Dulce Et Decorum Est

BENT double, like old beggars under sacksKnock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned out backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hootsOf tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;But someone still was yelling out and stumblingAnd flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---my friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.

Bellbirds

BY channels of coolness the echoes are calling,And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling:It lives in the mountain where moss and the sedgesTouch with their beauty the banks and the ledges.Through breaks of the cedar and sycamore bowersStruggles the light that is love to the flowers;And, softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing,The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.The silver-voiced bell birds, the darlings of daytime!They sing in September their songs of the May-time;When shadows wax strong, and the thunder bolts hurtle,They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle;When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together,They start up like fairies that follow fair weather;And straightway the hues of their feathers unfoldenAre the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses,Loiters for love in these cool wildernesses;Loiters, knee-deep, in the grasses, to listen,Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten:Then is the time when the water-moons splendidBreak with their gold, and are scattered or blendedOver the creeks, till the woodlands have warningOf songs of the bell-bird and wings of the Morning.Welcome as waters unkissed by the summersAre the voices of bell-birds to the thirsty far-comers.When fiery December sets foot in the forest,And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest,Pent in the ridges for ever and everThe bell-birds direct him to spring and to river,With ring and with ripple, like runnels who torrentsAre toned by the pebbles and the leaves in the currents.Often I sit, looking back to a childhood,Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion,Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of Passion; -Songs interwoven of lights and of laughtersBorrowed from bell-birds in far forest-rafters;So I might keep in the city and alleysThe beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys:Charming to slumber the pain of my lossesWith glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.

The Song of the Banana Man

Touris, white man, wipin his face, Met me in Golden Grove market place. He looked at m'ol' clothes brown wid stain , AN soaked right through wid de Portlan rain, He cas his eye, turn up his nose, He says, 'You're a beggar man, I suppose?' He says, 'Boy, get some occupation, Be of some value to your nation.' I said, 'By God and dis big right han You mus recognize a banana man.'Up in de hills, where de streams are cool, An mullet an janga swim in de pool, I have ten acres of mountain side, An a dainty-foot donkey dat I ride, Four Gros Michel, an four Lacatan, Some coconut trees, and some hills of yam, An I pasture on dat very same lan Five she-goats an a big black ram, Dat, by God an dis big right han Is de property of a banana man.'I leave m'yard early-mornin time An set m'foot to de mountain climb, I ben m'back to de hot-sun toil, An m'cutlass rings on de stony soil, Ploughin an weedin, diggin an plantin Till Massa Sun drop back o John Crow mountain, Den home again in cool evenin time, Perhaps whistling dis likkle rhyme, (Sung)Praise God an m'big right han I will live an die a banana man.'Banana day is my special day, I cut my stems an I'm on m'way, Load up de donkey, leave de lan Head down de hill to banana stan, When de truck comes roun I take a ride All de way down to de harbour side- Dat is de night, when you, touris man, Would change your place wid a banana man. Yes, by God, an m'big right han I will live an die a banana man.'De bay is calm, an de moon is bright De hills look black for de sky is light, Down at de dock is an English ship, Restin after her ocean trip,While on de pier is a monstrous hustle, Tallymen, carriers, all in a bustle, Wid stems on deir heads in a long black snake Some singin de sons dat banana men make, Like, (Sung) Praise God an m'big right han I will live an die a banana man.'Den de payment comes, an we have some fun, Me, Zekiel, Breda and Duppy Son. Down at de bar near United Wharf We knock back a white rum, bus a laugh, Fill de empty bag for further toil Wid saltfish, breadfruit, coconut oil. Den head back home to m'yard to sleep, A proper sleep dat is long an deep. Yes, by God, an m'big right han I will live an die a banana man.'So when you see dese ol clothes brown wid stain, An soaked right through wid de Portlan rain, Don't cas your eye nor turn your nose, Don't judge a man by his patchy clothes, I'm a strong man, a proud man, an I'm free, Free as dese mountains, free as dis sea, I know myself, an I know my ways, An will sing wid pride to de end o my days (Sung)Praise God an m'big right han I will live an die a banana man.'

Adieu, Adieu! My Native Shore

'ADIEU, adieu! my native shoreFades o'er the waters blue;The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,And shrieks the wild sea-mew.Yon Sun that sets upon the seaWe follow in his flight;Farewell awhile to him and thee,My native Land -- Good Night!'A few short hours and He will riseTo give the Morrow birth;And I shall hail the main and skies,But not my mother Earth.Deserted is my own good hall,Its hearth is desolate;Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;My dog howls at the gate.'Come hither, hither, my little page!Why dost thou weep and wail?Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,Or tremble at the gale?But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;Our ship is swift and strong,Our fleetest falcon scarce can flyMore merrily along.' --'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,I fear not wave nor wind;Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that IAm sorrowful in mind;For I have from my father gone,A mother whom I love,And have no friend, save these alone,But thee -- and one above.'My father bless'd be fervently,Yet did not much complain;But sorely will my mother sighTill I come back again.' --'Enough, enough, my little lad!Such tears become thine eye;If I thy guileless bosom had,Mine own would not be dry. --'Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,Why dost thou look so pale?Or dost thou dread a French foeman?Or shiver at the gale?'--'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;But thinking on an absent wifeWill blanch a faithful cheek.'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,Along the bordering lake,And when they on their father call,What answer shall she make?'--'Enough, enough, my yeoman good,Thy grief let none gainsay;But I, who am of lighter mood,Will laugh to flee away.'For who would trust the seeming sighsOf wife or paramour?Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyesWe late saw streaming o'er.For pleasures past I do not grieve,Nor perils gathering near;My greatest grief is that I leaveNo thing that claims a tear.'And now I'm in the world alone,Upon the wide, wide sea;But why should I for others groan,When none will sigh for me?Perchance my dog will whine in vain,Till fed by stranger hands;But long ere I come back againHe'd tear me where he stands.'With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly goAthwart the foaming brine;Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,So not again to mine.Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!And when you fail my sight,Welcome ye deserts, and ye caves!My native land -- Good Night!'

La Belle Dame sans Merci

O, WHAT can ail thee, Knight at arms,Alone and palely loitering;The sedge is wither'd from the lake,And no birds sing.O, what can ail thee, Knight at arms,So haggard and so woe-begone?The squirrel's granary is full,And the harvest's done.I see a lily on thy brow,With anguish moist and fever dew;And on thy cheek a fading roseFast withereth too.I met a Lady in the MeadsFull beautiful, a faery's child;Her hair was long, her foot was light,And her eyes were wild.I made a Garland for her head,And bracelets too, and fragrant Zone;She look'd at me as she did love,And made sweet moan.I set her on my pacing steed,And nothing else saw all day long;For sideways would she lean, and singA faery's song.She found me roots of relish sweet,And honey wild, and manna dew;And sure in language strange she said,"I love thee true."She took me to her elfin grot,And there she wept and sighed full sore,And there I shut her wild sad eyesWith kisses four.And there she lulled me asleep,And there I dream'd, Ah Woe betide,The latest dream I ever dreamtOn the cold hill side.I saw pale Kings, and Princes too,Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merciHath thee in thrall!"I saw their starved lips in the gloamWith horrid warning gaped wide,And I awoke, and found me hereOn the cold hill side.And this is why I sojourn here,Alone and palely loitering;Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,And no birds sing.

For A' That

IS there for honest povertyThat hangs his head, an' a' that?The coward slave, we pass him byWe dare be poor for a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,Our toil's obscure, and a' that;The rank is but the guinea's stamp,--The man's the gowd for a' that.What though on hamely fare we dine,Wear hoddin' grey, an' a' that?Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,--A man's a man, for a' that.For a' that, an' a' that,Their tinsel show an' a' that;The honest man, though e'er sae poor,Is king o' men for a' that.Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,Wha struts an' stares an' a' that,--Tho' hundreds worship at his word,He's but a coof for a' that;For a' that, an' a' thatHis riband, star, and a' that;The man o' independent mind,He looks an' laughs at a' that.A prince can mak' a belted knightA marquis, duke, an' a' that;But an honest man's aboon his might,--Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!For a' that, an' a' that;Their dignities an' a' that,The pith o' sense an' pride o' worth,Are higher ranks than a' that.Then let us pray that come it may,--(As come it will for a' that),--That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,Shall bear the gree an' a' that.For a' that an' a' that,It's coming yet for a' that,--That man to man, the world o'er,Shall brothers be for a' that!

Introduction on myself

Dear teacher:
My name is Chiang yung-hsuang, please allow me to introduce myself to you. I am 21 years old, and I have two older brother. My hobby is playing computer and chatting with friends. My favorite subject is math. The wish I expected the most is graduate from CAFA. My introduction is finished here, thank you for your lisiting!

Halloween

Today,my English teacher teaches our about "Halloween" lession.
The jack-o'-lantern is integral to Halloween. Halloween, which falls on October 31st each year, originated with the Celts of ancient England and Ireland. The celebration—then called Samhain—signaled the end of the harvest and the start of winter. On the eve of All Saints' Day, the Irish hollowed out pumpkins and placed a light in them to ward off the spirit of Stingy Jack.
At Halloween, you will see many jack-o'-lanterns on doorsteps and in windows. Remember Stingy Jack and always exercise prudence when making contracts, especially with the Devil.


If you can't beat them,join them.