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.
Approximately how many CDs do you have?
Approximately how many DVDs do you have?
Are you a bad loser?
Are you a clean or messy person?
Are you a good actor?
Are you a good aim with a rubber band?
Are you a good artist?
Are you a good babysitter?
Are you a good cleaner?
Are you a good comedian?
Are you a good cook?
Are you a good dancer?
Are you a good diplomat?
Are you a good dresser?
Are you a good employee?
Are you a good judge of character?
Are you a good liar?
Are you a good listener?
Are you a good mechanic?
Are you a good musician?
Are you a good public speaker?
Are you a good singer?
Are you a good skier?
Are you a good swimmer?
Are you a good writer?
Are you a gossip?
Are you a hat person?
Are you a religious person?
Are you a valuable asset on a Pub Quiz team?
Are you allergic to anything?
Are you an introvert or an extrovert?
Are you any good at charades?
Are you any good at egg and spoon races?
Are you any good at giving massages?
Are you any good at pool?
Are you good at keeping secrets?
Are you left or right handed?
Are you married?
Are you much of a daredevil?
Are you much of a gambler?
Are you much of an adventurer?
Are you pretty devious?
Are you proud of yourself?
Are you proud, comfortable or ashamed of your body?
Are you psychic in any way?
Are you related or distantly related to anyone famous?
Are you reliable?
Are you religious?
Are you scared of flying?
Are you scared of needles?
Are you scared of spiders?
Are you scared of the dark?
Are you scared of thunderstorms?
Are you the sort to step in and try to break up a fight?
Are you ticklish?
Are your ears lobed or attached?
As a kid were you ever frighted of a monster under the bed or in the cupboard?
At what age did you twig onto the fact Santa wasnt real? Continue reading →
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o’er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men’s eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o’er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse,
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Fishermen at Ballyshannon
Netted an infant last night
Along with the salmon.
An illegitimate spawning,
A small one thrown back
To the waters. But I’m sure
As she stood in the shallows
Ducking him tenderly
Till the frozen knobs of her wrists
Were dead as the gravel,
He was a minnow with hooks
Tearing her open.
She waded in under
The sign of the cross.
He was hauled in with the fish.
Now limbo will be
A cold glitter of souls
Through some far briny zone.
Even Christ’s palms, unhealed,
Smart and cannot fish there.
I wander’d lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretch’d in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: –
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.