WHERE THE MIND IS WITHOUT FEAR - TAGORE NINE GOLD MEDALS - DAVID ROTH ALICE FELL, OR POVERTY – WORDSWORTH

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high The athletes had come from all over the country THE post-boy drove with fierce career,
Where knowledge is free To run for the gold, for the silver and bronze For threatening clouds the moon had drowned;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments Many weeks and months of training When, as we hurried on, my ear
By narrow domestic walls All coming down to these games. Was smitten with a startling sound.
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection The spectators gathered around the old field As if the wind blew many ways,
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way To cheer on all the young women and men I heard the sound,—and more and more;
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit The final event of the day was approaching It seemed to follow with the chaise,
Where the mind is led forward by thee Excitement grew high to begin. And still I heard it as before.
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country The blocks were all lined up for those who would use them At length I to the boy called out;
awake. The hundred-yard dash and the race to be run He stopped his horses at the word,
These were nine resolved athletes in back of the starting But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
LOVE CYCLE - CHINUA ACHEBE line Nor aught else like it, could be heard.
At dawn slowly Poised for the sound of the gun.
the sun withdraws his The boy then smacked his whip, and fast
long misty arms of The signal was given, the pistol exploded The horses scampered through the rain;
embrace. Happy lovers And so did the runners all charging ahead But, hearing soon upon the blast
But the smallest among them, he stumbled and staggered The cry, I bade him halt again.
whose exertions leave And fell to the asphalt instead.
no aftertaste nor slush Forthwith alighting on the ground,
of love’s combustion; Earth He gave out a cry in frustration and anguish "Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan?"
perfumed in dewdrop His dreams and his efforts all dashed in the dirt And there a little Girl I found,
fragrance wakes But as sure as I’m standing here telling this story Sitting behind the chaise, alone.
The same goes for what next occurred.
to whispers of "My cloak!" no other word she spake,
soft-eyed light… The eight other runners pulled up on their heels But loud and bitterly she wept,
Later he The ones who had trained for so long to compete As if her innocent heart would break;
will wear out his temper One by one they all turned around and went back to help And down from off her seat she leapt.
ploughing the vast acres him
of heaven and take it And brought the young boy to his feet. "What ails you, child?"—she sobbed "Look here!"
I saw it in the wheel entangled,
out of her in burning Then all the nine runners joined hands and continued A weather-beaten rag as e'er
darts of anger. Long The hundred-yard dash now reduced to a walk From any garden scare-crow dangled.
accustomed to such caprice And a banner above that said (Special Olympics)
she waits patiently Could not have been more on the mark. There, twisted between nave and spoke,
It hung, nor could at once be freed;
for evening when thoughts That’s how the race ended, with nine gold medals But our joint pains unloosed the cloak,
of another night will They came to the finish line holding hands still A miserable rag indeed!
restore his mellowness And a standing ovation and nine beaming faces
and her power Said more than these words ever will. "And whither are you going, child,
over him. To-night alone these lonesome ways?"
"To Durham," answered she, half wild— STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING - ROBERT
"Then come with me into the chaise." The many will follow the beaten track FROST
With guideposts on the way. Whose woods these are I think I know.
Insensible to all relief They live and have lived for ages back His house is in the village though;
Sat the poor girl, and forth did send With a chart for every day. He will not see me stopping here
Sob after sob, as if her grief Someone has told them it’s safe to go To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Could never, never have an end. On the road he has traveled o’er,
And all that they ever strive to know My little horse must think it queer
"My child, in Durham do you dwell?" Are the things that were known before. To stop without a farmhouse near
She checked herself in her distress, Between the woods and frozen lake
And said, "My name is Alice Fell; A few strike out without map or chart, The darkest evening of the year.
I'm fatherless and motherless. Where never a man has been,
From the beaten path they draw apart He gives his harness bells a shake
"And I to Durham, Sir, belong." To see what no man has seen. To ask if there is some mistake.
Again, as if the thought would choke There are deeds they hunger alone to do; The only other sound’s the sweep
Her very heart, her grief grew strong; Though battered and bruised and sore, Of easy wind and downy flake.
And all was for her tattered cloak! They blaze the path for the many, who
Do nothing not done before. The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
The chaise drove on; our journey's end But I have promises to keep,
Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, The things that haven’t been done before And miles to go before I sleep,
As if she had lost her only friend Are the tasks worthwhile today; And miles to go before I sleep.
She wept, nor would be pacified. Are you one of the flock that follows, or
Are you one that shall lead the way?
Up to the tavern-door we post; Are you one of the timid souls that quail
Of Alice and her grief I told; At the jeers of a doubting crew,
And I gave money to the host, Or dare you, whether you win or fail,
To buy a new cloak for the old. Strike out for a goal that’s new?

"And let it be of duffil grey,

THE THINGS THAT HAVEN'T BEEN DONE BEFORE - EDGAR