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Fragments
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Neglected record of a mind neglected,
Unto what "lets and stops" art thou subjected!
The day with all
its toils and occupations,
The night with its reflections and sensations,
The future, and the present, and the past,--
All
I remember, feel, and hope at last,
All shapes of joy and sorrow, as they pass,--
Find but a dusty image in this glass.
Twilight
by Sara Teasdale
Dreamily over the roofs
The cold spring rain is falling,
Out in the lonely
tree
A bird is calling, calling.
Slowly over the earth
The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird
in the tree
Is calling, calling, calling.
Remorse
by
Siegfried Sassoon
Lost in the swamp and welter of the pit,
He flounders off the duck-boards; only he knows
Each flash and spouting crash,--each instant lit
When gloom reveals the streaming rain. He goes
Heavily, blindly on. And, while he blunders,
"Could anything be worse than this?"--he wonders,
Remembering how he saw those Germans run,
Screaming for mercy among the stumps of trees:
Green-faced, they dodged and darted: there was one
Livid with terror, clutching at his knees. . .
Our chaps were sticking 'em like pigs . . . "O hell!"
He thought--"there's things in war one dare not
tell
Poor father sitting safe at home, who reads
Of dying heroes and their deathless deeds."
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