Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
we had goldfish and they circled around and around in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
The time will come when, with elation
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now,
'Hope' is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul—
Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice.
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
The low lands call I am tempted to answer
Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier,
I want you to know one thing.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.
No man is an island, Entire of itself,
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -- because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land;
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies,
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end.