How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest !
When Spring , with dewy fingers cold ,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes , a pilgrim grey ,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there !




How sleep the brave..

Analysis is here:
help me if it is bad.
The whole theme of the poem is a
prais to the courageous
soldiers. Whho sacrificed their lives in
the name of their country.Poet created
a beautiful image of their
funeral ,done by nature .
In the first stanza, there is a beautiful
image of spring, which is decoratng
the grave of resting soldier . Nature is
giving him honour by more glorifying
its traits. Poet emphasises by sayin
" Fancys have ever trod" . By using this
abstract figure poet valued nature' s
natural decoration of that land which
is done for those men who dared for
its protection.
In second stanza, poet is illustrating
the status of courageous soldiers, that
they are not treated as normal peole
who come to death ,they are the
special ones for whome the knell is
rung by unseen hnds or angelic
hands. Their funeral song celebrated
by angels and other special unseen
ones .Honoure 's H written in capital
shows emphasises that their honour
is hightend with natural blessings . For
the out standing doer who provided
peace, comfort and freedom to the
land in the cost of their lives.
Poem consist lots of personifications
spring, freedom, honour are the
subjects. Rhyme sheme is regular
AABBCC. All the use of visual images
are for displaying the praise the pride
of bave soldiers .

KYU... ????!!!!!

kya jane kyu ye "kyu" kyu hota hai..
na jane jab ye "kyu" hota hai tab kya-kya hota hai..
sab bewajah hota hai..
sab lajawaab hota hai..
log kehte hai.. ki jab aisa hota hai.. tab aisa hi jota hai..
par jab aisa hota hai to aisa hi kyu hota hai..
ye "kyu" aakhir hota hi kyu hai. kaash, ye kyu na hota.. phir sochta hu.. agar ye "kyu" na hota.. to kya hota..phir sochta hu ye "kyu" hi achcha hai..
itne "kyu" kyu hai.. aakhir ye "kyu" kya hai..??
kuch log isse PYAR kehte hai..
par hum kyu, akhir kyu, ye karte hai.. jab itne "kyu" se hum darte hai.. phir itne "kyu" se hum kyu ladte hai..
har pal socha karte hai..bas socha karte hai.. sirf socha karte hai.. ab to apne saaye se b darte hai..hum raat se pucha karte hai..jugnu se baate karte hai.. na jane is "kyu" ko kyu karte hai...na jane is "kyu" ko kyu karte hai.

poem of parting students

Raah dekhi thi is din ki kabse ,
Aage ke sapne saja rakhe the naajane
kab se .
Bade utavle the yahaan se jaane ko ,
Zindagi ka agla padaav paane ko .
Par naa jane kyon … Dil mein aaj kuch
aur aata hai,
Waqt ko rokne ka jee chahta hai.
Jin baton ko lekar rote the Aaj un par
hansi aati hai ,
Na jaane kyon aaj un palon ki yaad
bahut aati hai .
Kaha karte the …Badi mushkil se do
saal seh gaya ,
Par aaj kyon lagta hai ki kuch peeche
reh gaya ????
Na bhoolne wali kuch yaadein reh
gayi ,
Yaadien jo ab jeene ka sahara ban
gayi .
Meri taang ab kaun kheencha karega ,
Sirf mera sir khane kaun mera peecha
karega .
Jahaan 2000 ka hisaab nahin wahaan 2
rupay ke liye kaun ladega ,
Kaun raat bhar saath jag kar padega ,
KAUN MERI gaadi mujse pooche bina
lejayega ,
Kaun mere naye naye naam
banayega .
Mein ab bina matlab kis se ladoonga ,
Bina topic ke kisse faalto baat
karoonga ,
Kaun fail hone par dilasa dilayega ,
Kaun galti se number aane par
gaaliyaan sunayega .
Tapri mein Chai kis ke saath piyoonga ,
Wo haseen pal ab kis ke saath
jiyoonga,
Aise dost kahaan milenge Jo khai mein
bhi dhakka de aayein ,
Par fir tumhein bachane khud bhi
kood jayein .
Mere gaano se pareshaan kaun hoga ,
Kabhi muje kisi ladki se baat karte
dekh hairaan kaun hoga ,
Kaun kahega saale tere joke pe hansi
nahin aai ,
Kaun peeche se bula ke kahega. . aage
dekh bhai .
Movies mein kiske saath dekhhonga ,
Kis ke saath boring lectures jheloonga ,
Bina dare sachi rai dene ki himmat
kaun karega .
Achanak bin matlab ke kisi ko bhi dekh
kar paglon ki tarah hansna ,
Na jaane ye fir kab hoga .
Doston ke liye professor se kab lad
payenge ,
Kya hum ye fir kar payenge ,
Raat ko 2 baje poha khane station
kaun jayega ,
Tez gaadi chalane ki shart kaun
lagayega .
Kaun muje mere kabiliyat par bharosa
dilayega ,
Aur jyada hawa mein udne par
zameen pe layege ,
Meri khushi mein sach mein khush
kaun hoga ,
Mere gam mein muj se jyada dukhi
kaun hoga …
KEH DO DOSTON YE DOBAARA KAB
HOGA

second coming

W . B . Yeats - The Second Coming
Revised 14 November 2009
THE POEM INTERPRETATIONS
Turning and turning in the widening
gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer ;
Things fall apart ; the centre cannot
hold ;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the
world ,
The blood - dimmed tide is loosed , and
everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is
drowned;
The best lack all conviction , while the
worst
Are full of passionate intensity .
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming ! Hardly are those
words out
When a vast image out of Spritus
Mundi
Troubles my sight : somewhere in the
sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head
of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun ,
Is moving its slow thighs , while all
about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert
birds.
The darkness drops again ; but now I
know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking
cradle ,
And what rough beast, its hour come
round at last ,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be
born ?
1920
My Interpretation :
Yeats wrote The Second Coming while Europe and
much of the rest of the world was trying to
recover from World War I . This was surely an
important factor for him in writing the poem .
Yeats saw great social troubles all around him,
and remarks on a world spinning out of control.
Line 2 hints at technology progressing beyond
mankind ' s ability to control it . The problem was
evident to Yeats 80 years ago , and the problem
has worsened since then . Yeats shows his concern
that technology has advanced to the point where
mankind can do a great deal of harm with relative
ease . The world had never seen destruction of the
likes of World War I , and most people were
shocked at the extensive loss of human life during
the war .
In the time that Yeats speaks of , the rulers of the
world were caught up in imperialism and
expanding circles of power to the point where
they would do almost anything to accomplish
their goals . The ruthless power mongers were
outspoken and numerous , and there seemed to
be few who dared to speak out against them in
the name of peace .
At one point , I had stated here that Spiritus
Mundi is a Medieval text for Christians , to inform
them what they need to do to die in the grace of
God . It is essentially "the art of dying well . " At
this point , I must offer sincere apologies . I must
have been severely confused ( and have a memory
lapse ) when I wrote that , because the text that
deals with the art of dying well is in fact "Ars
Moriendi ". Spiritus Mundi is literally " Spirit of the
World . " In order to avoid making another stupid
mistake , I will refrain from comment on the
meaning of Spiritus Mundi for the time- being.
Nevertheless , I believe Spiritus Mundi leads Yeats
to propose that perhaps the Second Coming ( of
Christ ) is near at hand: Judgement Day . . . . the
end of the world .
Spiritus Mundi brings an image of the sphinx to
Yeats ' mind . Yeats sees the sphinx rising up to
bring forth the end of the world . The sphinx slept
in a world of nightmares for 2000 years. The
nightmares were caused by the turmoils of the
human race ( line 20 ) . The indignant desert birds
( line 17 ) ( a . k . a . humans who foresee the Second
Coming ) try to stop the sphinx ( the end of the
world ) , but their task is impossible . In the end ,
Yeats reveals no hope for the continued existence
of mankind .
OTHERS ' INTERPRETATIONS :
Comments by Martin Cothran :
I had an angle on this that occurred to me when
re - reading it recently . Notice how Yeats begins
the poem in the present time, 2 , 000 years after
the birth of Christ . Yet in the second stanza, he
shifts to the past, and talks about the beast
having slept for 2 ,000 years, and all of a sudden
the present is 2 , 000 years ago at the birth of
Christ . Yeats seems to conflate the two mirroring
2 , 000 year periods into one time. He seems to be
using a literal image of the beast, awakening after
a 2 , 000 year slumber at the first coming of Christ ,
as some sort of metaphorical picture what is
happening at His second coming , with the 2 , 000
years of slumber referring simultaneously to both
2 , 000 year periods - - but one literally , and the
other figuratively . I haven 't thought this all the
way through , but it is a haunting apocalyptic
vision , to say the least.
Comments are by R . P. Greenish:
I very much enjoyed reading your comments on
' The Second Coming ' by W . B. Yeats , but , although
very much valid , I think that your views fail to
explore the deeper meanings of the poem . Having
read Yeats ' ' A Vision' , a book written by him
about his views on the world and how time
progresses , I am very much familiar with his ideas
and beliefs . This poem is obviously written with
these ideas in mind :
The falcon in the second line, turning and turning
in the widening gyre , represents the ' gyres' or
cones that Yeats refers to in his book. These
govern the progression of time and the human
race , and can be represented by the 28 phases of
the moon . 2000 years ago was the beginning of a
new cycle, Christ was born at exactly the right
time to have a perfect soul , and now we reach the
end of the cycle, nearing the end of the 28 th
phase , about to start again . Yeats inagines the
rebirth of Christ as the start of the new cycle, and
the revolution at hand in the rebirth of the human
race . Your analysis of the poem fits in with the
end of the cycle when the gyres dictate that we
will behave as we do and cause what is happening
in the world , i . e . - wars and destruction , and
ultimately our end .
I would advise that you read this book if you are
interested in Yeats , and also some of his other
poetry - ' The gyres ', ' Sailing to Byzantium' ,
' Death' , ' He thinks of his past greatness when a
part of the constellations of heaven' . All these
poems are strongly related to the views that he
describes in his book.
Comments by Ana Horvat, LLM :
I 'd like to share with you one of my own insights
into the "Second Coming " poem , which I
stumbled across only after I read Chinua Achebe ' s
"Things fall apart ". I believe the concept of
"Spiritus Mundi", or as you translated it "the Spirit
of the World ", is nothing else but today ' s concept
of collective unconscious, given to us by the work
of the great Freud' s disciple, Jung . I don not know
if you' re familiar with his idea of collective
unconscious, it has much in common with the
theory of linguistic structuralism of Chomsky and
Levi - Strauss , but it would fit very nicely to
interpret the "Spiritus Mundi " syntagm as part of
this idea ( as something as an archetype idea , as is
also the falcon in the beginning of the poem ) .

i hear america singing. . .

I Hear America Singing

I HEAR America singing , the varied carols I hear ;
Those of mechanics— each one singing his, as it should be ,
blithe( saharsh ) and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank ( phatta , takhta)or
beam(shehteer ) ,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work , or
leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat — the
deckhand singing on the steamboat deck ;
5
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench— the hatter
singing as he stands ;
The wood- cutter’ s song— the ploughboy ’s , on his way in
the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother — or of the young wife
at work— or of the girl sewing or washing — Each singing
what belongs to her , and to none else ;
The day what belongs to the day— At night , the party of
young fellows , robust ( majboot), friendly,
Singing , with open mouths , their strong melodious songs .

heaven of freedom

Poem - Heaven of Freedom
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high ;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards
perfection ;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into
the dreary desert sand of dead habit ;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever - widening
thought and action –
Into that heaven of freedom , my father , let my country
awake.
Glossary :
Held /held / - kept
fragments / ’ fr{ agm @ nts / - pieces
domestic / d @ U ’mestIk / - internal
tireless /’ taI @ lIs / - determined
striving / ’stretSIz / - trying hard
stretches / stretSIz - extends
perfection / p @’fekSn / - excellence
dreary / ’dr @ nrI / - dull

prufrok song

Let us go then , you and I ,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go , through certain half- deserted streets ,
The muttering retreats( peivate place)
Of restless nights in one- night cheap hotels
And sawdust( ) restaurants with oyster- shells :
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious( proceeding harmfully widout bing noticd) intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
10
Oh, do not ask , " What is it ?"
Let us go and make our visit .
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window - panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle(jaw) on the window -
panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered (remain in a place)upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
20
And seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the house , and fell asleep .
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street ,
Rubbing its back upon the window - panes;
There will be time , there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet ;
There will be time to murder and create ,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate ;
30
Time for you and time for me ,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea .
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder , " Do I dare ?" and, " Do I dare ?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair ,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
40
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin !"]
My morning coat , my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest , but asserted(resting truly ) by a simple pin —
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin !"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe ?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all ;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons ,
50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room .
So how should I presume( andaza) ?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all —
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated , sprawling(stretched) on a pin ,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall ,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt - ends of my days and ways?
60
And how should I presume ?
And I have known the arms already, known them all —
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight , downed with light brown hair !]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress(to wander frm main topic) ?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl .
And should I then presume ?
And how should I begin ?
. . . . .
Shall I say , I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt - sleeves, leaning out of
windows ? . . .
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling( to run with short steps) across the floors of silent seas .
. . . . .
And the afternoon , the evening , sleeps so peacefully !
Smoothed by long fingers ,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers(to pretend sickness) ,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me .
Should I , after tea and cakes and ices ,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed ,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald ) brought
in upon a platter,
I am no prophet –and here ' s no great matter ;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker ,
And I have seen the eternal Footman( male servant) hold my coat , and
snicker(disrespectful laugh ) ,
And in short, I was afraid .
And would it have been worth it , after all ,
After the cups , the marmalade(citeus juice ), the tea ,
Among the porcelain( china ware) , among some talk of you and me ,
Would it have been worth while ,
90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile ,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question ,
To say: "I am Lazarus , come from the dead ,
Come back to tell you all , I shall tell you all "
If one, settling a pillow by her head ,
Should say, "That is not what I meant at all .
That is not it , at all ."
And would it have been worth it , after all ,
Would it have been worth while ,
100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled
streets ,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail
along the floor—
And this, and so much more ? —
It is impossible to say just what I mean !
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a
screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl ,
And turning toward the window , should say :
" That is not it at all ,
That is not what I meant , at all . "
110
. . . . .
No ! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be ;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress , start a scene or two
Advise the prince ; no doubt, an easy tool ,
Deferential , glad to be of use ,
Politic , cautious , and meticulous ;
Full of high sentence , but a bit obtuse(not sharp ) ;
At times , indeed , almost ridiculous—
Almost , at times , the Fool.
I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled .
Shall I part my hair behind ? Do I dare to eat a peach ?
I shall wear white flannel trousers , and walk upon the
beach .
I have heard the mermaids singing , each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me .
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black .
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea - girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
130
Till human voices wake us , and we drown .