Cream of the Crop 26/Cream of the Crop 26.iso/educate/fastyp51.zip/TYP.V51/FT4502.TYP

Text File | 1997-06-01 | 17KB | 315 lines

##FT4502.TYP##
// Copyright 1997 Trendtech Corporation, All Rights Reserved
@TEXT@
When I see birches bend to the left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that.öö Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After the rain.öö They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust-
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
Bit I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows-
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
BY riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer.öö He learned all there was 
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground.öö He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
The he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across the open.
I'd like to get away from the earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return.öö Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
-Robert Frost, "Birches"
@TEXT@
The well was dry beside the door,
And so we went with pail and can
Across the fields behind the house
To seek the brook if still it ran;

Not loth to have excuse to go,
Because the autumn eve was fair
(Though chill), because the fields were ours,
And by the brook our woods were there.

We ran as if to meet the moon
That slowly dawned behind the trees,
The barren boughs without the leaves,
Without the birds, without the breeze.

But once within the wood, we paused
Like gnomes that hid us from the moon,
Ready to run to hiding new
With laughter when she found us soon.

Each laid on other a staying hand
To listen ere we dared to look,
And in the hush we joined to make
We heard, we knew we heard that brook.

A note as from a single place,
A slender tinkling fall that made
Now drops that floated on the pool
Like pearls, and now a silver blade.

-Robert Frost, "Going for Water"
@TEXT@
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the leveled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown.
And I must be, as he had been, -alone,

"As all must be," I said within my heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as the eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
An hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

"Men work together," I told him from the heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."

-Robert Frost, "The Tuft of Flowers"
@TEXT@
In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy
was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did not want him.ööOn the same day another English
child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him.ööAll England wanted him too.öö
England had so longed for him, and hoped for him, and prayed God for him, that, now that he was really
come, the people went nearly mad for joy.ööMere acquaintances hugged and kissed each other and cried.öö
Everybody took a holiday, and high and low, rich and poor, feasted and danced and sang, and got very
mellow; and they kept this up for days and nights together.ööBy day, London was a sight to see, with gay
banners waving from every balcony and housetop, and splendid pageants marching along.ööBy night, it was
again a sight to see, with its great bonfires at every corner, and its troops of revelers making merry around
them.öö There was no talk in all England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor,  Prince of Wales, who lay
lapped in silks and satins, unconscious of all this fuss, and not knowing that great lords and ladies were
tending him and watching over him- and not caring, either.ööBut there was no talk about the other baby, Tom
Canty, lapped in his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble with
his presence.
-Mark Twain, "The Prince and The Pauper", 1881
@TEXT@
Saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life.ööThere
was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the lips.ööThere was cheer in every
face and a spring in every step.ööThe locust-trees were in bloom and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the
air.ööCardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far enough away
to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.öö  Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket
of whitewash and a long-handled brush.ööHe surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep
melancholy settled down upon his spirit.ööThirty yards of board fence nine feet high.ööLife to him seemed
hollow, and existence but a burden.ööSighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank;
repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching
continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged.ööJim came skipping out at the
gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals.ööBringing water from the town pump had always been hateful
work in Tom's eyes, before, but now it did not strike him so.ööHe remembered that there was company at the
pump.ööBoys and girls were always there waiting their turns, resting, trading
playthings, quarreling, fighting, skylarking.ööAnd he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred
and fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an hour -- and even then somebody
generally had to go after him.
-Mark Twain, "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer"
@TEXT@
My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both
names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip.ööSo, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.ööI give
Pirrip as my father's family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister - Mrs. Joe Gargery, who
married the blacksmith.ööAs I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of
them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were
like, were unreasonably derived from their tombstones.ööThe shape of the letters on my father's, gave me an
odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair.ööFrom the character and turn of the
inscription, `Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,' I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled
and sickly.ööTo five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat
row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine - who gave up trying to
get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle - I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained
that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken
them out in this state of existence.öö
Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea.ööMy first
most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things, seems to me to have been gained on a memorable
raw afternoon towards evening.ööAt such a time I found out for certain, that this bleak place overgrown with
nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above,
were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of
the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard,
intersected with dykes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that
the low leaden line beyond, was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing,
was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was
Pip.
-Charles Dickens, "Great Expectations"
@TEXT@
"I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors
who have risen on the destruction of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall cease
out of its present use.ööI see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their
struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through tong long years to come, I see the evil of
this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and
wearing out.öö
"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy, in that England which
I shall see no more.ööI see Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name.ööI see her father, aged and
bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing office, and at peace.ööI see the good old
man, so long their friend, in ten years' time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his
reward.
"I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence.ööI see
her, an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this day.ööI see her and her husband, their course
done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that each was not more honored and held
sacred in the other's soul, than I was in the souls of both.
"I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of
life which once was mine.ööI see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of
his.ööI see the blots I threw upon it, faded away.ööI see him, foremost of just judges and honored men, bringing
a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place -- then fair to look upon, with
not a trace of this day's disfigurement -- and I hear him tell the child my story, with a tender and a faltering
voice.öö
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have
ever known."
-Charles Dickens, "A Tale of Two Cities"
@TEXT@
I WONDER about the trees.öö
Why do we wish to bear 
Forever the noise of these 
More than another noise 
So close to our dwelling place?öö
We suffer them by the day 
Till we lose all measure of pace, 
And fixity in our joys, 
And acquire a listening air.öö
They are that that talks of going 
But never gets away; 
And that talks no less for knowing, 
As it grows wiser and older, 
That now it means to stay.öö
My feet tug at the floor 
And my head sways to my shoulder 
Sometimes when I watch trees sway, 
From the window or the door.öö
I shall set forth for somewhere, 
I shall make the reckless choice 
Some day when they are in voice 
And tossing so as to scare 
The white clouds over them on.öö
I shall have less to say, 
But I shall be gone.

-Robert Frost, "The Sound of the Trees"
@TEXT@
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 
And sorry I could not travel both 
And be one traveler, long I stood 
And looked down one as far as I could 
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 
And having perhaps the better claim, 
Because it was grassy and wanted wear; 
Though as for that the passing there 
Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally lay 
In leaves no step had trodden black.öö
Oh, I kept the first for another day!öö
Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 
I doubted if I should ever come back.öö

I shall be telling this with a sigh 
Somewhere ages and ages hence: 
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- 
I took the one less traveled by, 
And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken"
@TEXT@
Her godmother called while she was in tears, and asked her what was the matter?ööCinderella said, she
wished to go to the ball.ööWell, said her godmother, you shall go.ööRun into the garden, and bring me a
pumpkin.ööCinderella fetched the finest she could, not thinking how this pumpkin could cause her to go to
the ball.ööHer godmother then struck it with her wand, & turned it into a coach, covered with gold.ööShe went
to the mousetrap, and found six mice, she tapped them all with her wand, and they became six most
beautiful dapple horses.ööCinderella then fetched the rat trap, the fairy touched the largest rat, and he was
turned into a jolly coachman.ööShe then told Cinderella to fetch from behind the garden pot six lizards, who
when she had turned to six footmen, leaped behind the coach.ööThe fairy asked her if she liked her equipage
she replied, very much indeed, but sure I can't go in these rags.ööShe then touched Cinderella, and her clothes
were turned into cloth of silver and gold, beset with jewels.ööShe gave her a pair of Glass Slippers, and told
her to get into the carriage, but ordered her not to stay till after midnight, for if she stayed one moment after,
her coach would be a pumpkin again her horses mice, her coachman a rat, her footmen lizards, and her
clothes become as they were before.ööCinderella promised her godmother, to leave before midnight, and
away she went.
-J. Wrigley, c. 1800-25, "Cinderella"