Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Robert Frost

Among School Children

I walk through the long school room questioning

A kind old nun in a white hood replies;

The children learn to cipher and to sing,

To study. reading books, and history,

To cut and sew, be neat in everything

In the best modern way-the children's eyes

In momentary wonder stare upon

A sixty year old smiling public man.

William Butler Yeats

Porphyria's Lover

Porphyria's Lover

By Robert Browning 

(1812-1889)

The rain set early in tonight.

The sullen wind was soon awake.

It tore the elm-tops down for spite

and it did its worst to vex the lake. 

I listened with heart fit to break.

When glided in Porphyria; straight.

She shut the cold out and the storm

and kneeled and made the cheerless grate.

Blaze up, and all the cottage warm.

Which done, she rose and from her from

and laid her soiled gloves by, untied

her hat and let the damp hair fall.

And last she sat down by my side

and called me. 

When no voice replied,

she put my arm about her waist, 

and all her yellow hair displaced,

and, stooping, made my cheek lie there

and spread, o'er all, her yellow hair.

Murmuring how she loved me-she

too weak for all her heart's endeavor

to set its struggling passion free

from pride and vainer ties dissever.

And give herself to me forever.

But passion sometimes would prevail.

Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain

a sudden thought of one so pale.

For love of her and all in vain.

So she was come through wind and rain.

Be sure I looked up at her eyes.

Happy and proud at last I knew.

Porphyria worshiped me; surprise

Made my heart swell and still it grew.

While I debated what to do. 

That moment she was mine, mine fair. 

Perfectly pure and good: I found

a thing to do and all her hair

in one long yellow string I wound.

Three times her little throat around 

and strangled her. No pain felt she;

I am quite sure she felt no pain.

As a shut bud that hold a bee

I warily opened her lids; again

laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

And I untightened next the tress

about her neck, her cheek once more.

Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss

I propped her head up as before.

Only this time my shoulder bore

her head, which droops upon it still.

The smiling rosy little head.

So glad it has its utmost will.

That all it scorned at once is fled.

And I, its love, am gained instead!

Porphyria's love; she guessed not how

her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now.

And all night long we have not stirred.

And yet God has not said a word!