- Poem: Sonnet 98: From you have I been absent in the spring By William Shakespeare
From you have I been absent in the spring,When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smellOf different flowers in odour and in hue,Could make me any summer’s story tell,Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;They were but sweet, but figures of delightDrawn after you, – you pattern of all those.Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,As with your shadow I with these did play.
- Music video: Disturbed – Another Way To Die
- Poem: Music when Soft Voices Die (To –) By Percy Bysshe Shelley
Music, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory—Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the belovèd’s bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on.
- Music Video: Remember When by Alan Jackson
- Poem: Remember By Langston Hughes
RememberThe days of bondage—And remembering—Do not stand still.Go to the highest hillAnd look down upon the townWhere you are yet a slave.Look down upon any town in CarolinaOr any town in Maine, for that matter,Or Africa, your homeland—And you will see what I mean for you to see—The white hand:The thieving hand.The white face:The lying face.The white power:The unscrupulous powerThat makes of youThe hungry wretched thing you are today.
- Poem: My Cup by Robert Friend
They tell me I am going to die
Why don’t I seem to care?
My cup is full. Let it spill.
- Poem: I Sing the Body Electric 6. by Walt Whitman
The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,He too is all qualities, he is action and power,The flush of the known universe is in him,Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang?Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,Each has his or her place in the procession.(All is a procession,The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,For you only, and not for him and her?