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Archer
30 Aug 06,, 07:31
I read it as a kid, and it still moves me given the depth of its meaning.


Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high.
Where knowledge is free.
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls.
Where words come out from the depth of truth.
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection.
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit.
Where the mind is led forward by Thee
Into ever-widening thought and action.
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Rabindranath Tagore

Tagore won the Nobel prize in literature, India's poet laureate.

Another one:

If, Rudyard Kipling


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!


--Rudyard Kipling


And one of my all time favourites...

Sportmanship, and duty


Vitaï Lampada

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of schoolboy rallies the ranks,
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

This is the word that year by year
While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

-- Sir Henry Newbolt


Vitaï Lampada = Light of Life

Parihaka
30 Aug 06,, 08:01
Pointy bird, pointy pointy
annoints my head, annointy nointy.

or if you prefer

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

or for something completely different

For every shift of mind and shape
through which I move,
the sight of you snaps me back

or perhaps

It is forbidden to dream again,
we maim our joys or hid them.
Horses are made of chromium steel
and little fat men shall ride them.

and finally

Come sit down beside me I said to myself
and although it doesn't make sense,
I held my own hand as a small sign of trust
and together I sat on the fence.

Ray
30 Aug 06,, 11:18
Oh, come with Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

Ray
30 Aug 06,, 19:31
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden;
Thou needest not fear mine;
My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thine.

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motions;
Thou needest not fear mine;
Innocent is the heart's devotion
With which I worship thine.

- PB Shelley

Tronic
30 Aug 06,, 21:17
Dhoom, dhoom
Come light my fire
Dhoom, dhoom
Let me take you higher
Dhoom, dhoom
I wanna feel that burnin'
Dhoom, dhoom
It's a wild emotion
Dhoom, dhoom
Passion and devotion
Dhoom, dhoom
Now the wheels are turnin'

Move your body close to mine now
Let me feel your love is divine now
Together we'll explode and we'll go
Boom, boom, boom, boom

Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom

Dhoom, dhoom
I'm gonna make you sweat now
Dhoom, dhoom
Let's get all wet now
Dhoom, dhoom
Gotta get down all day
Dhoom, dhoom
Till the early morning
Dhoom, dhoom
Until the dawn end
Dhoom, dhoom
I know that you want it

Shake your body down to the ground
Want you all, there's no turn around
Tonight we're gonna make the world go
Boom, boom, boom, boom

Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom

This burning inside
You know you just cannot hide
So don't fight the feeling
Let your body decide
When you get down on the road
It's a wild overload
Ridin' higher than you ever did before

Dhoom, dhoom
Let your body do the talkin'
Dhoom, dhoom
I wanna keep on rockin'
Dhoom, dhoom
I want it twenty four seven
Dhoom, dhoom
Get the rhythm of the beat now
Dhoom, dhoom
Feel the fire and the heat now
Dhoom, dhoom
Take a trip to heaven

I wanna feel the winds in my hair now
Spread the power everywhere now
Feel the magic
Just go zip, zap, zoom

Dhoom machaale
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom
Dhoom machaale, dhoom machaale, dhoom

beautiful, aint it?... :biggrin: :biggrin: :biggrin:

astralis
30 Aug 06,, 21:28
archer,

didn't know you were such a fan of empire! :biggrin:

i used to like Vitai Lampada myself. but one has to remember that it was under this very same premise that hundreds of thousands of english lads died in the fields of france, 1914-1918. they were allowed to create battalions by localities, or with friends, with the nicknames centered around this whole sportsmanship aspect- "Pals" or "Chums" battalions.

and then they were slaughtered by the cartload. it's all too sad to think about.

astralis
30 Aug 06,, 21:31
kipling, a fan of empire, certainly knew its weaknesses. one of his most famous works is actually not an empire-extoller, but:

http://www.bartleby.com/101/867.html

Rudyard Kipling. b. 1865

867. Recessional
June 22, 1897

GOD of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle-line—
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 5
Lest we forget, lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies—
The captains and the kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart. 10
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!

Far-call'd our navies melt away—
On dune and headland sinks the fire—
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 15
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe— 20
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust 25
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard—
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Ray
30 Aug 06,, 21:44
IF
Rudyard Kipling's Verse

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream-and not make dreams your master;
If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!

Ray
30 Aug 06,, 21:49
Alfred, Lord Tennyson–The Brook



THE BROOK

I COME from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
by many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may comeand men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
with here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silver water-break
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

Ray
30 Aug 06,, 21:54
Rupert Brooke. 1887–1915

The Soldier

IF I should die, think only this of me;
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, 5
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less 10
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Archer
31 Aug 06,, 06:17
archer,

didn't know you were such a fan of empire! :biggrin:

i used to like Vitai Lampada myself. but one has to remember that it was under this very same premise that hundreds of thousands of english lads died in the fields of france, 1914-1918. they were allowed to create battalions by localities, or with friends, with the nicknames centered around this whole sportsmanship aspect- "Pals" or "Chums" battalions.

and then they were slaughtered by the cartload. it's all too sad to think about.

Astralis, it might be empire, but the basic "thrust" of the poem, about fellowship, sportsmanship and the refrain "play up, play up and play the game" is quite poignant. I guess thats why I like it. A doomed cause, but it kind of harkens back to a sort of chivalry.

Archer
31 Aug 06,, 06:18
Oh, come with Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.


Beautiful, sir. And Ozymandias was awesome Parihaka!

Archer
31 Aug 06,, 06:19
This is a good one by Kipling, again empire. ;)

The soldiers here should like it!

http://www.web-books.com/classics/poetry/anthology/Kipling/Tommy.htm

Rudyard Kipling


Tommy
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o'beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's ``Thank you, Mister Atkins,'' when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's ``Thank you, Mr. Atkins,'' when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy how's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints:
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind,"
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country," when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
But Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!

Archer
31 Aug 06,, 06:22
Pop culture alert.

You only live twice:
Once when you're born
And once when you look death in the face. ”

James Bond, when asked to create a Haiku in "You Only Live Twice". Its not a haiku (it doesnt follow the form) but its still a very nice bit.

I had a pretty bad accident. Almost lost my life, and boy was it a second life for me, at least for a few days... :rolleyes:

Ray
01 Sep 06,, 07:44
This is the archetypal Empire stuff.

That paternalistic attitude, some say, with dripping condescension! ;) :tongue:

Gunga Din
Rudyard Kipling

YOU may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was “Din! Din! Din!
You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.”

The uniform ’e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted “Harry By!”
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ‘im ‘cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.
It was “Din! Din! Din!
You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I’ll marrow you this minute
If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!”

’E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.
With ’is mussick on ‘is back,
’E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made “Retire”,
An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide
’E was white, clear white, inside
When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was “Din! Din! Din!”
With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
”Hi! ammunition-mules an’ Gunga Din!”

I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.
’E lifted up my ’ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water-green:
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was “Din! Din! Din!
’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;
’E’s chawin’ up the ground,
An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:
For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!”

’E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.
’E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ’e died,
“I ’ope you liked your drink”, sez Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet ’im later on
At the place where ’e is gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen;
’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

brak
01 Sep 06,, 08:23
I like this one by Robert Frost

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

Ray
01 Sep 06,, 08:29
Stig,

That was one of my favourites.

All,

IF is the poem that was kept framed on the wall of all the cabins of cadets when I was in the National Defence Academy and we had to learn it my heart.

brak
01 Sep 06,, 08:31
Stig,

That was one of my favourites.

All,

IF is the poem that was kept framed on the wall of all the cabins of cadets when I was in the National Defence Academy and we had to learn it my heart.

Mine too Ray. Infact remembering it helps me focus on my goals. After all its Los Angeles and eerrr..its easy to get distracted. ;)

Ray
01 Sep 06,, 08:32
Blow, Bugle, blow

THE splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

- Tennyson

brak
01 Sep 06,, 08:38
She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!

-- William Wordsworth

Samudra
01 Sep 06,, 08:49
When false dawn streaks the east with cold, gray line,
Pour in your cups the pure blood of the vine;
The truth, they say, tastes bitter in the mouth,
This is a token that the "Truth " is wine.

- Khayyam?