Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
The time will come when, with elation
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now,
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die
'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.
The low lands call I am tempted to answer
Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier,
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;
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
On the Ning Nang Nong Where the Cows go Bong!
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills,