In the long way that I must tread alone Will lead my steps aright. 2-J ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. BY GENL. WILLIAM H.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectenglishpoetry, bookye
