7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

1/49

The Crazy Woman - Poem by Gwendolyn Brooks

I shall not sing a May song.A May song should be gay.

I'll wait until November

And sing a song of gray.

I'll wait until NovemberThat is the time for me.

I'll go out in the frosty darkAnd sing most terribly.

And all the little peopleWill stare at me and say,

That is the !ra"y WomanWho would not sing in May.

The Happiness - Poem by Jack Hirschman

There's a happiness, a #oyin one soul, that's beenburied alive in everyone

and forgotten.

It isn't your barroom #okeor tender, intimate humor

or affe$tions of friendliness

or big, bright pun.

They're the surviving survivorsof what happened when happiness

was buried alive, whenit no longer looked out

of today's eyes, and doesn'teven manifest when one

of us dies, we #ust walk awayfrom everything, alone

with what's left of us,going on being human beings

without being human,without that happiness.

Consequences - Poem by Amy

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

2/49

%appiness and sadness&oth in $ontrast

ou are happy to have finished&ut sad to $ome last

(adness and happinessTogether as oneou are happy it)s not raining

&ut sad there)s no sun

%appiness and sadnessAlways together

ou are happy that you passed&ut sad you aren)t $lever

(adness and happiness

!ome in a pairou're happy it)s only a dream&ut sad it)s a nightmare

(adness and happiness&uild $onfiden$e

&ut at $ertain times*ead to $onse+uen$e

usic! When "o#$ %oices &ie - Poem by Percy Bysshe "helley

Musi$, when soft voi$es die,ibrates in the memory-dours, when sweet violets si$ken,*ive within the sense they +ui$ken.

/ose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the beloved's bed-

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,*ove itself shall slumber on.

*/I! 01M

A0*2

3or blows on the fort of evilThat never shows a brea$h,3or terrible life4long ra$es

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

3/49

To a goal no foot $an rea$h,3or re$kless leaps into darkness

With hands outstret$hed to a star,There is #ubilation in %eaven

Where the great dead poets are.

There is #oy over disappointmentAnd delight in hopes that were vain.

1a$h poet is glad there was no $ureTo stop his lonely pain.

3or nothing keeps a poetIn his high singing mood

*ike unappeasable hunger3or unattainable food.

(o fools are glad of the follyThat made them weep and sing,

And 5eats is thankful for 3anny &rawneAnd 6rummond for his king.

They know that on flinty sorrowAnd failure and desire

The steel of their souls was hammeredTo bring forth the lyri$ fire.

*ord &yron and (helley and 0lunkett,

M$6onough and %unt and 0earse(ee now why their hatred of tyrants

Was so insistently fier$e.

Is 3reedom only a Will4o'4the4wispTo $heat a poet's eye7

&e it phantom or fa$t, it's a noble $auseIn whi$h to sing and to die8

(o not for the /ainbow takenAnd the magi$al White &ird snared

The poets sing grateful $arols

In the pla$e to whi$h they have fared-&ut for their lifetime's passion,

The +uest that was fruitless and long,They $horus their loud thanksgiving

To the thorn4$rowned Master of (ong.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

4/49

Annabel 'ee - Poem by (d)ar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

&y the name of ANNA&1* *11-And this maiden she lived with no other thoughtThan to love and be loved by me.

I was a $hild and she was a $hild,In this kingdom by the sea-

&ut we loved with a love that was more than love4I and my Annabel *ee-

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven!oveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,In this kingdom by the sea,A wind blew out of a $loud, $hilling

My beautiful Annabel *ee-(o that her highborn kinsman $ame

And bore her away from me,To shut her up in a sepul$hreIn this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,Went envying her and me4

es8 4 that was the reason 9as all men know,In this kingdom by the sea:That the wind $ame out of the $loud by night,

!hilling and killing my Annabel *ee.

&ut our love it was stronger by far than the lovef those who were older than we4

f many far wiser than we4And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,!an ever dissever my soul from the soul

f the beautiful Annabel *ee.

3or the moon never beams without bringing me dreamsf the beautiful Annabel *ee-

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyesf the beautiful Annabel *ee-

And so, all the night4tide, I lie down by the sidef my darling4 my darling4 my life and my bride,

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

5/49

In the sepul$hre there by the sea,In her tomb by the sounding sea.

A &ream - Poem by William Blake

n$e a dream did weave a shade'er my angel4guarded bed,That an emmet lost its way

Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,6ark, benighted, travel4worn,

ver many a tangle spray,All heart4broke, I heard her say;

'h my $hildren8 do they $ry,

6o they hear their father sigh7Now they look abroad to see,Now return and weep for me.'

0itying, I dropped a tear;&ut I saw a glow4worm near,

Who replied, 'What wailing wight!alls the wat$hman of the night7

'I am set to light the ground,While the beetle goes his round;

3ollow now the beetle's hum-*ittle wanderer, hie thee home8 '

"ep$ember idni)h$ - Poem by "ara Teasdale

*yri$ night of the lingering Indian (ummer,(hadowy fields that are s$entless but full of singing,Never a bird, but the passionless $hant of inse$ts,

!easeless, insistent.

The grasshopper)s horn, and far4off, high in the maples,The wheel of a lo$ust leisurely grinding the silen$e

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

6/49

ver my soul murmur your mute benedi$tion,While I ga"e, fields that rest after harvest,

As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,*est they forget them.

* +el$ A +uneral! *n y Brain ,./0 - Poem by (mily &ickinson

I felt a 3uneral, in my &rain,And Mourners to and fro

5ept treading44treading44till it seemedThat (ense was breaking through44

And when they all were seated,

A (ervi$e, like a 6rum445ept beating44beating44till I thoughtMy Mind was going numb44

And then I heard them lift a &o=And $reak a$ross my (oul

With those same &oots of *ead, again,Then (pa$e44began to toll,

As all the %eavens were a &ell,And &eing, but an 1ar,

And I, and (ilen$e, some strange /a$eWre$ked, solitary, here44

And then a 0lank in /eason, broke,And I dropped down, and down44And hit a World, at every plunge,

And 3inished knowing44then44

Weal$h - Poem by Joyce 1ilmer

3rom what old ballad, or from what ri$h frame6id you des$end to glorify the earth7

Was it from !hau$er's singing book you $ame7r did Watteau's small brushes give you birth7

Nothing so e=+uisite as that slight hand!ould /aphael or *eonardo tra$e.

Nor $ould the poets know in 3airylandThe $hanging wonder of your lyri$ fa$e.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

7/49

I would possess a host of lovely things,&ut I am poor and su$h #oys may not be.

(o 2od who lifts the poor and humbles kings(ent loveliness itself to dwell with me.

&2AAT*C P3(

A Ba) +ull o# "orrowsby Geor) ( a$eos

Think, if in life we are $ondemned to $arrya bag $ontaining the sorrows on our ba$ks,

#ust $olle$ting them, never able to throw anyand not allowed to put there no happy ones.

>0o$kets $an only hold so many sorrows?she said, as she went away $arrying her bag,

hoping that from somewhere will $ometo ease the weight, that beloved helping hand.

0o$kets are small, not too mu$h spa$e thereto hold bigger sorrows that were pi$k up in life,only, should you will be po$keting all of them@if so, $ould you tell me for heaven)s sake, why7

our po$kets should be full of happy memories,

let fall that full of sorrows riding on your ba$kheavy reminder of things that are not anymore,and if you must $arry anything@$arry smiles.

A &ark Walkby ary (llen 4uire

3orbidden, yet, not unfitting,our shadow stands against the wall.

Armed with my own intentions,

I surrender to your $all.

our eyes penetrate mineAs you en$lose upon my heart.

%ands, strong, yet so gentle&e$ome where you start.

A little twinge on the flesh of my ne$k

http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?AuthorID=33204http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?AuthorID=10260http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?AuthorID=10260http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?AuthorID=33204

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

8/49

&e$omes the only pain that I feel.The mi=ture of the two-A pa$t that will seal.

Together, walking, in the darkness of dreams

Is the eternity of the pa$t.3lesh and blood, not withstanding,Is beyond the spiritual a$t.

No hope and salvation to $omeTwo souls beyond the damned.

/evive me from my illusionWhere false destinies are $rammed.

A Daughter's Story by Winter 2iovanni

Mommy, why do I snee"e, breathe and sometimes whee"e7The skin on my fa$e makes me feel like a disgra$e,

My arms, my fingers, and even my legsare all s$arred up from this skin disease I wish was dead.

I know I have asthma and yes, even e$"emabut

why o why mommy must they keep #oking me,all I want is for them to be friends with me.They #oke me, laugh at me, teased me,

while being mean to me.

I feel so si$k saying to myself,$an someone please help me not take it to the left.

I $ry, I laugh, and want it all to end.All #ust be$ause no one would be my friend.

I am a good person, I really am.&ut no one even gives a damn8

I lost most of my hair, wishing it would growguess I will have to settle for that hair weave though.

Mommy, I'm glad that I'm older now,my skin is finally that pretty brown.I no longer feel like a disgra$e.

All I know is that I do have a pretty fa$e.

NA//ATI1 01M

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

9/49

The /aven 4 0oem by 1dgar Allan 0oe

n$e upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,ver many a +uaint and $urious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there $ame a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my $hamber door.''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my $hamber door4

nly this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distin$tly I remember it was in the bleak 6e$ember,And ea$h separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

1agerly I wished the morrow-4 vainly I had sought to borrow3rom my books sur$ease of sorrow4 sorrow for the lost *enore43or the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name *enore4

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad un$ertain rustling of ea$h purple $urtainThrilled me4 filled me with fantasti$ terrors never felt before-

(o that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,''Tis some visitor entreating entran$e at my $hamber door4(ome late visitor entreating entran$e at my $hamber door-4

This it is, and nothing more.'

0resently my soul grew stronger- hesitating then no longer,'(ir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore-

&ut the fa$t is I was napping, and so gently you $ame rapping,And so faintly you $ame tapping, tapping at my $hamber door,

That I s$ar$e was sure I heard you'4 here I opened wide the door-46arkness there, and nothing more.

6eep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,fearing,

6oubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before-&ut the silen$e was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, '*enore8'This I whispered, and an e$ho murmured ba$k the word, '*enore8'4

Merely this, and nothing more.

&a$k into the $hamber turning, all my soul within me burning,(oon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.'(urely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window latti$e;*et me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery e=plore4

*et my heart be still a moment and this mystery e=plore-4'Tis the wind and nothing more.'

pen here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

10/49

flutter,In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore-

Not the least obeisan$e made he- not a minute stopped or stayedhe-

&ut, with mien of lord or lady, per$hed above my $hamber door4

0er$hed upon a bust of 0allas #ust above my $hamber door40er$hed, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fan$y into smiling,&y the grave and stern de$orum of the $ountenan$e it wore.

'Though thy $rest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no$raven,

2hastly grim and an$ient raven wandering from the Nightly shore4Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's 0lutonian shore8'

uoth the /aven, 'Nevermore.'

Mu$h I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear dis$ourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning4 little relevan$y bore-3or we $annot help agreeing that no living human being

1ver yet was blest with seeing bird above his $hamber door4&ird or beast upon the s$ulptured bust above his $hamber door,

With su$h name as 'Nevermore.'

&ut the raven, sitting lonely on the pla$id bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered4 not a feather then he fluttered4Till I s$ar$ely more than muttered, 'other friends have flown

before4n the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'

(tartled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,'6oubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only sto$k and store,

!aught from some unhappy master whom unmer$iful 6isaster3ollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore4

Till the dirges of his %ope that melan$holy burden boref 'Never4 nevermore'.'

&ut the /aven still beguiling all my fan$y into smiling,(traight I wheeled a $ushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and

door-Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

3an$y unto fan$y, thinking what this ominous bird of yore4What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore

Meant in $roaking 'Nevermore.'

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

11/49

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable e=pressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's $ore-

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease re$liningn the $ushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,&ut whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,

(he shall press, ah, nevermore8

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen $enser(wung by (eraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.'Wret$h,' I $ried, 'thy 2od hath lent thee4 by these angels he

hath sent thee/espite4 respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of *enore8uaff, oh +uaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost *enore8'

uoth the /aven, 'Nevermore.'

'0rophet8' said I, 'thing of evil84 prophet still, if bird or

devil84Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,6esolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land en$hanted4

n this home by horror haunted4 tell me truly, I implore4Is there4 is there balm in 2ilead74 tell me4 tell me, I implore8'

uoth the /aven, 'Nevermore.'

'0rophet8' said I, 'thing of evil4 prophet still, if bird ordevil8

&y that %eaven that bends above us4 by that 2od we both adore4Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall $lasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name *enore4!lasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name *enore.'uoth the /aven, 'Nevermore.'

'&e that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,' I shrieked,upstarting4

'2et thee ba$k into the tempest and the Night's 0lutonian shore8*eave no bla$k plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken8

*eave my loneliness unbroken84 +uit the bust above my door8Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my

door8'uoth the /aven, 'Nevermore.'

And the /aven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingn the pallid bust of 0allas #ust above my $hamber door-

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the

floor-

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

12/49

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor(hall be lifted4 nevermore8

'ucy Gray! 3r "oli$ude - Poem by William Wordswor$h

ft I had heard of *u$y 2ray;And, when I $rossed the wild,I $han$ed to see at break of day

The solitary $hild.

No mate, no $omrade *u$y knew-(he dwelt on a wide moor,

4 The sweetest thing that ever grew&eside a human door8

ou yet may spy the fawn at play,

The hare upon the green-&ut the sweet fa$e of *u$y 2rayWill never more be seen.

'To4night will be a stormy night4ou to the town must go-

And take a lantern, !hild, to lightour mother through the snow.'

'That, 3ather8 will I gladly do;'Tis s$ar$ely afternoon4

The minster4$lo$k has #ust stru$k two,And yonder is the moon8 '

At this the 3ather raised his hook,And snapped a faggot4band-

%e plied his work- 4 and *u$y tookThe lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe;With many a wanton stroke

%er feet disperse the powdery snow,That rises up like smoke.

The storm $ame on before its time;(he wandered up and down-

And many a hill did *u$y $limb;&ut never rea$hed the town.

The wret$hed parents all that night

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

13/49

Went shouting far and wide-&ut there was neither sound nor sight

To serve them for a guide.

At day4break on a hill they stood

That overlooked the moor-And then$e they saw the bridge of wood,A furlong from their door.

They wept4 and, turning homeward, $ried,'In heaven we all shall meet- '

4 When in the snow the mother spiedThe print of *u$y's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edgeThey tra$ked the footmarks small-

And through the broken hawthorn hedge,And by the long stone4wall-

And then an open field they $rossed;The marks were still the same-

They tra$ked them on, nor ever lost-And to the bridge they $ame.

They followed from the snowy bankThose footmarks, one by one,Into the middle of the plank-

And further there were none8

4 et some maintain that to this day(he is a living $hild-

That you may see sweet *u$y 2ray

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

14/49

Alone and palely loitering-

The sedge is withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.

Ah, what $an ail thee, wret$hed wight,

(o haggard and so woe4begone7

The s+uirrel)s granary is full,

And the harvest)s done.

I see a lilly on thy brow,

With anguish moist and fever dew-

And on thy $heek a fading rose

3ast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads

3ull beautiful, a faery)s $hild-

%er hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pa$ing steed,

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

15/49

And nothing else saw all day long-

3or sideways would she lean, and sing

A faery)s song.

I made a garland for her head,

And bra$elets too, and fragrant "one-

(he looked at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

(he found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna dew-

And sure in language strange she said,

I love thee true.

(he took me to her elfin grot,

And there she ga"ed and sighed deep,

And there I shut her wild sad eyes44

(o kissed to sleep.

And there we slumbered on the moss,

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

16/49

And there I dreamed, ah woe betide,

The latest dream I ever dreamed

n the $old hill side.

I saw pale kings, and prin$es too,

0ale warriors, death4pale were they all-

Who $ried44>*a belle 6ame sans mer$i

%ath thee in thrall8?

I saw their starved lips in the gloam

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke, and found me here

n the $old hill side.

And this is why I so#ourn here

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is withered from the lake,

And no birds sing.

HA*15

An old silent pond...

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

17/49

A frog #umps into the pond,

splash8 (ilen$e again.

1verything I tou$h

with tenderness, alas,

pri$ks like a bramble.

ground s+uirrel

balan$ing its tomato

on the garden fen$e

3alling to the ground,

I wat$h a leaf settle down

In a bed of brown.

I hear $ra$kling

!run$h, of today)s new found day

And know it won)t last

A $ri$ket disturbed

the sleeping $hild- on the por$h

a man smoked and smiled.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

18/49

TA61A

0retty $olored trees

That are orange, red and yellow

In the Autumn air

An old barn by the water

With a white fen$e around it.

A $ool wind blows in

With a blanket of silen$e.

(training to listen

3or those first few drops of rain,

The storm begins in earnest.

(ubtle hints of spring

In the wet bark of the tree

6ew dripping from leaves

Then runs down the russet trunk

0ools round the roots and is drunk

!rash at two A.M.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

19/49

I opened my bedroom door

A white $at ran by

(tartled by the $langing fall

f the treat #ar)s metal lid

The dog likes to bark

%is bark is loud for others

%e is a $ute dog

(o people don't mind too mu$h

They sometimes $ome to pet him

The weather is $ool

It's $lear that fall is $oming

The leaves will soon $hange

The days will be$ome shorter

And then winter will fall too.

C*645A*6

Watermelon

Watermelon

Bui$y, sweet

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

20/49

6ripping, slurping, sma$king

(o messy to eat

ummy

Snow

(now

*ovely, white

3alling, dan$ing, drifting

!overing everything it tou$hes

&lanket

Castle

!astle

(trong, beautiful

Imposing, prote$ting, wat$hing

(ymboli"es wealth and power

3ortress

Acrobats

A$robats

3le=ible, amusing

3lipping, twirling, #umping

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

21/49

They make me laugh

0erformers

Star

(tar

%ot, radiant

(hining, burning, e=ploding

It gives life to everything

(un

Penguins

0enguins

White, bla$k

Waddling, swimming, eating

They are playing in the water

1mperors

&*A(6T(

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

22/49

&ay and 6i)h$by 1ei$h

6ay&right, (unny

/aining, (hining, %eatingMorning, Afternoon, 1vening, &edtime6arkening, !ooling, ($aring

6ark, !oldNight

+ood and Wa$erby William

3ood2ood, 6ry1ating, 3illing, !hewing

*un$h, 6inner, *ake, /ainuen$hing, 6rinking, (wallowing

!ool, WetWater

"il7erware

by Ben "8

3ork(harp, (ilver

0i$king, 3eeding, %elping0asta, 6inner, &reakfast, !ereal

($ooping, 3eeding, (pooning!upped, (ilver

(poon

"wee$ and "ourby Chris$ine

(weet!ake, Apple

I$ing, 1ating, !run$hing6essert, !andy, (alt, *emon

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

23/49

0u$kering, (+uinting, 6rooling&itter, Tart

(our

A)esby 'ily

!hildrenNi$e, !heerful

/unning, Bumping, 0layingToys, &all, 0urse, Money

($reaming, Working, *aughingMad, &usy2rown up

&o)sby (zra

0uppy(mall, !ute

0laying, *i$king, (peeding*eash, Toy, &one, 3ood

/unning, Bumping, /es$uing

&ig, A$tive6og

'i)h$ and &arkby &illon

&la$k6ark, ($ary

(trengthening, 6arkening, 3rightening

6arth ader, Night, *ight, 0aper*ightening, &linding, &rightening!lean, !risp

White

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

24/49

Poemby 'izzie

!ake(weet, ummy

!utting, 1ating, Mun$hing6essert, I$ing, (na$k, (alt(+uirting, 6rooling, 0u$kering

(our, (alty(ourpat$h

Wea$herby Joanna

/ainWet, !old(howering, 3alling, !ooling

6rops, Water, (un, /ayTanning, Warming, (oothing

&right, %ot(unshine

oney

by Adam

0enny!old, /ound

&uying, (aving, (pending!ent, !opper, !ash, 0aper

5eeping, !olle$ting, 1arning!rinkly, 2reen

6ollar

Ali7e and Wellby Blake

6eadld, (till

*ying,

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

25/49

6an$ing, 2rowing, (tandingNew, 3atAlive8

'unchby "aman$ha

%ot 6ogu$ky, 6isgusting

1ating, Mun$hing, 3illing0ork, &un, Meat, !heeseMelting, (i""ling, &iting

2reat, 6eli$ious!heeseburger

"wee$ and "ourby Jane$

2rapefruit/ound, (our

0u$kering, 6rooling, (pooning3ruit, !run$h, Mun$hies, (prinkles

I$ing, 1ating, !utting

(weet, ummy!ake

Ho$ and Coldby Tess

1+uator%ot, (teamy

&roiling, Warming, (oothing

(wimming, (unglasses, I$e $ubes, 1skimos3ree"ing, !overing, 0rote$tingI$y, !old

Igloo

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

26/49

'and and "eaby Tom

(eaWet, (alty

Moving, Waving, (waying&oats, 3ish, !ars, 0eopleTurning, *iving, 0lanting,

6ry, %ot*and

Bi) and 'i$$leby Carolina

&ig%umongous, *argeIn$reasing, 2rowing, 1=panding,

2iant, World, &eetle, &ugs(hriveling,(hrinking, (hortening

(mall, Tiny*ittle

Ca$s and &o)s

by Ben9amin 8

6og3urry, 3ero$ious

($aring, /olling, (leeping!anine, 0uppy, 3eline, 5itty0laying, /olling, 3rightening

($ared, 3urry!at

1ids %erses Teachersby a$$

5ids*oud, Noisy

Annoying, Thinking, 0layingToys, &ikes, !halk, 0en$ils

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

27/49

*aughing, Talking, %elpinguiet, %ushed

Tea$hers

'i)h$ and &arkby Je##rey

*ight%ot, &right

Waking, 0laying, *earning1nergy, (hadow, !old, Night

(leeping, Tiring, /esting($ary, !reepy

6ark

The &reamer

by H8H8 unro ,"A1*0

It was the season of sales. The august establishment of Walpurgis and Nettlepink had

lowered its pri$es for an entire week as a $on$ession to trade observan$es, mu$h as an

Ar$h4du$hess might protestingly $ontra$t an atta$k of influen"a for the unsatisfa$tory

reason that influen"a was lo$ally prevalent. Adela !hemping, who $onsidered herself in

some measure superior to the allurements of an ordinary bargain sale, made a point of

attending the redu$tion week at Walpurgis and Nettlepink's.

I'm not a bargain hunter, she said, but I like to go where bargains are.

Whi$h showed that beneath her surfa$e strength of $hara$ter there flowed a gra$ious

under$urrent of human weakness.

https://americanliterature.com/author/hh-munro-saki/bio-books-storieshttps://americanliterature.com/author/hh-munro-saki/bio-books-stories

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

28/49

With a view to providing herself with a male es$ort Mrs. !hemping had invited her

youngest nephew to a$$ompany her on the first day of the shopping e=pedition,

throwing in the additional allurement of a $inematograph theatre and the prospe$t of

light refreshment. As !yprian was not yet eighteen she hoped he might not have

rea$hed that stage in mas$uline development when par$el4$arrying is looked on as a

thing abhorrent.

Meet me #ust outside the floral department, she wrote to him, and don't be a moment

later than eleven.

!yprian was a boy who $arried with him through early life the wondering look of a

dreamer, the eyes of one who sees things that are not visible to ordinary mortals, and

invests the $ommonpla$e things of this world with +ualities unsuspe$ted by plainer folk 4

the eyes of a poet or a house agent. %e was +uietly dressed 4 that sartorial +uietude

whi$h fre+uently a$$ompanies early adoles$en$e, and is usually attributed by novel4

writers to the influen$e of a widowed mother. %is hair was brushed ba$k in a

smoothness as of ribbon seaweed and seamed with a narrow furrow that s$ar$ely

aimed at being a parting. %is aunt parti$ularly noted this item of his toilet when they metat the appointed rende"vous, be$ause he was standing waiting for her bare4headed.

Where is your hat7 she asked.

I didn't bring one with me, he replied.

Adela !hemping was slightly s$andalised.

ou are not going to be what they $all a Nut, are you7 she in+uired with some an=iety,

partly with the idea that a Nut would be an e=travagan$e whi$h her sister's small

household would s$ar$ely be #ustified in in$urring, partly, perhaps, with the instin$tive

apprehension that a Nut, even in its embryo stage, would refuse to $arry par$els.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

29/49

!yprian looked at her with his wondering, dreamy eyes.

I didn't bring a hat, he said, be$ause it is su$h a nuisan$e when one is shopping- I

mean it is so awkward if one meets anyone one knows and has to take one's hat offwhen one's hands are full of par$els. If one hasn't got a hat on one $an't take it off.

Mrs. !hemping sighed with great relief- her worst fear had been laid at rest.

It is more orthodo= to wear a hat, she observed, and then turned her attention briskly

to the business in hand.

We will go first to the table4linen $ounter, she said, leading the way in that dire$tion- Ishould like to look at some napkins.

The wondering look deepened in !yprian's eyes as he followed his aunt- he belonged to

a generation that is supposed to be over4fond of the role of mere spe$tator, but looking

at napkins that one did not mean to buy was a pleasure beyond his $omprehension.

Mrs. !hemping held one or two napkins up to the light and stared fi=edly at them, as

though she half e=pe$ted to find some revolutionary $ypher written on them in s$ar$ely

visible ink- then she suddenly broke away in the dire$tion of the glassware department.

Milli$ent asked me to get her a $ouple of de$anters if there were any going really

$heap, she e=plained on the way, and I really do want a salad bowl. I $an $ome ba$k

to the napkins later on.

(he handled and s$rutinised a large number of de$anters and a long series of salad

bowls, and finally bought seven $hrysanthemum vases.

No one uses that kind of vase nowadays, she informed !yprian, but they will do for

presents ne=t !hristmas.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

30/49

Two sunshades that were marked down to a pri$e that Mrs. !hemping $onsidered

absurdly $heap were added to her pur$hases.

ne of them will do for /uth !olson- she is going out to the Malay (tates, and asunshade will always be useful there. And I must get her some thin writing paper. It

takes up no room in one's baggage.

Mrs. !hemping bought sta$ks of writing paper- it was so $heap, and it went so flat in a

trunk or portmanteau. (he also bought a few envelopes 4 envelopes somehow seemed

rather an e=tragavan$e $ompared with notepaper.

6o you think /uth will like blue or grey paper7 she asked !yprian.

2rey, said !yprian, who had never met the lady in +uestion.

%ave you any mauve notepaper of this +uality7 Adela asked the assistant.

We haven't any mauve, said the assistant, but we've two shades of green and a

darker shade of grey.

Mrs. !hemping inspe$ted the greens and the darker grey, and $hose the blue.

Now we $an have some lun$h, she said.

!yprian behaved in an e=emplary fashion in the refreshment department, and $heerfully

a$$epted a fish $ake and a min$e pie and a small $up of $offee as ade+uate

restoratives after two hours of $on$entrated shopping. %e was adamant, however, in

resisting his aunt's suggestion that a hat should be bought for him at the $ounter where

men's headwear was being disposed of at temptingly redu$ed pri$es.

I've got as many hats as I want at home, he said, and besides, it rumples one's hair

so, trying them on.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

31/49

0erhaps he was going to develop into a Nut after all. It was a dis+uieting symptom that

he left all the par$els in $harge of the $loak4room attendant.

We shall be getting more par$els presently, he said, so we need not $olle$t these tillwe have finished our shopping.

%is aunt was doubtfully appeased- some of the pleasure and e=$itement of a shopping

e=pedition seemed to evaporate when one was deprived of immediate personal $onta$t

with one's pur$hases.

I'm going to look at those napkins again, she said, as they des$ended the stairs to the

ground floor. ou need not $ome, she added, as the dreaming look in the boy's eyes

$hanged for a moment into one of mute protest, you $an meet me afterwards in the

$utlery department- I've #ust remembered that I haven't a $orks$rew in the house that

$an be depended on.

!yprian was not to be found in the $utlery department when his aunt in due $ourse

arrived there, but in the $rush and bustle of an=ious shoppers and busy attendants it

was an easy matter to miss anyone. It was in the leather goods department some

+uarter of an hour later that Adela !hemping $aught sight of her nephew, separated

from her by a rampart of suit4$ases and portmanteau= and hemmed in by the #ostling

$rush of human beings that now invaded every $orner of the great shopping emporium.

(he was #ust in time to witness a pardonable but rather embarrassing mistake on the

part of a lady who had wriggled her way with unstayable determination towards the

bareheaded !yprian, and was now breathlessly demanding the sale pri$e of a handbag

whi$h had taken her fan$y.

There now, e=$laimed Adela to herself, she takes him for one of the shop assistants

be$ause he hasn't got a hat on. I wonder it hasn't happened before.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

32/49

0erhaps it had. !yprian, at any rate, seemed neither startled nor embarrassed by the

error into whi$h the good lady had fallen. 1=amining the ti$ket on the bag, he

announ$ed in a $lear, dispassionate voi$e;

&la$k seal, thirty4four shillings, marked down to twenty4eight. As a matter of fa$t, we

are $learing them out at a spe$ial redu$tion pri$e of twenty4si= shillings. They are going

off rather fast.

I'll take it, said the lady, eagerly digging some $oins out of her purse.

Will you take it as it is7 asked !yprian- it will be a matter of a few minutes to get it

wrapped up, there is su$h a $rush.

Never mind, I'll take it as it is, said the pur$haser, $lut$hing her treasure and $ounting

the money into !yprian's palm.

(everal kind strangers helped Adela into the open air.

It's the $rush and the heat, said one sympathiser to another- it's enough to turn

anyone giddy.

When she ne=t $ame a$ross !yprian he was standing in the $rowd that pushed and

#ostled around the $ounters of the book department. The dream look was deeper than

ever in his eyes. %e had #ust sold two books of devotion to an elderly !anon.

The "$uden$

by An$on Chekho7

https://americanliterature.com/author/anton-chekhov/bio-books-storieshttps://americanliterature.com/author/anton-chekhov/bio-books-stories

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

33/49

At first the weather was fine and still. The thrushes were $alling, and in the swamps

$lose by something alive droned pitifully with a sound like blowing into an empty bottle.

A snipe flew by, and the shot aimed at it rang out with a gay, resounding note in the

spring air. &ut when it began to get dark in the forest a $old, penetrating wind blew

inappropriately from the east, and everything sank into silen$e. Needles of i$e stret$hed

a$ross the pools, and it felt $heerless, remote, and lonely in the forest. There was a

whiff of winter.

Ivan elikopolsky, the son of a sa$ristan, and a student of the $leri$al a$ademy,

returning home from shooting, kept walking on the path by the water4logged meadows.

%is fingers were numb and his fa$e was burning with the wind. It seemed to him that the

$old that had suddenly $ome on had destroyed the order and harmony of things, that

nature itself felt ill at ease, and that was why the evening darkness was falling more

rapidly than usual. All around it was deserted and pe$uliarly gloomy. The only light was

one gleaming in the widows' gardens near the river- the village, over three miles away,

and everything in the distan$e all round was plunged in the $old evening mist. The

student remembered that, as he had left the house, his mother was sitting barefoot on

the floor in the entryway, $leaning the samovar, while his father lay on the stove

$oughing- as it was 2ood 3riday nothing had been $ooked, and the student was terribly

hungry. And now, shrinking from the $old, he thought that #ust su$h a wind had blown in

the days of /urik and in the time of Ivan the Terrible and 0eter, and in their time there

had been #ust the same desperate poverty and hunger, the same that$hed roofs with

holes in them, ignoran$e, misery, the same desolation around, the same darkness, the

same feeling of oppression 44 all these had e=isted, did e=ist, and would e=ist, and the

lapse of a thousand years would make life no better. And he did not want to go home.

The gardens were $alled the widows' be$ause they were kept by two widows, mother

and daughter. A $ampfire was burning brightly with a $ra$kling sound, throwing out light

far around on the ploughed earth. The widow asilisa, a tall, fat old woman in a man's

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

34/49

$oat, was standing by and looking thoughtfully into the fire- her daughter *ukerya, a little

po$kmarked woman with a stupid4looking fa$e, was sitting on the ground, washing a

$auldron and spoons. Apparently they had #ust had supper. There was a sound of men's

voi$es- it was the laborers watering their horses at the river.

%ere you have winter ba$k again, said the student, going up to the $ampfire. 2ood

evening.

asilisa started, but at on$e re$ogni"ed him and smiled $ordially.

I did not know you- 2od bless you, she said. ou'll be ri$h.

They talked. asilisa, a woman of e=perien$e who had been in servi$e with the gentry,

first as a wet4nurse, afterwards as a $hildren's nurse e=pressed herself with refinement,

and a soft, sedate smile never left her fa$e- her daughter *ukerya, a village peasant

woman who had been beaten by her husband, simply s$rewed up her eyes at the

student and said nothing, and she had a strange e=pression like that of a deaf4mute.

At #ust su$h a fire the Apostle 0eter warmed himself, said the student, stret$hing out

his hands to the fire, so it must have been $old then, too. Ah, what a terrible night it

must have been, granny8 An utterly dismal long night8

%e looked round at the darkness, shook his head abruptly and asked;

No doubt you have heard the reading of the Twelve Apostles7

es, I have, answered asilisa.

If you remember, at the *ast (upper 0eter said to Besus, 'I am ready to go with Thee

into darkness and unto death.' And our *ord answered him thus; 'I say unto thee, 0eter,

before the $o$k $roweth thou wilt have denied Me thri$e.' After the supper Besus went

through the agony of death in the garden and prayed, and poor 0eter was weary in spirit

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

35/49

and faint, his eyelids were heavy and he $ould not struggle against sleep. %e fell

asleep. Then you heard how Budas the same night kissed Besus and betrayed %im to

%is tormentors. They took %im bound to the high priest and beat %im, while 0eter,

e=hausted, worn out with misery and alarm, hardly awake, you know, feeling that

something awful was #ust going to happen on earth, followed behind. . . . %e loved

Besus passionately, intensely, and now he saw from far off how %e was beaten. . . .

*ukerya left the spoons and fi=ed an immovable stare upon the student.

They $ame to the high priest's, he went on- they began to +uestion Besus, and

meantime the laborers made a fire in the yard as it was $old, and warmed themselves.

0eter, too, stood with them near the fire and warmed himself as I am doing. A woman,

seeing him, said; '%e was with Besus, too' 44 that is as mu$h as to say that he, too,

should be taken to be +uestioned. And all the laborers that were standing near the fire

must have looked sourly and suspi$iously at him, be$ause he was $onfused and said; 'I

don't know %im.' A little while after again someone re$ogni"ed him as one of Besus'

dis$iples and said; 'Thou, too, art one of them,' but again he denied it. And for the third

time someone turned to him; 'Why, did I not see thee with %im in the garden today7' 3orthe third time he denied it. And immediately after that time the $o$k $rowed, and 0eter,

looking from afar off at Besus, remembered the words %e had said to him in the

evening. . . . %e remembered, he $ame to himself, went out of the yard and wept bitterly

44 bitterly. In the 2ospel it is written; '%e went out and wept bitterly.' I imagine it; the still,

still, dark, dark garden, and in the stillness, faintly audible, smothered sobbing.. . . .

The student sighed and sank into thought. (till smiling, asilisa suddenly gave a gulp,

big tears flowed freely down her $heeks, and she s$reened her fa$e from the fire with

her sleeve as though ashamed of her tears, and *ukerya, staring immovably at the

student, flushed $rimson, and her e=pression be$ame strained and heavy like that of

someone enduring intense pain.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

36/49

The laborers $ame ba$k from the river, and one of them riding a horse was +uite near,

and the light from the fire +uivered upon him. The student said good4night to the widows

and went on. And again the darkness was about him and his fingers began to be numb.

A $ruel wind was blowing, winter really had $ome ba$k and it did not feel as though

1aster would be the day after tomorrow.

Now the student was thinking about asilisa; sin$e she had shed tears all that had

happened to 0eter the night before the !ru$ifi=ion must have some relation to her. . . .

%e looked round. The solitary light was still gleaming in the darkness and no figures

$ould be seen near it now. The student thought again that if asilisa had shed tears, and

her daughter had been troubled, it was evident that what he had #ust been telling them

about, whi$h had happened nineteen $enturies ago, had a relation to the present 44 to

both women, to the desolate village, to himself, to all people. The old woman had wept,

not be$ause he $ould tell the story tou$hingly, but be$ause 0eter was near to her,

be$ause her whole being was interested in what was passing in 0eter's soul.

And #oy suddenly stirred in his soul, and he even stopped for a minute to take breath.

The past, he thought, is linked with the present by an unbroken $hain of events

flowing one out of another. And it seemed to him that he had #ust seen both ends of that

$hain- that when he tou$hed one end the other +uivered.

When he $rossed the river by the ferryboat and afterwards, mounting the hill, looked at

his village and towards the west where the $old $rimson sunset lay a narrow streak of

light, he thought that truth and beauty whi$h had guided human life there in the garden

and in the yard of the high priest had $ontinued without interruption to this day, and had

evidently always been the $hief thing in human life and in all earthly life, indeed- and the

feeling of youth, health, vigor 44 he was only twenty4two 44 and the ine=pressible sweet

e=pe$tation of happiness, of unknown mysterious happiness, took possession of him

little by little, and life seemed to him en$hanting, marvellous, and full of lofty meaning.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

37/49

A Ghos$ "$ory

by ark Twain

I took a large room, far up &roadway, in a huge old building whose upper stories had

been wholly uno$$upied for years until I $ame. The pla$e had long been given up to

dust and $obwebs, to solitude and silen$e. I seemed groping among the tombs and

invading the priva$y of the dead, that first night I $limbed up to my +uarters. 3or the first

time in my life a superstitious dread $ame over me- and as I turned a dark angle of the

stairway and an invisible $obweb swung its sla"y woof in my fa$e and $lung there, I

shuddered as one who had en$ountered a phantom.

I was glad enough when I rea$hed my room and lo$ked out the mold and the darkness.

A $heery fire was burning in the grate, and I sat down before it with a $omforting sense

of relief. 3or two hours I sat there, thinking of bygone times- re$alling old s$enes, andsummoning half4 forgotten fa$es out of the mists of the past- listening, in fan$y, to voi$es

that long ago grew silent for all time, and to on$e familiar songs that nobody sings now.

And as my reverie softened down to a sadder and sadder pathos, the shrieking of the

winds outside softened to a wail, the angry beating of the rain against the panes

diminished to a tran+uil patter, and one by one the noises in the street subsided, until

the hurrying footsteps of the last belated straggler died away in the distan$e and left no

sound behind.

The fire had burned low. A sense of loneliness $rept over me. I arose and undressed,

moving on tiptoe about the room, doing stealthily what I had to do, as if I were environed

by sleeping enemies whose slumbers it would be fatal to break. I $overed up in bed,

http://americanliterature.com/author/mark-twain/bio-books-storieshttp://americanliterature.com/author/mark-twain/bio-books-stories

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

38/49

and lay listening to the rain and wind and the faint $reaking of distant shutters, till they

lulled me to sleep.

I slept profoundly, but how long I do not know. All at on$e I found myself awake, andfilled with a shuddering e=pe$tan$y. All was still. All but my own heart44I $ould hear it

beat. 0resently the bed$lothes began to slip away slowly toward the foot of the bed, as

if some one were pulling them8 I $ould not stir- I $ould not speak. (till the blankets

slipped deliberately away, till my breast was un$overed. Then with a great effort I sei"ed

them and drew them over my head. I waited, listened, waited. n$e more that steady

pull began, and on$e more I lay torpid a $entury of dragging se$onds till my breast was

naked again. At last I roused my energies and snat$hed the $overs ba$k to their pla$e

and held them with a strong grip. I waited. &y and by I felt a faint tug, and took a fresh

grip. The tug strengthened to a steady strain44it grew stronger and stronger. My hold

parted, and for the third time the blankets slid away. I groaned. An answering groan

$ame from the foot of the bed8 &eaded drops of sweat stood upon my forehead. I was

more dead than alive. 0resently I heard a heavy footstep in my room44the step of an

elephant, it seemed to me44it was not like anything human. &ut it was moving from me44

there was relief in that. I heard it approa$h the door44 pass out without moving bolt or

lo$k44and wander away among the dismal $orridors, straining the floors and #oists till

they $reaked again as it passed44and then silen$e reigned on$e more.

When my e=$itement had $almed, I said to myself, This is a dream44simply a hideous

dream. And so I lay thinking it over until I $onvin$ed myself that it was a dream, and

then a $omforting laugh rela=ed my lips and I was happy again. I got up and stru$k a

light- and when I found that the lo$ks and bolts were #ust as I had left them, another

soothing laugh welled in my heart and rippled from my lips. I took my pipe and lit it, and

was #ust sitting down before the fire, when4down went the pipe out of my nerveless

fingers, the blood forsook my $heeks, and my pla$id breathing was $ut short with a

gasp8 In the ashes on the hearth, side by side with my own bare footprint, was another,

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

39/49

so vast that in $omparison mine was but an infant's8 Then I had had a visitor, and the

elephant tread was e=plained.

I put out the light and returned to bed, palsied with fear. I lay a long time, peering intothe darkness, and listening.44Then I heard a grating noise overhead, like the dragging of

a heavy body a$ross the floor- then the throwing down of the body, and the shaking of

my windows in response to the $on$ussion. In distant parts of the building I heard the

muffled slamming of doors. I heard, at intervals, stealthy footsteps $reeping in and out

among the $orridors, and up and down the stairs. (ometimes these noises approa$hed

my door, hesitated, and went away again. I heard the $lanking of $hains faintly, in

remote passages, and listened while the $lanking grew nearer44while it wearily $limbed

the stairways, marking ea$h move by the loose surplus of $hain that fell with an

a$$ented rattle upon ea$h su$$eeding step as the goblin that bore it advan$ed. I heard

muttered senten$es- half4uttered s$reams that seemed smothered violently- and the

swish of invisible garments, the rush of invisible wings. Then I be$ame $ons$ious that

my $hamber was invaded44that I was not alone. I heard sighs and breathings about my

bed, and mysterious whisperings. Three little spheres of soft phosphores$ent light

appeared on the $eiling dire$tly over my head, $lung and glowed there a moment, and

then dropped 44two of them upon my fa$e and one upon the pillow. They, spattered,

li+uidly, and felt warm. Intuition told me they had44turned to gouts of blood as they fell44I

needed no light to satisfy myself of that. Then I saw pallid fa$es, dimly luminous, and

white uplifted hands, floating bodiless in the air44floating a moment and then

disappearing. The whispering $eased, and the voi$es and the sounds, anal a solemn

stillness followed. I waited and listened. I felt that I must have light or die. I was weak

with fear. I slowly raised myself toward a sitting posture, and my fa$e $ame in $onta$t

with a $lammy hand8 All strength went from me apparently, and I fell ba$k like a stri$ken

invalid. Then I heard the rustle of a garment it seemed to pass to the door and go out.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

40/49

When everything was still on$e more, I $rept out of bed, si$k and feeble, and lit the gas

with a hand that trembled as if it were aged with a hundred years. The light brought

some little $heer to my spirits. I sat down and fell into a dreamy $ontemplation of that

great footprint in the ashes. &y and by its outlines began to waver and grow dim. I

glan$ed up and the broad gas4flame was slowly wilting away. In the same moment I

heard that elephantine tread again. I noted its approa$h, nearer and nearer, along the

musty halls, and dimmer and dimmer the light waned. The tread rea$hed my very door

and paused44the light had dwindled to a si$kly blue, and all things about me lay in a

spe$tral twilight. The door did not open, and yet I felt a faint gust of air fan my $heek,

and presently was $ons$ious of a huge, $loudy presen$e before me. I wat$hed it with

fas$inated eyes. A pale glow stole over the Thing- gradually its $loudy folds took shape44

an arm appeared, then legs, then a body, and last a great sad fa$e looked out of the

vapor. (tripped of its filmy housings, naked, mus$ular and $omely, the ma#esti$ !ardiff

2iant loomed above me8

All my misery vanished44for a $hild might know that no harm $ould $ome with that

benignant $ountenan$e. My $heerful spirits returned at on$e, and in sympathy with them

the gas flamed up brightly again. Never a lonely out$ast was so glad to wel$ome

$ompany as I was to greet the friendly giant. I said;

Why, is it nobody but you7 6o you know, I have been s$ared to death for the last two or

three hours7 I am most honestly glad to see you. I wish I had a $hair44%ere, here, don't

try to sit down in that thing44

&ut it was too late. %e was in it before I $ould stop him and down he went44I never saw

a $hair shivered so in my life.

(top, stop, you'll ruin ev44

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

41/49

Too late again. There was another $rash, and another $hair was resolved into its original

elements.

!onfound it, haven't you got any #udgment at' all7 6o you want to ruin all the furnitureon the pla$e7 %ere, here, you petrified fool44

&ut it was no use. &efore I $ould arrest him he had sat down on the bed, and it was a

melan$holy ruin.

Now what sort of a way is that to do7 3irst you $ome lumbering about the pla$e

bringing a legion of vagabond goblins along with you to worry me to death, and then

when I overlook an indeli$a$y of $ostume whi$h would not be tolerated anywhere by

$ultivated people e=$ept in a respe$table theater, and not even there if the nudity were

of your se=, you repay me by wre$king all the furniture you $an find to sit down on. And

why will you7 ou damage yourself as mu$h as you do me. ou have broken off the end

of your spinal $olumn, and littered up the floor with $hips of your hams till the pla$e

looks like a marble yard. ou ought to be ashamed of yourself44you are big enough to

know better.

Well, I will not break any more furniture. &ut what am I to do7 I have not had a $han$e

to sit down for a $entury. And the tears $ame into his eyes.

0oor devil, I said, I should not have been so harsh with you. And you are an orphan,

too, no doubt. &ut sit down on the floor here44nothing else $an stand your weight44and

besides, we $annot be so$iable with you away up there above me- I want you down

where I $an per$h on this high $ounting4house stool and gossip with you fa$e to fa$e.

(o he sat down on the floor, and lit a pipe whi$h I gave him, threw one of my red

blankets over his shoulders, inverted my sit"4bath on his head, helmet fashion, and

made himself pi$tures+ue and $omfortable. Then he $rossed his ankles, while I

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

42/49

renewed the fire, and e=posed the flat, honey$ombed bottoms of his prodigious feet to

the grateful warmth.

What is the matter with the bottom of your feet and the ba$k of your legs, that they aregouged up so7

Infernal $hilblains44I $aught them $lear up to the ba$k of my head, roosting out there

under Newell's farm. &ut I love the pla$e- I love it as one loves his old home. There is no

pea$e for me like the pea$e I feel when I am there.

We talked along for half an hour, and then I noti$ed that he looked tired, and spoke of it.

Tired7 he said. Well, I should think so. And now I will tell you all about it, sin$e you

have treated me so well. I am the spirit of the 0etrified Man that lies a$ross the street

there in the museum. I am the ghost of the !ardiff 2iant. I $an have no rest, no pea$e,

till they have given that poor body burial again. Now what was the most natural thing for

me to do, to make men satisfy this wish7 Terrify them into it8 haunt the pla$e where the

body lay8 (o I haunted the museum night after night. I even got other spirits to help me.

&ut it did no good, for nobody ever $ame to the museum at midnight. Then it o$$urred to

me to $ome over the way and haunt this pla$e a little. I felt that if I ever got a hearing I

must su$$eed, for I had the most effi$ient $ompany that perdition $ould furnish. Night

after night we have shivered around through these mildewed halls, dragging $hains,

groaning, whispering, tramping up and down stairs, till, to tell you the truth, I am almost

worn out. &ut when I saw a light in your room to4night I roused my energies again and

went at it with a deal of the old freshness. &ut I am tired out44entirely fagged out. 2ive

me, I besee$h you, give me some hope8 I lit off my per$h in a burst of e=$itement, and

e=$laimed;

This trans$ends everything8 everything that ever did o$$ur8 Why you poor blundering

old fossil, you have had all your trouble for nothing44 you have been haunting a plaster

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

43/49

$ast of yourself44the real !ardiff 2iant is in Albany844A fa$t. The original fraud was

ingeniously and fraudfully dupli$ated, and e=hibited in New ork as the only genuine

!ardiff 2iant 9to the unspeakable disgust of the owners of the real $olossus: at the very

same time that the latter was drawing $rowds at a museum is Albany,J44!onfound it,

don't you know your own remains7

I never saw su$h an elo+uent look of shame, of pitiable humiliation, overspread a

$ountenan$e before.

The 0etrified Man rose slowly to his feet, and said;

%onestly, is that true7

As true as I am sitting here.

%e took the pipe from his mouth and laid it on the mantel, then stood irresolute a

moment 9un$ons$iously, from old habit, thrusting his hands where his pantaloons

po$kets should have been, and meditatively dropping his $hin on his breast:- and finally

said;

Well4I never felt so absurd before. The 0etrified Man has sold everybody else, and now

the mean fraud has ended by selling its own ghost8 My son, if there is any $harity left in

your heart for a poor friendless phantom like me, don't let this get out. Think how you

would feel if you had made su$h an ass of yourself.

I heard his stately tramp die away, step by step down the stairs and out into the

deserted street, and felt sorry that he was gone, poor fellow44 and sorrier still that he

had $arried off my red blanket and my bath4tub.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

44/49

A Joke

by An$on Chekho7

IT was a bright winter midday. . . . There was a sharp snapping frost and the $urls on

Nadenka's temples and the down on her upper lip were $overed with silvery frost. (he

was holding my arm and we were standing on a high hill. 3rom where we stood to the

ground below there stret$hed a smooth sloping des$ent in whi$h the sun was refle$ted

as in a looking4glass. &eside us was a little sledge lined with bright red $loth.

*et us go down, Nadye"hda 0etrovna8 I besought her. nly on$e8 I assure you we

shall be all right and not hurt.

&ut Nadenka was afraid. The slope from her little goloshes to the bottom of the i$e hill

seemed to her a terrible, immensely deep abyss. %er spirit failed her, and she held her

breath as she looked down, when I merely suggested her getting into the sledge, but

what would it be if she were to risk flying into the abyss8 (he would die, she would go

out of her mind.

I entreat you8 I said. ou mustn't be afraid8 ou know it's poor4spirited, it's $owardly8

Nadenka gave way at last, and from her fa$e I saw that she gave way in mortal dread. I

sat her in the sledge, pale and trembling, put my arm round her and with her $ast myself

down the pre$ipi$e.

The sledge flew like a bullet. The air $left by our flight beat in our fa$es, roared, whistled

in our ears, tore at us, nipped us $ruelly in its anger, tried to tear our heads off our

shoulders. We had hardly strength to breathe from the pressure of the wind. It seemed

as though the devil himself had $aught us in his $laws and was dragging us with a roar

http://americanliterature.com/author/anton-chekhov/bio-books-storieshttp://americanliterature.com/author/anton-chekhov/bio-books-stories

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

45/49

to hell. (urrounding ob#e$ts melted into one long furiously ra$ing streak . . . another

moment and it seemed we should perish.

I love you, Nadya8 I said in a low voi$e.

The sledge began moving more and more slowly, the roar of the wind and the whirr of

the runners was no longer so terrible, it was easier to breathe, and at last we were at

the bottom. Nadenka was more dead than alive. (he was pale and s$ar$ely

breathing. . . . I helped her to get up.

Nothing would indu$e me to go again, she said, looking at me with wide eyes full of

horror. Nothing in the world8 I almost died8

A little later she re$overed herself and looked en+uiringly into my eyes, wondering had I

really uttered those four words or had she fan$ied them in the roar of the hurri$ane. And

I stood beside her smoking and looking attentively at my glove.

(he took my arm and we spent a long while walking near the i$e4hill. The riddle

evidently would not let her rest. . . . %ad those words been uttered or not7 . . . es or

no7 es or no7 It was the +uestion of pride, or honour, of life 44 a very important

+uestion, the most important +uestion in the world. Nadenka kept impatiently,

sorrowfully looking into my fa$e with a penetrating glan$e- she answered at random,

waiting to see whether I would not speak. h, the play of feeling on that sweet fa$e8 I

saw that she was struggling with herself, that she wanted to say something, to ask

some +uestion, but she $ould not find the words- she felt awkward and frightened and

troubled by her #oy. . . .

6o you know what, she said without looking at me.

Well7 I asked.

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

46/49

*et us . . . slide down again.

We $lambered up the i$e4hill by the steps again. I sat Nadenka, pale and trembling, in

the sledge- again we flew into the terrible abyss, again the wind roared and the runnerswhirred, and again when the flight of our sledge was at its swiftest and noisiest, I said in

a low voi$e;

I love you, Nadenka8

When the sledge stopped, Nadenka flung a glan$e at the hill down whi$h we had both

slid, then bent a long look upon my fa$e, listened to my voi$e whi$h was un$on$erned

and passionless, and the whole of her little figure, every bit of it, even her muff and her

hood e=pressed the utmost bewilderment, and on her fa$e was written; What does it

mean7 Who uttered those words7 6id he, or did I only fan$y it7

The un$ertainty worried her and drove her out of all patien$e. The poor girl did not

answer my +uestions, frowned, and was on the point of tears.

%adn't we better go home7 I asked.

Well, I . . . I like this tobogganning, she said, flushing. (hall we go down on$e more7

(he liked the tobogganning, and yet as she got into the sledge she was, as both times

before, pale, trembling, hardly able to breathe for terror.

We went down for the third time, and I saw she was looking at my fa$e and wat$hing my

lips. &ut I put my handker$hief to my lips, $oughed, and when we rea$hed the middle ofthe hill I su$$eeded in bringing out;

I love you, Nadya8

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

47/49

And the mystery remained a mystery8 Nadenka was silent, pondering on something. . . .

I saw her home, she tried to walk slowly, sla$kened her pa$e and kept waiting to see

whether I would not say those words to her, and I saw how her soul was suffering, what

effort she was making not to say to herself;

It $annot be that the wind said them8 And I don't want it to be the wind that said them8

Ne=t morning I got a little note;

If you are tobogganning to4day, $ome for me. 44N.

And from that time I began going every day tobogganning with Nadenka, and as we flewdown in the sledge, every time I pronoun$ed in a low voi$e the same words; I love you,

Nadya8

(oon Nadenka grew used to that phrase as to al$ohol or morphia. (he $ould not live

without it. It is true that flying down the i$e4hill terrified her as before, but now the terror

and danger gave a pe$uliar fas$ination to words of love 44 words whi$h as before were a

mystery and tantali"ed the soul. The same two 44 the wind and I were still

suspe$ted. . . . Whi$h of the two was making love to her she did not know, but

apparently by now she did not $are- from whi$h goblet one drinks matters little if only

the beverage is into=i$ating.

It happened I went to the skating4ground alone at midday- mingling with the $rowd I saw

Nadenka go up to the i$e4hill and look about for me. . . then she timidly mounted the

steps. . . . (he was frightened of going alone 44 oh, how frightened8 (he was white as

the snow, she was trembling, she went as though to the s$affold, but she went, she

went without looking ba$k, resolutely. (he had evidently determined to put it to the test

at last; would those sweet ama"ing words be heard when I was not there7 I saw her,

pale, her lips parted with horror, get into the sledge, shut her eyes and saying good4bye

for ever to the earth, set off. . . . Whrrr8 whirred the runners. Whether Nadenka heard

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

48/49

those words I do not know. I only saw her getting up from the sledge looking faint and

e=hausted. And one $ould tell from her fa$e that she $ould not tell herself whether she

had heard anything or not. %er terror while she had been flying down had deprived of

her all power of hearing, of dis$riminating sounds, of understanding.

&ut then the month of Mar$h arrived . . . the spring sunshine was more kindly. . . . ur

i$e4hill turned dark, lost its brillian$e and finally melted. We gave up tobogganning.

There was nowhere now where poor Nadenka $ould hear those words, and indeed no

one to utter them, sin$e there was no wind and I was going to 0etersburg 44 for long,

perhaps for ever.

It happened two days before my departure I was sitting in the dusk in the little garden

whi$h was separated from the yard of Nadenka's house by a high fen$e with nails in

it. . . . It was still pretty $old, there was still snow by the manure heap, the trees looked

dead but there was already the s$ent of spring and the rooks were $awing loudly as

they settled for their night's rest. I went up to the fen$e and stood for a long while

peeping through a $hink. I saw Nadenka $ome out into the por$h and fi= a mournful

yearning ga"e on the sky. . . . The spring wind was blowing straight into her palede#e$ted fa$e. . . . It reminded her of the wind whi$h roared at us on the i$e4hill when

she heard those four words, and her fa$e be$ame very, very sorrowful, a tear tri$kled

down her $heek, and the poor $hild held out both arms as though begging the wind to

bring her those words on$e more. And waiting for the wind I said in a low voi$e;

I love you, Nadya8

Mer$y8 The $hange that $ame over Nadenka8 (he uttered a $ry, smiled all over her fa$e

and looking #oyful, happy and beautiful, held out her arms to meet the wind.

And I went off to pa$k up. . . .

7/26/2019 POEM - DEV R.

49/49

That was long ago. Now Nadenka is married- she married 44 whether of her own $hoi$e

or not does not matter 44 a se$retary of the Nobility Wardenship and now she has three

$hildren. That we on$e went tobogganning together, and that the wind brought her the

words I love you, Nadenka, is not forgotten- it is for her now the happiest, most

tou$hing, and beautiful memory in her life. . . .

&ut now that I am older I $annot understand why I uttered those words, what was my

motive in that #oke. . . .