I always traveled. I left Cameroon when I was 11 years old. I lived in the USA, in Switzerland.
quote by Yannick Noah
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Veterinary Camps
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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Soccer Under 20
soccer teams close to pa
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Back To The Usa {live-74}
Im going back, back, Im going back, yeah
Im going back baby, Im going back, yeah
Im going back, back to the usa
Hello, mary, did you get back today
Just got in, in from the usa
Im a going back, back to the usa
Shes my little baby gonna rock and roll with her
Just the way she love me I really got it hot for her
Im a going back, back to the usa
(instrumental)
Little baby gonna rock and roll with her
Just the way she love I really got it hot for her
Im a going back back to the usa
Hello, mary, did you get back today
Just got in, in from the usa
Im a going back, back to the usa
(more instrumental)
Im going back back Im going back baby Im going back
Im a going back Im going back, back to the usa
Back back back, back yeah, Im a going back
Well Im going back Im a going back, back to the usa
Back back back, Im a going back, Im a going back,
Well Im going back, Im a going back, back to the usa
(another long instrumental out to the end...)
song performed by Ufo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Waiting
I'm still waiting -- 4x
Waiting for Christ in the USA
Waiting for Christ in the USA
Waiting for Christ in the USA
Waiting til I die
Chorus
Waiting for the day
Waiting for the day
Waiting for the day
He needs me
I'm still waiting -- 4x
Wasting my time in the USA
Wasting my time in the USA
Wasting my life in the USA
Waiting til I die
Chorus
Chorus
I'm still waiting -- 4x
Waiting for a life in the USA
Waiting for a life in the USA
Waiting for a life in the USA
song performed by Ministry
Added by Lucian Velea
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Girls In The USA
For all the pretty girls just say yeah yeah yeah!
To all my girls in the USA
Ya got a fine thing goin'
So I gotta say
You been good to me
So now I'm down
Gotta drop the line
Gotta give em a shout
LA girls give me the sign
See you on the strip
Lookin' too damn fine
My Texas honey's
Always on the road
Gimme lots of love at the Alamo
To my DC girls workin' 9-5
With the business suits
Keep the country in line
All the Tampa girls
Lemme hear ya scream
On the Ybor strip
Walkin on the street
[Chorus]
Why does she walk that way
Walk that way
Why
She spends my money the American way
Why
Coast to coast
New York to LA
Why
To all my girls in the USA
I got a little thing in the Denver hills
A real fine mama
With sex appeal
And Boston's got the ones I love
With the college girls
At the Aria
And I've always been down with the NYC
Cuz I love the legs
Of Miss Liberty
Hawaii girls
Give me the lei
When I wanna treasure hunt
For some canday
And I still gotta get my desert fix
With some Vegas girls
[...] Read more
song performed by Nick Carter from Now Or Never
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Abi Nimo Og Sikat Ka Na Kay Usa Ka Na Ka Magbabalak
ayaw pailad sa imong kaugalingon
kon moingon sila nga ikaw sikat
dako kana nga bakak
abi nimo og sikat ka na
kay kuno ikaw
usa na ka magbabalak sama kanila
momata inig kaadlawon
aron kunohay mamati
sa mga tingog sa awit sa mga gangis
nga gihimo sa ginoo alang lang
kanimo
abi nimo og usa ka na ka halangdon
nga tawo nga pagapurongpurongan
sa usa ka korona sa kahayag
nga gimugna alang lang
sa bulan ug mga bitoon
ug sa adlaw ug usab
kanimo
sayop ka
usa ka lamang ka magbabalak
tighawid sa lapis
tigtuplok sa mga letra
sa imong computer
tigpatik sa dugay na nga ania dinhi
tig-aninaw sa mga karaan nga butang
nga dili imo kay kini sila nauna na
sa ilang tagsa-tagsa ka yugto
ug panahon sa ilang kinabuhi
ug pagkamatay
nagtikawtikaw na samtang wala pa gani
matawo ang imong mga lolo og lola
samtang wala pa gani
nangulag ang imong
papa ug mama
sayop ka
usa ka lamang ka tingog
nga dili nila madungog ug kon madungog man
dili gani nila paminawon kay
daghan pa kaayo silag buluhaton
ang pagtanom sa mga lagotmon
ang pagpangisda ug pagpamaling
ang pagpamasol
ang pagtikad sa yuta
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Virginia's Story
Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.
She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.
When she was old enough she got married.
First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.
Agnes was my mother.
Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.
Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.
Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.
Anna was a maid and cook.
She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth
They were both good cooks
They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.
My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.
She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.
[...] Read more
poem by Talile Ali
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Everybody's A Victim
Everybody's a victim
Seems we're going that way
Everybody's a victim
We're becoming like the USA
Everybody's a victim
Seems we're going that way
Everybody's a victim
We're becoming like the USA
I demand recompense
For sitting on the fence
Throughout my adult life
You've got to put my parents in jail
For raising me in Fife
It doesn't matter what I do
You have to say it's alright
And I need you to send somebody around
To tuck me in at night
Because...
Everybody's a victim
Seems we're going that way
Everybody's a victim
We're becoming like the USA
Well it's not my fault
That I'm positive
I just stuck a needle in my arm
And nobody told me
That sixty a day
Would do me any harm
My liver's shrivelling like a leaf
But it's not the whisky that doo's it
Call me irresponsible
And I'm really going to lose it
Because...
Everybody's a victim
Seems we're going that way
Everybody's a victim
We're becoming like the USA
Wear a ribbon for this
Hug a stranger for that
Light a candle to the dead
And soon you'll forget
That you ever had
A brain inside our head
We value everythin the same
We turn it into farce
So we don't know a crisis
'Till it kicks us up the arse
Because...
Everybody's a victim
Seems we're going that way
[...] Read more
song performed by Proclaimers
Added by Lucian Velea
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First Book
OF writing many books there is no end;
And I who have written much in prose and verse
For others' uses, will write now for mine,–
Will write my story for my better self,
As when you paint your portrait for a friend,
Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it
Long after he has ceased to love you, just
To hold together what he was and is.
I, writing thus, am still what men call young;
I have not so far left the coasts of life
To travel inland, that I cannot hear
That murmur of the outer Infinite
Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep
When wondered at for smiling; not so far,
But still I catch my mother at her post
Beside the nursery-door, with finger up,
'Hush, hush–here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes
Leap forward, taking part against her word
In the child's riot. Still I sit and feel
My father's slow hand, when she had left us both,
Stroke out my childish curls across his knee;
And hear Assunta's daily jest (she knew
He liked it better than a better jest)
Inquire how many golden scudi went
To make such ringlets. O my father's hand,
Stroke the poor hair down, stroke it heavily,–
Draw, press the child's head closer to thy knee!
I'm still too young, too young to sit alone.
I write. My mother was a Florentine,
Whose rare blue eyes were shut from seeing me
When scarcely I was four years old; my life,
A poor spark snatched up from a failing lamp
Which went out therefore. She was weak and frail;
She could not bear the joy of giving life–
The mother's rapture slew her. If her kiss
Had left a longer weight upon my lips,
It might have steadied the uneasy breath,
And reconciled and fraternised my soul
With the new order. As it was, indeed,
I felt a mother-want about the world,
And still went seeking, like a bleating lamb
Left out at night, in shutting up the fold,–
As restless as a nest-deserted bird
Grown chill through something being away, though what
It knows not. I, Aurora Leigh, was born
To make my father sadder, and myself
Not overjoyous, truly. Women know
The way to rear up children, (to be just,)
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Nuclear Is Safe? No They Lied To You
A list of non classified nuclear disasters
chalk one up for Chalk River Canada
rating 5 a “reactor shutoff rod failure,
combined with several operator errors,
led to a major power excursion of more
than double the reactor's rated output
at AECL's NRX reactor” then a big deal.1952
Entrant two Windscale Pile United Kingdom
rating 5 a “Release of radioactive material to
the environment following a fire in a reactor
core.” Toast a good year for nuclear disasters.1957
graphite core of a British nuclear “[weapons
programme] reactor at Windscale, Cumberland
(now Sellafield, Cumbria) caught fire, releasing
substantial amounts of radioactive contamination
into the surrounding area.” Radioactive fire.
A warm welcome to entrant three. Kyshtym
Russia rating 6 a “Significant release of
radioactive material to the environment
from explosion of a high activity waste tank.” 1957
Please all welcome contestant one back
Chalk River Canada (rating?) “Due to
inadequate cooling a damaged uranium
fuel rod caught fire and was torn in two.” 1958
Champagne pops cheer another good year
Vinč a Yugoslavia (rating?) “During
a subcritical counting experiment a power
buildup went undetected - six scientists
received high doses.” What detailed detail? 1958
Applause please for our first American entry
Santa Susana Field Laboratory US (rating?)
“Partial core meltdown.” Sounds serious.
Tick one deep operations public cover up.1959
Time to take a nice country waltz in a US county
Westinghouse Waltz Mill Westmoreland County
(rating?) a core melt accident in a test reactor? 1960
Looks like American is going for a hat trick
Charlestown US (rating?) “Error by a worker
at a United Nuclear Corporation fuel facility
led to an accidental criticality”. Human error? 1964
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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II. Half-Rome
What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)
Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lancelot And Elaine
Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.
How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.
For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,
And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty moonshine, unawares
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Canto the First
I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.
II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.
III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.
IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.
V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Loraine
This is the story of one man’s soul.
The paths are stony and passion is blind,
And feet must bleed ere the light we find.
The cypher is writ on Life’s mighty scroll,
And the key is in each man’s mind.
But who read aright, ye have won release,
Ye have touched the joy in the heart of Peace.
PART I
THERE’S a bend of the river on Glenbar run
Which the wild duck haunt at the set of sun,
And the song of the waters is softened so
That scarcely its current is heard to flow;
And the blackfish hide by the shady bank
’Neath the sunken logs where the reeds are rank,
And the halcyon’s mail is an azure gleam
O’er the shifting shoals of the silver bream,
And the magpies chatter their idle whim,
And the wagtails flitter along the brim,
And tiny martins with breasts of snow
Keep fluttering restlessly to and fro,
And the weeping willows have framed the scene
With the trailing fall of their curtains green,
And the grass grows lush on the level leas
’Neath the low gnarled boughs of the apple trees,
Where the drowsy cattle dream away
The noon-tide hours of the summer day.
There’s a shady nook by the old tree where
The track comes winding from Bendemeer.
So faint are the marks of the bridle track,
From the old slip-rails on the ridge’s back,
That few can follow the lines I know—
But I ride with the shadows of long ago!
I am gaunt and gray, I am old and worn,
But my heart goes back to a radiant morn
When someone waited and watched for me
In the friendly shade of that grand old tree.
The winter of Memory brings again
The summer rapture of passionate pain,
And she comes to me with the morning grace
On her sun-gold hair and her lily face,
And her blue eyes soft with the dreamy light
She stole from the stars of the Southern night,
And her slender form like a springtide flower
That sprang from the earth in a magic hour,
With the trembling smile and the tender tone
And the welcome glance—that were mine alone.
And we sit once more as we sat of old
When the future lay in a haze of gold—
[...] Read more
poem by George Essex Evans
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Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
But, courage! for around that boisterous brook
The mountains have all opened out themselves,
And made a hidden valley of their own.
No habitation can be seen; but they
Who journey thither find themselves alone
With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
That overhead are sailing in the sky.
It is in truth an utter solitude;
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell
But for one object which you might pass by,
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook
Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones!
And to that simple object appertains
A story--unenriched with strange events,
Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside,
Or for the summer shade. It was the first
Of those domestic tales that spake to me
Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men
Whom I already loved; not verily
For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills
Where was their occupation and abode.
And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy
Careless of books, yet having felt the power
Of Nature, by the gentle agency
Of natural objects, led me on to feel
For passions that were not my own, and think
(At random and imperfectly indeed)
On man, the heart of man, and human life.
Therefore, although it be a history
Homely and rude, I will relate the same
For the delight of a few natural hearts;
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
Of youthful Poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone.
UPON the forest-side in Grasmere Vale
There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name;
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs,
And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt
And watchful more than ordinary men.
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds,
Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes,
When others heeded not, He heard the South
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
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USA Today
I heard you've been wondering
How I'm getting along
I guess you think I can't make it with you gone
But I don't want you to worry
Don't you lose any sleep
But a man called long-distance this morning
Said they're thinking about putting me
On the cover of the USA Today
The story of heart-breaking pain
Picture of the loneliest man they claim in the USA Today
I don't sleep in the nighttime
Darkness reminds me of you
I lost eight pounds since last Tuesday
But I could stand to lose a few
I don't believe I'm too bad
People say I look fine
The man from the paper seems happy
Says I'm bigger than the latest crime
On the cover of the USA Today
The story of heart-breaking pain
Picture of the loneliest man they claim in the USA Today
So if you're concerned in trouble
Then you're hurting me
Don't you work out this little thing called losing you
Has made a big man out of me
I'm on the cover of the USA Today
The story of heart-breaking pain
Picture of the loneliest man they claim in the USA Today
song performed by Alan Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cage
Walking down the street do you stare at your feet and never do you let your eyes meet the freaks, The deadbeat addicts,
social fanatics, they're a dime a dozen and they carry guns
Halloween, every other day of the week
Living in a cage in the USA
Living in a cage in the USA
Holy smoke, somebody blew up the pope
Living in a cage in the USA
All around us the rules are changing
Taller walls and stronger cages
Nothing is sacred or too outrageous
Taller walls and stronger cages
What in the world is happening to the world?
What in the world?
Driving in your Mercades you think you're safe, but you're never safe in a world of hate with criminal minds with guns and
knives who say "gimme your ride or give your life"
Halloween, every other day of the week
Living in a cage in the USA
Living in a cage in the USA
Holy smoke, somebody blew up the pope
Living in a cage in the USA
All around us the rules are changing
Taller walls and stronger cages
Nothing is sacred or too outrageous
Taller walls and stronger cages
What in the world is happening to the world?
What in the world?
song performed by King Crimson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dancin' Across The USA
We went dancin' across the USA
On that crazy king's highway
Too much passion
Too much play
We went dancin'...dancin'...dancin' across the USA
Well the curtain falls too early, so they say
Some will go
Others just stay and stay
So have a round on me my friend
Buttercup days are through
You know I always love 'em
But I think it's time that we flew
We went dancin' across the USA
On that crazy king's highway
Too much passion
Too much play
We went dancin'...dancin'...dancin' across the USA
I wonder if they'll ever understand
The trials of a freedom seeking man
So have a round on me my friend
What else can we do
You know I always love ya
But I think it's time that we flew
We went dancin' across the USA
On that crazy king's highway
Too much passion
Too much play
We went dancin'...dancin'...dancin' across the USA
Dancin'...dancin'...dancin' across the US
We went dancin...
Dancin'...dancin'...dancin' across the US
We went dancin...
Dancin'...dancin'...dancin' across the US
We went dancin...
Dancin'...dancin'...dancin' across the US
We went dancin...
Dancin'...dancin'...dancin' across the US
We went dancin...
song performed by Lindsey Buckingham
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hinay Hinay Lang
usa ka higayon
usa ka ginhawa
usa ka tikang
hinay hinay lang
ang pagdawat
sa karon
ilabay na ang
gahapon og
ayaw lang sa
dawata ang
ugma
lisod ang tawong
magbagood
daghang mangahulog
kay dili na mahawiran
sa iyang gagmayng
mga kamot
dili mo mahakop ang
tanan
dili mo na magakos
ang dako og
karaan kaayong
kahoy
og busa mas
maayo pag
molingkod ka
na lang una
sa iyang silong
og manghaw-as
sa mga dili
na nimo
kinahanglan
tan-awa ang
mga gamot sa
kahoy
pamatia ang
kalinaw sa
iyang mga dahon
batia ang kabugnaw
sa iyang landong
karon
ang pamalandong
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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The King of the Vasse
A LEGEND OF THE BUSH.
MY tale which I have brought is of a time
Ere that fair Southern land was stained with crime,
Brought thitherward in reeking ships and cast
Like blight upon the coast, or like a blast
From angry levin on a fair young tree,
That stands thenceforth a piteous sight to see.
So lives this land to-day beneath the sun,—
A weltering plague-spot, where the hot tears run,
And hearts to ashes turn, and souls are dried
Like empty kilns where hopes have parched and died.
Woe's cloak is round her,—she the fairest shore
In all the Southern Ocean o'er and o'er.
Poor Cinderella! she must bide her woe,
Because an elder sister wills it so.
Ah! could that sister see the future day
When her own wealth and strength are shorn away,
A.nd she, lone mother then, puts forth her hand
To rest on kindred blood in that far land;
Could she but see that kin deny her claim
Because of nothing owing her but shame,—
Then might she learn 'tis building but to fall,
If carted rubble be the basement-wall.
But this my tale, if tale it be, begins
Before the young land saw the old land's sins
Sail up the orient ocean, like a cloud
Far-blown, and widening as it neared,—a shroud
Fate-sent to wrap the bier of all things pure,
And mark the leper-land while stains endure.
In the far days, the few who sought the West
Were men all guileless, in adventurous quest
Of lands to feed their flocks and raise their grain,
And help them live their lives with less of pain
Than crowded Europe lets her children know.
From their old homesteads did they seaward go,
As if in Nature's order men must flee
As flow the streams,—from inlands to the sea.
In that far time, from out a Northern land,
With home-ties severed, went a numerous band
Of men and wives and children, white-haired folk:
Whose humble hope of rest at home had broke,
As year was piled on year, and still their toil
Had wrung poor fee from -Sweden's rugged soil.
One day there gathered from the neighboring steads,
In Jacob Eibsen's, five strong household heads,—
Five men large-limbed and sinewed, Jacob's sons,
[...] Read more
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Added by Poetry Lover
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