“The Road Not Taken” by Robert A Psalm of Life” by Henry Wadsworth

Frost (1874-1963) Longfellow (1807-1882)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, What the heart of the young man said to the
And sorry I could not travel both Psalmist
And be one traveler, long I stood Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
And looked down one as far as I could Life is but an empty dream!
To where it bent in the undergrowth; For the soul is dead that slumbers,
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And things are not what they seem.
And having perhaps the better claim,
Life is real! Life is earnest!
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there And the grave is not its goal;
Had worn them really about the same, Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
And both that morning equally lay Was not spoken of the soul.
In leaves no step had trodden black. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Oh, I kept the first for another day! Is our destined end or way;
Yet knowing how way leads on to way, But to act, that each tomorrow
I doubted if I should ever come back. Find us farther than today.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence: Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— And our hearts, though stout and brave,
I took the one less traveled by, Still, like muffled drums, are beating
And that has made all the difference. Funeral marches to the grave.
“The Tiger” by William Blake (1757-1827)
Tiger Tiger, burning bright, In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the forests of the night;
In the bivouac of Life,
What immortal hand or eye,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies. Be a hero in the strife!A_Psalm_of_Life
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire? Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
What the hand, dare seize the fire? Let the dead Past bury its dead!
And what shoulder, and what art, Act,—act in the living Present!
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? Heart within, and God o’erhead!
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet? Lives of great men all remind us
What the hammer? what the chain, We can make our lives sublime,
In what furnace was thy brain? And, departing, leave behind us
What the anvil? what dread grasp, Footprints on the sands of time;—
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears Footprints, that perhaps another,
And water’d heaven with their tears: Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
Did he smile his work to see? A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye, Let us, then, be up and doing,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
 bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
Annabel Lee
And the stars never rise but I feel the
It was many and many a year ago,
bright eyes
In a kingdom by the sea,
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
That a maiden there lived whom you may
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the
know
side
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my
And this maiden she lived with no other
bride,
thought
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
Than to love and be loved by me.
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
ALONE WITH EVERYBODY
I was a child and she was a child,
the flesh covers the bone
In this kingdom by the sea;
and they put a mind
But we loved with a love that was more
in there and
than love-
sometimes a soul,
I and my Annabel Lee;
and the women break
With a love that the winged seraphs of
vases against the walls
heaven
and the men drink too
Coveted her and me.
much
and nobody finds the
And this was the reason that, long ago,
one
In this kingdom by the sea,
but keep
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
looking
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
crawling in and out
So that her highborn kinsman came
of beds.
And bore her away from me,
flesh covers
To shut her up in a sepulchre
the bone and the
In this kingdom by the sea.
flesh searches
for more than
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
flesh.
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men
there's no chance
know,
at all:
In this kingdom by the sea)
we are all trapped
That the wind came out of the cloud by
by a singular
night,
fate.
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
nobody ever finds
But our love it was stronger by far than the
the one.
love
Of those who were older than we-
the city dumps fill
Of many far wiser than we-
the junkyards fill
And neither the angels in heaven above,
the madhouses fill
Nor the demons down under the sea,
the hospitals fill
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
the graveyards fill
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
nothing else
For the moon never beams without
fills.
It Is What I Never Said
- Poem by Jose Garcia
Villa
It is what I never said,
What I'll always sing—
It's not found in days,
It's what always begins
In half dark, in half light.
It's shining so curved
Yet rises so tall and tells
Where the first flower dove
When God's hands lost love.
It's a great word without sound
Without echo to reveal
Where fragrance went down!
O, but it's all of it there
Above my poems a Wreath.

(Published in Have Come Am Here 1942)