Auguries of Innocence

source: poetryfoundation.org
Poet: William Blake

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage
A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thr’ all its regions
A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State
A Horse misusd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear
A Skylark wounded in the wing
A Cherubim does cease to sing
The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright
Every Wolfs & Lions howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul
The wild deer, wandring here & there
Keeps the Human Soul from Care
The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife
And yet forgives the Butchers knife
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that wont Believe
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbelievers fright
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belovd by Men
He who the Ox to wrath has movd
Shall never be by Woman lovd
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly

Six Honest Serving-Men

Poet: Rudyard Kipling
Poem: I Keep Six Honest Serving Men
source: kiplingsociety.co.uk
curated by: Dr B Damodaran

I KEEP six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
I send them over land and sea,
I send them east and west;
But after they have worked for me,
I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five,
For I am busy then,
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
For they are hungry men.
But different folk have different views;
I know a person small—
She keeps ten million serving-men,
Who get no rest at all!

She sends’em abroad on her own affairs,
From the second she opens her eyes—
One million Hows, two million Wheres,
And seven million Whys!

Where the mind is without fear

source: allpoetry.com
quote: Rabindranath Tagore

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.

Incident of the French Camp

source: bartleby.com
author: Robert Browning (1812–89)

YOU know, we French storm’d Ratisbon:
A mile or so away
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 5
Legs wide, arms lock’d behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mus’d “My plans
That soar, to earth may fall, 10
Let once my army leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall,”—
Out ’twixt the battery smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reach’d the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horse’s mane, a boy:
You hardly could suspect—
(So tight he kept his lips compress’d,
Scarce any blood came through)
You look’d twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.

“Well,” cried he, “Emporor, by God’s grace
We ’ve got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal’s in the market-place,
And you ’ll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart’s desire,
Perch’d him!” The chief’s eye flash’d; his plans
Soar’d up again like fire,

The chief’s eye flash’d; but presently
Soften’d itself, as sheathes
A film the mothe-eagle’s eye
When her bruis’d eaglet breathes.
“You ’re wounded!” “Nay,” the soldier’s pride
Touch’d to the quick, he said:
“I ’m kill’d, Sire!” And his chief beside,
Smiling the boy fell dead.