Game Zone - 1,000+ Games/GAMEZONE.BIN/Programs/Win/KIDWARE/TYPING.DAT

INI File | 1993-08-30 | 5.5 KB | 155 lines

[EASY 1]
I'm nobody. Who are you?
Are you nobody too?
Then there's a pair of us.
Don't tell - they'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody,
How public - like a frog -
To tell your name the livelong June
To an admiring bog.
[EASY 2]
Not in this world to see his face.
Sounds long, until I read the place
Where this is said to be
But just the primer to a life
Unopened, rare, upon the shelf
Clasped yet to hm and me;
and  yet my primer suits me so,
I would not choose a book to know
Than that be sweeter wise.
Might someone else so learned be
and leave me just my ABC,
Himself could have the skies.
[EASY 3]
I stepped from plank to plank,
A slow and cautious way;
The stars about my head I felt,
About my feet the sea.
I knew not but the next
would be my final inch.
This gave me the precarious gait
some call experience.
[EASY 4]
A deed knocks first at thought,
And then it knocks at will.
That is the manufacturing spot.
And, will at home and well,
It then goes out an act,
Or is entombed so still
That only to the ear of God
Its doom is audible.
[INTER 1]
Proudly the flood comes in, shouting, foaming, advancing
Long it holds at the high, with bosom broad outswelling
All throbs, dilates - the farms, woods, streets of cities -
workmen at work,
Mainsails, topsails, jibs, appear in the offing - steamers'
pennants of smoke - and under the forenoon sun,
Freighted with human lives, gaily the outward bound,
gaily the inward bound,
flaunting from many a spar the flag I love.
[INTER 2]
I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I know engirth me
And I engirth them,
They will not let me off until
I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full
with the charge of the soul

[INTER 3]
Come said the Muse,
Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,
Sing me the universal.
In this broad earth of ours,
amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.
By every life a share or more or less
None born but it is born, concealed
or unconcealed, the seed is waiting.
Lo keen-eyed towering science,
As from tall peaks the modern overlooking,
successful absolute fiats issuing
[INTER 4]
That music always round me, unceasing,
unbeginning, yet long untaught I do not hear,
But now the chorus I hear and am elated,
A tenor, strong, ascending with power and health,
with glad note of daybreak I hear,
A soprano at intervals sailing buoyantly
over the tops of immense waves,
A transparent base shuddering lusciously
under and through the universe,
The triumphant tutti, the funeral wailings
with sweet flutes and violins,
all these I fill myself with,
I hear not the volumes of sound merely,
I am moved by the exquisite meanings,
I listen to the different voices winding in and out,
striving, contending with fiery vehemence
to excel each other in emotion;
I do not think the performers know themselves
- but now I think I begin to know them
[HARD 1]
Not mine own feat, nor the prophetic soul,
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
The mortal Moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
and the sad augurs mock their own presage,
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time,
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crest and tombs of brass are spent.
[HARD 2]
When in the Chronicle of wasted time,
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of Ladies dead, and lovely Knights,
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expess'd,
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring,
And for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
[HARD 3]
When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising),
From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven's gate
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with Kings.
[HARD 4]
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste:
Then can I drown an eye (unus'd to flow)
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er,
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay, as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee (dear friend)
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end.
[end]