Torres, Paul Captain christopher A. BSME-II
(by David Diop)
Africa, my personal Africa
Africa of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs
Africa of whom my personal grandmother sings
On the financial institutions of the isolated river
I use never well-known you
However your blood goes in my blood vessels
Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields
Blood of your perspiration
The perspire of your job
The work of the slavery
Africa, tell me The african continent
Is this you, this backside that is curled
This again that fractures
Under the excess weight of embarrassment
This again trembling with red scars
And declaring yes towards the whip underneath the midday sunlight
But a grave tone of voice answers me personally
Impetuous child that shrub, young and strong
That forest over generally there
Splendidly only amidst white-colored and passed flowers
That is your The african continent springing up anew
Cropping up with patience, obstinately
In whose fruit bit by bit acquires
The bitter flavor of freedom.
by Edward Arlington Brown
Whenever Richard Cory happened town,
We people around the pavement looked at him:
Having been a man from singular to top,
Clean popular, and imperially slim.
And he was often quietly arrayed,
And he was always man when he spoken;
But still this individual fluttered pulses when he explained,
'Good-morning, ' and this individual glittered when he walked.
And he was wealthy - certainly, richer compared to a king --
And admirably schooled atlanta divorce attorneys grace:
In fine, we thought that having been everything
To create us would like that we had been in his place.
So on all of us worked, and waited intended for the light,
And went with no meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one peaceful summer evening,
Went residence and put a bullet through his head.
by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me personally,
Black because the Gap from rod to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
Intended for my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch i465 black of situation
I have not really winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is usually bloody, although unbowed.
Over and above this host to wrath and...