Original Wasteman

[original-wasteman]

The Flea

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,   How little that which thou deniest me is;   It sucked me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;   Thou know’st that this cannot be said A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,    Yet this enjoys before it woo,    And pampered swells with one blood made of two,    And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, nay more than married are.   This flea is you and I, and this Our mariage bed, and marriage temple is;   Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,   And cloistered in these living walls of jet.    Though use make you apt to kill me,    Let not to that, self-murder added be,    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?   Wherein could this flea guilty be, Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?   Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou   Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;    ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:    Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,    Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

[original-wasteman]

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an ancient land Who said "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away."

[original-wasteman]

Jabberwocky

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!’

He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought– So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back.

‘And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’ He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe

[original-wasteman]

Oranges

She bought oranges I did say buy oranges I meant satsumas

[original-wasteman]

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me  Black as the pit from pole to pole I thank whatever gods there may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud under the bludgeonings of fate My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms the horror of the shade And yet the menace of the years  Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how straight the gate How charged with punishments the scroll I am the master of my fate I am the captain of my soul. 

[original-wasteman]

If

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, ' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a man, my son.