Slight unpremeditated Words are borne
By every common Wind into the Air;
Carelessly utterd, die as soon as born，
And in one instant give both Hope and Fear：
Breathing all Contraries with the same Wind
According to the Caprice of the Mind.
But Billetdoux are constant Witnesses，
Substantial Records to Eternity;
Just Evidences，who the Truth confess,
On which the Lover safely may rely；
Theyre serious Thoughts，digested and resolvd；
And last，when Words are into Clouds devolvd.
The Sleeping Beauty - 睡美人
Sleep on ,and dream of Heaven awhile-----
Tho shut so close thy laughing eyes,
Thy rosy lips still wear a smile
And move and breathe delicious sighs!
Ah ,now soft blushes tinge her cheeks
And mantle oer her neck of snow;
Ah,now she murmurs, now she speaks
What most I wish--------and fear to know!
She starts ,she trembles ,and she weeps!
Her fair hands folded on her breast;
-------And now ,how like a saint she sleeps!
A seraph in the realms of rest!
Sleep on secure! A bove control
Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee;
And may the secret of thy soul
Remain within its sanctuary!
Do you fear the wind?
Do you fear the force of the wind,
The slash of the rain?
Go face them and fight them,
Be savage again.
Go hungry and cold like the wolf,
Go wade like the crane:
The palms of your hands will thicken,
The skin of your cheek will tan,
Youll grow ragged and weary and swarthy,
But youll walk like a man!
We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I d know better.
Id really like for them to know about hand-me-down clothes and home-made ice cream and leftover meatloaf. I really would.
My cherished grandson, I hope you learn humility by surviving failure and that you learn to be honest even when no one is looking.
I hope you learn to make your bed and mow the lawn and wash the car-and I hope nobody gives you a brand-new car when you are sixteen.
It will be good if at least one time you can see a baby calf born, and you have a good friend to be with you if you ever have to put your old dog to sleep.
I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.
I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother. And it is all right to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you because he s scared, I hope you ll let him.
And when you want to see a Disney movie and your kid brother wants to tag along, I hope you take him.
I hope you have to walk uphill with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.
If you want a slingshot, I hope your father teaches you how to make one instead of buying one. I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books, and when you learn to use computers, you also learn how to add and subtract in your head.
I hope you get razzed by friends when you have your first crush on a girl, and that when you talk back to your mother you learn what Ivory soap tastes like.
May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on the stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I hope you get sick when someone blows smoke in your face. I don t care if you try beer once, but I hope you won t like it. And if a friend offers you a joint or any drugs, I hope you are smart enough to realize that person is not your friend.
I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your grandpa or go fishing with your uncle.
I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through a neighbor s window, and that she hugs you and kisses you when you give her a plaster of pared mold of your hand.
These things I wish for you-tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness.
Words from the Heart
Most people need to hear those "three little words" I love you. Once in a while, they hear them just in time.
I met Connie the day she was admitted to the hospice1 ward, where I worked as a volunteer. Her husband, Bill, stood nervously nearby as she was transferred from the gurney2 to the hospital bed. Although Connie was in the final stages of her fight against cancer, she was alert and cheerful. We got her settled in. I finished marking her name on all the hospital supplies she would be using, then asked if she needed anything.
"Oh, yes," she said, "would you please show me how to use the TV? I enjoy the soaps so much and I dont want to get behind on whats happening." Connie was a romantic. She loved soap operas, romance novels and movies with a good love story. As we became acquainted, she confided how frustrating it was to be married 32 years to a man who often called her "a silly woman."
"Oh, I know Bill loves me," she said, "but he has never been one to say he loves me, or send cards to me." She sighed and looked out the window at the trees in the courtyard. "Id give anything if hed say ‘I love you, but its just not in his nature."
Bill visited Connie every day. In the beginning, he sat next to the bed while she watched the soaps. Later, when she began sleeping more, he paced up and down the hallway outside her room. Soon, when she no longer watched television and had fewer waking moments, I began spending more of my volunteer time with Bill.
He talked about having worked as a carpenter and how he liked to go fishing. He and Connie had no children, but theyd been enjoying retirement by traveling, until Connie got sick. Bill could not express his feelings about the fact that his wife was dying.
One day, over coffee in the cafeteria, I got him on the subject of women and how we need romance in our lives; how we love to get sentimental1 cards and love letters.
"Do you tell Connie you love her?" I asked (knowing his answer), and he looked at me as if I was crazy.
"I dont have to," he said. "She knows I do!"
"Im sure she knows," I said, reaching over and touching his hands rough, carpenters hands that were gripping the cup as if it were the only thing he had to hang onto "but she needs to hear it, Bill. She needs to hear what she has meant to you all these years. Please think about it."
We walked back to Connies room. Bill disappeared inside, and I left to visit another patient. Later, I saw Bill sitting by the bed. He was holding Connies hand as she slept. The date was February 12.
Two days later I walked down the hospice ward at noon. There stood Bill, leaning up against the wall in the hallway, staring at the floor. I already knew from the head nurse that Connie had died at 11 A.M..
When Bill saw me, he allowed himself to come into my arms for a long time. His face was wet with tears and he was trembling. Finally, he leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath.
"I have to say something," he said. "I have to say how good I feel about telling her." He stopped to blow his nose. "I thought a lot about what you said, and this morning I told her how much I loved her... and loved being married to her. You shoulda2 seen her smile!"
I went into the room to say my own good?bye to Connie. There, on the bedside table, was a large Valentine card from Bill. You know, the sentimental kind that says, "To my wonderful wife... I love you."