Category: English

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
‘Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:

An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.

Every soul that touches yours -
Be it the slightest contact -
Get there from some good;
Some little grace; one kindly thought;
One aspiration yet unfelt;
One bit of courage
For the darkening sky;
One gleam of faith
To brave the thickening ills of life;
One glimpse of brighter skies -
To make this life worthwhile
And heaven a surer heritage.

“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,

“Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;

The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,

And I’ve many curious things to show when you are there.”

“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,

For who goes up your winding stair

can never come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly.

“There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,

And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in!”

“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,

They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend what can I do,

To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?

I have within my pantry, good store of all that’s nice;

I’m sure you’re very welcome — will you please to take a slice?”

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water’d it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright .
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole,
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

It sat alone.
What happened there is still today unknown.
It is a very mysterious place,
And inside you can tell it has a ton of space,
But at the same time it is bare to the bone.
At night the house seems to be alive,
Lights flicker on and off.
I am often tempted to go to the house,
To just take a look and see what it is really about,
But fear takes over me.
I drive past the house almost every day.
The house seems to be a bit brighter
On this warm summer day in May.
It plays with your mind.
To me I say, it is one of a kind.
Beside the house sits a tree.
It never grows leaves, Not in the winter, spring, summer or fall.
How could this be?
I really don’t know.
It just sits there, never getting small or ever growing tall,
Rumors are constantly being made,
And each day the house just begins to fade.
What happened inside that house?
I guess it will always be a mystery.

Remember, no men are strange, no countries foreign
Beneath all uniforms, a single body breathes
Like ours: the land our brothers walk upon
Is earth like this, in which we all shall lie.
They, too, aware of sun and air and water,
Are fed by peaceful harvests, by war’s long winter starv’d.
Their hands are ours, and in their lines we read
A labour not different from our own.
Remember they have eyes like ours that wake
Or sleep, and strength that can be won
By love. In every land is common life
That all can recognise and understand.
Let us remember, whenever we are told
To hate our brothers, it is ourselves
That we shall dispossess, betray, condemn.
Remember, we who take arms against each other
It is the human earth that we defile.
Our hells of fire and dust outrage the innocence
Of air that is everywhere our own,
Remember, no men are foreign, and no countries strange.

LIST OF POEMS

1. Life – Henry Van Dyke
2. I am Every Woman – Rakhi Nariani Shirke
3. The Secret of the Machines – Rudyard Kipling
4. The Ant and The Cricket – Adapted from Aesop’s fables
5. No Men are Foreign – James Falconer Kirkup
6. The House on Elm Street – Nadia Bush
7. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening – Robert Frost
8. A Poison Tree – William Blake
9. On Killing a Tree – Gieve Patel
10. The Spider and the Fly – Mary Botham Howitt
11. The River – Caroline Ann Bowles
12. The Comet – Norman Littleford
13. The Stick-together Families – Edgar Albert Guest
14. Special Hero – Christina M. Kerschen
15. Making Life Worth While – George Elliot
16. A Thing of Beauty – John Keats
17. Lessons in Life – Brigette Bryant & Daniel Ho
18. My Computer Needs a Break – Shanthini Govindan
19. Your Space – David Bates
20. Sea Fever – John Masefield
21. Courage – Edgar Albert Guest
22. Team Work – Edgar Albert Guest
23. From a Railway Carriage – Robert Louis Stevenson
24. Indian Seasons – Nisha Dyrene
25. A Tragic Story – William Makepeace Thackeray

Literary Works

List of Prose

1. His First Flight – Liam O’Flaherty
2. The Tempest – Tales From Shakespeare
3. The Last Lesson – Alphonse Daudet
4. The Little Hero of Holland – Mary Mapes Dodge
5. The Dying Detective – Arthur Conan Doyle
6. Learning the Game (Book Extract) – Sachin Tendulkar
7. The Cat and the Painkiller (An Extract from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer)
   – Mark Twain
8. Water – The Elixir of Life – Sir C.V.Raman
9. The Story of a Grizzly Cub – William Temple Hornaday
10. Sir Isaac Newton – Nathaniel Hawthorne
11. My Reminiscence – Rabindranath Tagore
12. The Woman on Platform 8 – Ruskin Bond
13. The Nose Jewel – C.Rajagopalachari
14. A Birthday Letter – Jawaharlal Nehru

Biographies of –

Mahatma Gandhi – Jawaharlal Nehru – Subash Chandra Bose – Helen Keller –
Kalpana Chawala – Dr.Salim Ali – Rani of Jhansi – Nelson Mandela – Abraham
Lincoln

When I was a baby,
you would hold me in your arms.
I felt the love and tenderness,
keeping me safe from harm.
I would look up into your eyes,
and all the love I would see.
How did I get so lucky,
you were the dad chosen for me.
There is something special
about a father's love.
Seems it was sent to me
from someplace up above.
Our love is everlasting,
I just wanted you to know.
That you're my special hero
and I wanted to tell you so.

The stick-together families are happier by far
Than the brothers and the sisters who take separate highways are.
The gladdest people living are the wholesome folks who make
A circle at the fireside that no power but death can break.
And the finest of conventions ever held beneath the sun
Are the little family gatherings when the busy day is done.
There are rich folk, there are poor folk, who imagine they are wise,
And they're very quick to shatter all the little family ties.
Each goes searching after pleasure in his own selected way,
Each with strangers likes to wander, and with strangers likes to play.
But it's bitterness they harvest, and it's empty joy they find,
For the children that are wisest are the stick-together kind.
There are some who seem to fancy that for gladness they must roam,
That for smiles that are the brightest they must wander far from home.
That the strange friend is the true friend, and they travel far astray
They waste their lives in striving for a joy that's far away,
But the gladdest sort of people, when the busy day is done,
Are the brothers and the sisters who together share their fun.
It's the stick-together family that wins the joys of earth,
That hears the sweetest music and that finds the finest mirth;
It's the old home roof that shelters all the charm that life can give;
There you find the gladdest play-ground, there the happiest spot to live.
And, O weary, wandering brother, if contentment you would win,
Come you back unto the fireside and be comrade with your kin.