Quotes about fort, page 4
La vie
Il faut admirer tout pour s'exalter soi-même
Et se dresser plus haut que ceux qui ont vécu
De coupable souffrance et de désirs vaincus :
L'âpre réalité formidable et suprême
Distille une assez rouge et tonique liqueur
Pour s'en griser la tête et s'en brûler le coeur.
Oh clair et pur froment d'où l'on chasse l'ivraie !
Flamme nette, choisie entre mille flambeaux
D'un légendaire éclat, mais d'un prestige faux !
Dites, marquer son pas dans l'existence vraie,
Par un chemin ardu vers un lointain accueil,
N'ayant d'autre arme au front que son lucide orgueil !
Marcher dans sa fierté et dans sa confiance,
Droit à l'obstacle, avec l'espoir très entêté
De le réduire, à coup précis de volonté,
D'intelligence prompte ou d'ample patience
Et de sentir croître et grandir le sentiment
D'être, de jour en jour, plus fort, superbement.
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poem by Emile Verhaeren
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Fort Hood
Young then,
And committed.
Feeling patriotic...
Obligated.
With desires to protect.
A country loved with much respect.
Much now has transpired,
Since those days I enlisted.
And wanting to whip some ass.
In the military wanting to save,
Rights of my family and others.
No one had to ask.
Too proud I was of the task.
Today my sorrows are with soldiers,
At Fort Hood.
And those who died unexpectedly
Shot and shocked,
By one of their own.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Brooklyn 'Extended
Beautiful culture
Parks, brownstones, cheesecake, and BAM
Home away from home.
Children museums
Legends of Dodgers,
And Masonic lodges.
Blocks and bodegas,
24 hour beer and food;
A Non sleeping borough.
Pharmaceuticals!
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poem by Josephe Buchanan
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An end of an edge
What do we think of giving to our children in hand?
Garden blossoming with beautiful flowers in barren land?
Do we want to leave for them no ancestral asset?
We need to leave for them clear option to reset
We might have done nothing or trained in different way
They might have been suppressed at home without any say
All sorts of restrictions and no room for fresh air to breath
Are we not sending them to gallows or near to the death?
Do we really think that knowledge is confined only in books?
Is it not out of date to prepare bad food and serve s an expert cook?
They will have no ideas as what to do or follow?
We must give little time to shape for them or allow
It is an age of open competition with vast knowledge
They may have chance to prove their excellence on edge
We did all mischief in our life to create gulf and wedge
How all of sudden we wake up when reached to an end of age?
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Black Hills: Sacred Tribal Land
Behold great and noble Government
Constitutional United States of America
gave the land to the tribe in perpetuity
gave back that which was already
theirs sacred tribal land of ancestors
that which was most precious birthright
which could not be bought owned sold
bestowed in ceremony upon parchment
but the white man spoke with fork tongue
broke treaty for yellow flakes of lust dirt
Treaty of Fort Laramie in 1868 confirmed
Lakota Sioux ownership of the Black Hills
to Cheyenne and Lakota these Black Hills
an island of trees in a sea of grass prairie
is axis mundi the sacred center of the world
Major General George Armstrong Custer
of 7th US Cavalry fame led an expedition
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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En sortant du collège
PREMIERE LETTRE
Puisque nous avons seize ans,
Vivons, mon vieux camarade,
Et cessons d'être innocents ;
Car c'est là le premier grade.
Vivre c'est aimer. Apprends
Que, dans l'ombre où nos coeurs rêvent,
J'ai vu deux yeux bleus, si grands
Que tous les astres s'y lèvent.
Connais-tu tous ces bonheurs ?
Faire des songes féroces,
Envier les grands seigneurs
Qui roulent dans des carrosses,
Avoir la fièvre, enrager,
Etre un coeur saignant qui s'ouvre,
Souhaiter d'être un berger
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poem by Victor Hugo
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Epilogue
Oh ! les heures du soir sous ces climats légers,
La lumière en est belle et la lune y est douce,
Et l'ombre souple et claire y répand sur les mousses
Les mobiles dessins d'un feuillage étranger.
Oliviers d'Aragon, figuiers de Catalogne,
Hameaux calmes et blancs sur vos ruisseaux penchés,
Derniers rayons frôlant les toits et les clochers
Où s'arrêtait le vol replié des cigognes ;
Chansons de muletiers ou de cabarets roux,
Et vous, femmes, dont la démarche était hautaine,
Quand vous montiez, la jarre au flanc, vers les fontaines,
Que de fois ma mémoire a reflué vers vous !
Mais je suis né, là -bas, dans les brumes de Flandre,
En un petit village où des murs goudronnés
Abritent des marins pauvres mais obstinés,
Sous des cieux d'ouragan, de fumée et de cendre.
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poem by Emile Verhaeren
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Fight With A Bear
The following appeared in Truth in the form of a prose tale of
considerable length. We have concentrated the essence
thereof into the few verses below. It is a tale of the
Canadian North-West, during the times of the Hudson
Bay Company's rule.
Two youths, employed at the fur fort,
Resolved to have half-day of sport ;
From Jasper House, in the far north,
For game, they joyous issued forth.
The factor of the Hudson Bay
Granted them a few hours' play,
And it was in cold winter time,
When thick on lake was glassy rime ;
But beneath, o'er all their route,
They saw below big speckled trout.
With hatchet, ice they did clear
And the beauteous trout did spear,
For they were longing for a dish
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poem by James McIntyre
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To Laura (Mystery Of Reminiscence)
Who and what gave to me the wish to woo thee--
Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee?
Who made thy glances to my soul the link--
Who bade me burn thy very breath to drink--
My life in thine to sink?
As from the conqueror's unresisted glaive,
Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave--
So, when to life's unguarded fort, I see
Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly--
Yields not my soul to thee?
Why from its lord doth thus my soul depart?--
Is it because its native home thou art?
Or were they brothers in the days of yore,
Twin-bound both souls, and in the link they bore
Sigh to be bound once more?
Were once our beings blent and intertwining,
And therefore still my heart for thine is pining?
Knew we the light of some extinguished sun--
The joys remote of some bright realm undone,
Where once our souls were ONE?
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poem by Friedrich Schiller
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La joie
Oh ces larges beaux jours dont les matins flamboient !
La terre ardente et fière est plus superbe encor
Et la vie éveillée est d'un parfum si fort
Que tout l'être s'en grise et bondit vers la joie.
Soyez remerciés, mes yeux,
D'être restés si clairs, sous mon front déjà vieux,
Pour voir au loin bouger et vibrer la lumière ;
Et vous, mes mains, de tressaillir dans le soleil ;
Et vous, mes doigts, de vous dorer aux fruits vermeils
Pendus au long du mur, près des roses trémières.
Soyez remercié, mon corps,
D'être ferme, rapide, et frémissant encor
Au toucher des vents prompts ou des brises profondes ;
Et vous, mon torse droit et mes larges poumons,
De respirer, au long des mers ou sur les monts,
L'air radieux et vif qui baigne et mord les mondes,
Oh ces matins de fête et de calme beauté !
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poem by Emile Verhaeren
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