Author: Henry David Thoreau (200.118.2.---)
Date: 03-22-06 18:32
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Mr Gorbachev, tear down this wall!
I don\'t believe one grows older. I think that what happens early on in life is that at a certain age one stands still and
T. S. Eliot
Those parts of thee that the world\'s eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues--the voice of souls--give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown\'d;
But those same tongues, that give thee so thine own,
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty of thy mind,
And that in guess they measure by thy deeds;
Then--churls--their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress\'d in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh\'d and leap\'d with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer\'s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily\'s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem\'d it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.