Author: Henry David Thoreau (---.spacegate.com.ua)
Date: 01-12-06 08:44
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How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December\'s bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summer\'s time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow\'d wombs after their lords\' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem\'d to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather\'d fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute:
Or, if they sing, \'tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter\'s near.
Equations are more important to me, because politics is for the present,
but an equation is something for eternity. --Albert Einstein
People do not make wars; governments do.
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer\'d steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken,
As I by yours, you\'ve pass\'d a hell of time;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffer\'d in your crime.
O! that our night of woe might have remember\'d
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender\'d
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.