meaning

the archivist February 6, 2010

Written from a hospital bed in 1875, after the 26-year-old Henley had had his leg amputated as a result of tuberculosis of the bone. Originally untitled, Arthur Quiller-Couch bestowed the name “Invictus” (“Unvanquished”) when he included it in The Oxford Book of English Verse. This was the poem Nelson Mandela kept on a scrap of […]

the archivist July 19, 2006

A PSALM OF LIFE What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist Henry Wadsworth Longfellow TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!— For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not […]

the archivist June 30, 2006

I recite this to myself, every time I am on an airplane. AN IRISH AIRMAN FORESEES HIS DEATH W. B. Yeats I know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I fight I do not hate, Those that I guard I do not love; My country is Kiltartan Cross, […]

the archivist June 28, 2006

LIFE’S TRAGEDY Paul Laurence Dunbar It may be misery not to sing at all And to go silent through the brimming day. It may be sorrow never to be loved, But deeper griefs than these beset the way. To have come near to sing the perfect song And only by a half-tone lost the key, […]

the archivist June 17, 2006

THE LIGHT OF STARS Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The night is come, but not too soon; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven But the cold light of stars; And the first watch of the night is given To the red planet […]

the archivist May 4, 2006

the lesson of the moth i was talking to a moth the other evening he was trying to break into an electric light bulb and fry himself on the wires why do you fellows pull this stunt i asked him because it is the conventional thing for moths or why if that had been an […]

the archivist April 22, 2006

The Waking Theodore Roethke I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go. We think by feeling. What is there to know? I hear my being dance from ear to ear. I wake to sleep, and take […]

the archivist April 19, 2006

SPOTKANIE Czesław Miłosz Jechaliśmy przed świtem po zamarzłych polach, Czerwone skrzydło wstawało, jeszcze noc. I zając przebiegł nagle tuż przed nami, A jeden z nas pokazał go ręką. To było dawno. Dzisiaj już nie żyją Ni zając, ani ten co go wskazywał. Miłości moja, gdzież są, dokąd idą Błysk ręki, linia biegu, szelest grud — […]