The Charge Of the Light Brigade – Alfred Lord Tennyson 

Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 

All in the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

‘Forward, the Light Brigade! 

Charge for the guns!’ he said: 

Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’ 

Was there a man dismay’d ? 

Not tho’ the soldier knew 

Some one had blunder’d: 

Their’s not to make reply, 

Their’s not to reason why, 

Their’s but to do and die: 

Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 
Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them, 

Cannon in front of them 

Volley’d and thunder’d; 

Storm’d at with shot and shell, 

Boldly they rode and well, 

Into the jaws of Death, 

Into the mouth of Hell 

Rode the six hundred. 
Flash’d all their sabres bare, 

Flash’d as they turn’d in air 

Sabring the gunners there, 

Charging an army, while 

All the world wonder’d: 

Plunged in the battery-smoke 

Right thro’ the line they broke; 

Cossack and Russian 

Reel’d from the sabre-stroke 

Shatter’d and sunder’d. 

Then they rode back, but not 

Not the six hundred. 
Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them, 

Cannon behind them 

Volley’d and thunder’d; 

Storm’d at with shot and shell, 

While horse and hero fell, 

They that had fought so well 

Came thro’ the jaws of Death, 

Back from the mouth of Hell, 

All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 
When can their glory fade ? 

O the wild charge they made! 

All the world wonder’d. 

Honour the charge they made! 

Honour the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred! 

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The Blackbird – Alfred Lord Tennyson 

O blackbird! sing me something well:

While all the neighbours shoot thee round,

I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,

Where thou may’st warble, eat and dwell.

The espaliers and the standards all

Are thine; the range of lawn and park:

The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark,

All thine, against the garden wall.
Yet, tho’ I spared thee all the spring,

Thy sole delight is, sitting still,

With that gold dagger of thy bill

To fret the summer jenneting.
A golden bill! the silver tongue,

Cold February loved, is dry:

Plenty corrupts the melody

That made thee famous once, when young:
And in the sultry garden-squares,

Now thy flute-notes are changed to coarse,

I hear thee not at all, or hoarse

As when a hawker hawks his wares.
Take warning! he that will not sing

While yon sun prospers in the blue,

Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new,

Caught in the frozen palms of Spring. 

Though You are Wise, Be as a Fool – Lalleshwari

Though you are wise, be as a fool; 

Though you can see, be as one blind; 

Though you can hear, be as one deaf; 

Patiently bear with all you meet, 

and politely talk to eveyone. 

This practice surely will lead you 

to the realisation of the Truth. 

The Soul, Like the Moon – Lalleshwari 

The soul, like the moon,

is now, and always new again.

And I have seen the ocean

continuously creating.

Since I scoured my mind

and my body, I too, Lalla,

am new, each moment new.
My teacher told me one thing,

live in the soul.
When that was so,

I began to go naked,

and dance.

In The Midst of The Ocean – Lalleshwari 

In the midst of the ocean

 With unspun thread. 

I am towing the boat: 

Would that God grant 

My prayer and. 

Ferry me too, across: 

Water in my unbaked earthen plates 

Seeps in and none collects ‘ 

yearn and yearn 

To return Home 

In Your Mother’s Womb You Vowed – Lalleshwari 

In your mother’s womb you vowed 

not to be born again.

When will you recall the vow ?

And die, even while alive 

(to all desire, and be released from birth and death): 

Great honor will be yours in this life and greater honor after death. 

The Brook – Alfred Lord Tennyson 

I come from haunts of coot and hern, 

I make a sudden sally 

And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 
By thirty hills I hurry down, 

Or slip between the ridges, 

By twenty thorpes, a little town, 

And half a hundred bridges. 
Till last by Philip’s farm I flow 

To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 
I chatter over stony ways, 

In little sharps and trebles, 

I bubble into eddying bays, 

I babble on the pebbles. 
With many a curve my banks I fret 

By many a field and fallow, 

And many a fairy foreland set 

With willow-weed and mallow. 
I chatter, chatter, as I flow 

To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 
I wind about, and in and out, 

With here a blossom sailing, 

And here and there a lusty trout, 

And here and there a grayling, 
And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel 

With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel, 
And draw them all along, and flow 

To join the brimming river 

For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever. 
I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 

I slide by hazel covers; 

I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 

Among my skimming swallows; 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 

Against my sandy shallows. 
I murmur under moon and stars 

In brambly wildernesses; 

I linger by my shingly bars; 

I loiter round my cresses; 
And out again I curve and flow 

To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on for ever.