A RISE , O soul, and gird thee up anew,
Though the black camel Death kneel at thy gate;
No beggar thou that thou for alms shouldst sue;
Be the proud captain still of thine own fate!

An Argentine gaucho named Bruno
Declared, "There is one thing I do know:
A woman is fine
And a boy is divine,
But a llama is numero uno.'

There was an old person whose mirth,
Induced him to leap from the earth;
But in leaping too quick, he exclaimed, " I'm too sick
To leap any more from the earth."

Are all such off'rings, as are crusht, and bruis'd,
Forbid thy altar? may they not be us'd?
And must all broken things be set apart?
No, Lord: Thou wilt accept a broken heart.

The victories of mind,
Are won for all mankind;
But war wastes what it wins,
Ends worse than it begins,
And is a game of woes,
Which nations always lose:
Though tyrant tyrant kill,
The slayer liveth still.

April is in my mistress' face,
And July in her eyes hath place,
Within her bosom is September,
But in her heart a cold December.

Apricot about to fade, raindrops quiet now;
filling the paths, patches of moss,
the green has stained my clothes.
The wind is strong—I cannot get the little window shut:
flower petals and my poems
go flying through the air.

The appointed winners in a long-stretch'd game;
The course of Time and nations — Egypt, India, Greece and Rome;
The past entire, with all its heroes, histories, arts, experiments,
Its store of songs, inventions, voyages, teachers, books,
Garner'd for now and thee — To think of it!
The heirdom all converged in thee!

Apples be ripe
And nuts be brown,
Petticoats up
And trousers down.

Apple-pie, apple-pie,
Peter likes apple-pie;
So do I, so do I.