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Há 5 dias · Plunder of earth shall be all his own. Who travels the fastest and travels alone. Wherefore the more ye be helpen-.en and stayed, Stayed by a friend in the hour of toil, Sing the heretical song I have made--. His be the labour and yours be the spoil. Win by his aid and the aid disown--. He travels the fastest who travels alone! Rudyard Kipling.
Há 5 dias · Ye say the quest is vain. Ye have not seen my foe. Ye have not told his slain. Surely he fights again, again; But when ye prove his line, There shall come to your aid my broken blade. In the last, lost fight of mine! And here is my lance to mend (Haro!), And here is my horse to be shot!
Há 3 dias · Watch the iron-shouldered rocks lie down and quake, As the thirsty desert-level floods and fills, And the valley we have dammed becomes a lake. But remember, please, the Law by which we live, We are not built to comprehend a lie, We can neither love nor pity nor forgive. If you make a slip in handling us you die!
Há 4 dias · Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree, Damned from here to Eternity, God ha' mercy on such as we, Baa! Yah! Bah! Oh, it's sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to empty kitchen slops, And it's sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell, To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental hops.
Há 5 dias · The Friends. But I haven't seen a Firefly since ever so long ago! And I haven't seen a Cocoa-palm since ever so long ago! With a Coal-sack on his shoulder when a little boy was born. But I haven't seen the Southern Cross since ever so long ago! Till I found my dream was foolish, for my friends were all alive. And the Fireflies were dancing, so ...
Há 2 dias · Emily Dickinson (2414 poems) 2. Madison Julius Cawein (1231 poems) 3. Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1136 poems) 4. William Wordsworth (1016 poems) 5. Robert Burns (986 poems) 6. Edgar Albert Guest (945 poems) 7. Thomas Moore (849 poems) 8. Robert Service (831 poems)
Há 5 dias · The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us. At rest in the hollows that rustle between. Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow; Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease! The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas. Rudyard Kipling.
