My father’s friend came once to tea.
He laughed and talked. He spoke to me.
But in another week they said
That friendly pink-faced man was dead.
“How sad . .” they said, “the best of men . .”— Frances Cornford
So I said too, “How sad”; but then
Deep in my heart I thought with pride,
“I know a person who has died.”
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,— William Ernest Henley
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
I wakened on my hot, hard bed;— Frances Darwin Cornford
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went
Like my continual discontent;
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick.
I spoiled the day;
Hotly, in haste,
All the calm hours
I gashed and defaced.
Let me forget,
Let me embark
—Sleep for my boat—
And sail through the dark.
Till a new day— Frances Darwin Cornford
Heaven shall send,
Whole as an apple,
Kind as a friend.
[A person] that loveth a book will never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counselor, a cheerful companion, an effectual comforter.— Isaac Barrow
Experience converts us to ourselves when books fail us.— Amos Bronson Alcott
Boys read books one way, men another, old men another.— Publius Terentius Afer ( Terence)