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Best Famous Opposing Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Opposing poems. This is a select list of the best famous Opposing poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Opposing poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of opposing poems.

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Written by Robert Frost | Create an image from this poem

Waiting

 Afield at dusk

What things for dream there are when specter-like,
Moving amond tall haycocks lightly piled,
I enter alone upon the stubbled filed,
From which the laborers' voices late have died,
And in the antiphony of afterglow
And rising full moon, sit me down
Upon the full moon's side of the first haycock
And lose myself amid so many alike.

I dream upon the opposing lights of the hour,
Preventing shadow until the moon prevail;
I dream upon the nighthawks peopling heaven,
Or plunging headlong with fierce twang afar;
And on the bat's mute antics, who would seem
Dimly to have made out my secret place,
Only to lose it when he pirouettes,
On the last swallow's sweep; and on the rasp
In the abyss of odor and rustle at my back,
That, silenced by my advent, finds once more,
After an interval, his instrument,
And tries once--twice--and thrice if I be there;
And on the worn book of old-golden song
I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold
And freshen in this air of withering sweetness;
But on the memor of one absent, most,
For whom these lines when they shall greet her eye.


Written by Ezra Pound | Create an image from this poem

Sestina: Altaforte

 LOQUITUR: En Bertans de Born. Dante Alighieri put this man in hell
for that he was a stirrer up of strife. Eccovi! Judge ye! Have I dug
him up again? The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his
jongleur. "The Leopard," the device of Richard Coeur de Lion.

I

Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.

II

In hot summer I have great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the lightning from black heav'n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.

III

Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breat opposing!
Better one hour's stour than a year's peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson!

IV

And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His long might 'gainst all darkness opposing.

V

The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash
For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.

VI

Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There's no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!"

VII

And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought "Peace!"
Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

Growth of Man -- like Growth of Nature --

 Growth of Man -- like Growth of Nature --
Gravitates within --
Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it --
Bit it stir -- alone --

Each -- its difficult Ideal
Must achieve -- Itself --
Through the solitary prowess
Of a Silent Life --

Effort -- is the sole condition --
Patience of Itself --
Patience of opposing forces --
And intact Belief --

Looking on -- is the Department
Of its Audience --
But Transaction -- is assisted
By no Countenance --
Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

The Sausage Candidate-A Tale of the Elections

 Our fathers, brave men were and strong, 
And whisky was their daily liquor; 
They used to move the world along 
In better style than now -- and quicker. 
Elections then were sport, you bet! 
A trifle rough, there's no denying 
When two opposing factions met 
The skin and hair were always flying. 
When "cabbage-trees" could still be worn 
Without the question, "Who's your hatter?" 
There dawned a bright election morn 
Upon the town of Parramatta. 
A man called Jones was all the go -- 
The people's friend, the poor's protector; 
A long, gaunt, six-foot slab of woe, 
He sought to charm the green elector. 

How Jones had one time been trustee 
For his small niece, and he -- the villain! -- 
Betrayed his trust most shamefully, 
And robbed the child of every shillin'. 
He used to keep accounts, they say, 
To save himself in case of trouble; 
Whatever cash he paid away 
He always used to charge it double. 

He'd buy the child a cotton gown 
Too coarse and rough to dress a cat in, 
And then he'd go and put it down 
And charge the price of silk or satin! 
He gave her once a little treat, 
An outing down the harbour sunny, 
And Lord! the bill for bread and meat, 
You'd think they all had eaten money! 

But Jones exposed the course he took 
By carelessness -- such men are ninnies. 
He went and entered in his book, 
"Two pounds of sausages -- two guineas." 
Now this leaked out, and folk got riled, 
And said that Jones, "he didn't oughter". 
But what cared Jones? he only smiled -- 
Abuse ran off his back like water. 

And so he faced the world content: 
His little niece -- he never paid her: 
And then he stood for Parliament, 
Of course he was a rank free trader. 
His wealth was great, success appeared 
To smile propitious on his banner, 
But Providence it interfered 
In this most unexpected manner. 

A person -- call him Brown for short -- 
Who knew the story of this stealer, 
Went calmly down the town and bought 
Two pounds of sausage from a dealer, 
And then he got a long bamboo 
And tightly tied the sausage to it; 
Says he, "This is the thing to do, 
And I am just the man to do it. 

"When Jones comes out to make his speech 
I won't a clapper be, or hisser, 
But with this long bamboo I'll reach 
And poke the sausage in his 'kisser'. 
I'll bring the wretch to scorn and shame, 
Unless those darned police are nigh: 
As sure as Brown's my glorious name, 
I'll knock that candidate sky-high." 

The speech comes on -- beneath the stand 
The people push and surge and eddy 
But Brown waits calmly close at hand 
With all his apparatus ready; 
And while the speaker loudly cries, 
"Of ages all, this is the boss age!" 
Brown hits him square between the eyes, 
Exclaiming, "What's the price of sausage?" 

He aimed the victuals in his face, 
As though he thought poor Jones a glutton. 
And Jones was covered with disgrace -- 
Disgrace and shame, and beef and mutton. 
His cause was lost -- a hopeless wreck 
He crept off from the hooting throng; 
Protection proudly ruled the deck, 
Here ends the sausage and the song.
Written by Walt Whitman | Create an image from this poem

Adieu to a Soldier

 ADIEU, O soldier! 
You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared,) 
The rapid march, the life of the camp, 
The hot contention of opposing fronts—the long manoeuver, 
Red battles with their slaughter,—the stimulus—the strong, terrific game,
Spell of all brave and manly hearts—the trains of Time through you, and like of you,
 all
 fill’d, 
With war, and war’s expression. 

Adieu, dear comrade! 
Your mission is fulfill’d—but I, more warlike, 
Myself, and this contentious soul of mine,
Still on our own campaigning bound, 
Through untried roads, with ambushes, opponents lined, 
Through many a sharp defeat and many a crisis—often baffled, 
Here marching, ever marching on, a war fight out—aye here, 
To fiercer, weightier battles give expression.


Written by Phillis Wheatley | Create an image from this poem

Goliath Of Gath

 SAMUEL, Chap. xvii.

YE martial pow'rs, and all ye tuneful nine,
Inspire my song, and aid my high design.
The dreadful scenes and toils of war I write,
The ardent warriors, and the fields of fight:
You best remember, and you best can sing
The acts of heroes to the vocal string:
Resume the lays with which your sacred lyre,
Did then the poet and the sage inspire.
Now front to front the armies were display'd,
Here Israel rang'd, and there the foes array'd;
The hosts on two opposing mountains stood,
Thick as the foliage of the waving wood;
Between them an extensive valley lay,
O'er which the gleaming armour pour'd the day,
When from the camp of the Philistine foes,
Dreadful to view, a mighty warrior rose;
In the dire deeds of bleeding battle skill'd,
The monster stalks the terror of the field.
From Gath he sprung, Goliath was his name,
Of fierce deportment, and gigantic frame:
A brazen helmet on his head was plac'd,
A coat of mail his form terrific grac'd,
The greaves his legs, the targe his shoulders prest:
Dreadful in arms high-tow'ring o'er the rest
A spear he proudly wav'd, whose iron head,
Strange to relate, six hundred shekels weigh'd;
He strode along, and shook the ample field,
While Phoebus blaz'd refulgent on his shield:
Through Jacob's race a chilling horror ran,
When thus the huge, enormous chief began:
"Say, what the cause that in this proud array
"You set your battle in the face of day?
"One hero find in all your vaunting train,
"Then see who loses, and who wins the plain;
"For he who wins, in triumph may demand
"Perpetual service from the vanquish'd land:
"Your armies I defy, your force despise,
"By far inferior in Philistia's eyes:
"Produce a man, and let us try the fight,
"Decide the contest, and the victor's right."
Thus challeng'd he: all Israel stood amaz'd,
And ev'ry chief in consternation gaz'd;
But Jesse's son in youthful bloom appears,
And warlike courage far beyond his years:
He left the folds, he left the flow'ry meads,
And soft recesses of the sylvan shades.
Now Israel's monarch, and his troops arise,
With peals of shouts ascending to the skies;
In Elah's vale the scene of combat lies.
When the fair morning blush'd with orient red,
What David's fire enjoin'd the son obey'd,
And swift of foot towards the trench he came,
Where glow'd each bosom with the martial flame.
He leaves his carriage to another's care,
And runs to greet his brethren of the war.
While yet they spake the giant-chief arose,
Repeats the challenge, and insults his foes:
Struck with the sound, and trembling at the view,
Affrighted Israel from its post withdrew.
"Observe ye this tremendous foe, they cry'd,
"Who in proud vaunts our armies hath defy'd:
"Whoever lays him prostrate on the plain,
"Freedom in Israel for his house shall gain;
"And on him wealth unknown the king will pour,
"And give his royal daughter for his dow'r."
Then Jesse's youngest hope: "My brethren say,
"What shall be done for him who takes away
"Reproach from Jacob, who destroys the chief.
"And puts a period to his country's grief.
"He vaunts the honours of his arms abroad,
"And scorns the armies of the living God."
Thus spoke the youth, th' attentive people ey'd
The wond'rous hero, and again reply'd:
"Such the rewards our monarch will bestow,
"On him who conquers, and destroys his foe."
Eliab heard, and kindled into ire
To hear his shepherd brother thus inquire,
And thus begun: "What errand brought thee? say
"Who keeps thy flock? or does it go astray?
"I know the base ambition of thine heart,
"But back in safety from the field depart."
Eliab thus to Jesse's youngest heir,
Express'd his wrath in accents most severe.
When to his brother mildly he reply'd.
"What have I done? or what the cause to chide?
The words were told before the king, who sent
For the young hero to his royal tent:
Before the monarch dauntless he began,
"For this Philistine fail no heart of man:
"I'll take the vale, and with the giant fight:
"I dread not all his boasts, nor all his might."
When thus the king: "Dar'st thou a stripling go,
"And venture combat with so great a foe?
"Who all his days has been inur'd to fight,
"And made its deeds his study and delight:
"Battles and bloodshed brought the monster forth,
"And clouds and whirlwinds usher'd in his birth."
When David thus: "I kept the fleecy care,
"And out there rush'd a lion and a bear;
"A tender lamb the hungry lion took,
"And with no other weapon than my crook
"Bold I pursu'd, and chas d him o'er the field,
"The prey deliver'd, and the felon kill'd:
"As thus the lion and the bear I slew,
"So shall Goliath fall, and all his crew:
"The God, who sav'd me from these beasts of prey,
"By me this monster in the dust shall lay."
So David spoke. The wond'ring king reply'd;
"Go thou with heav'n and victory on thy side:
"This coat of mail, this sword gird on," he said,
And plac'd a mighty helmet on his head:
The coat, the sword, the helm he laid aside,
Nor chose to venture with those arms untry'd,
Then took his staff, and to the neighb'ring brook
Instant he ran, and thence five pebbles took.
Mean time descended to Philistia's son
A radiant cherub, and he thus begun:
"Goliath, well thou know'st thou hast defy'd
"Yon Hebrew armies, and their God deny'd:
"Rebellious wretch! audacious worm! forbear,
"Nor tempt the vengeance of their God too far:
"Them, who with his Omnipotence contend,
"No eye shall pity, and no arm defend:
"Proud as thou art, in short liv'd glory great,
"I come to tell thee thine approaching fate.
"Regard my words. The Judge of all the gods,
"Beneath whose steps the tow'ring mountain nods,
"Will give thine armies to the savage brood,
"That cut the liquid air, or range the wood.
"Thee too a well-aim'd pebble shall destroy,
"And thou shalt perish by a beardless boy:
"Such is the mandate from the realms above,
"And should I try the vengeance to remove,
"Myself a rebel to my king would prove.
"Goliath say, shall grace to him be shown,
"Who dares heav'ns Monarch, and insults his throne?"
"Your words are lost on me," the giant cries,
While fear and wrath contended in his eyes,
When thus the messenger from heav'n replies:
"Provoke no more Jehovah's awful hand
"To hurl its vengeance on thy guilty land:
"He grasps the thunder, and, he wings the storm,
"Servants their sov'reign's orders to perform."
The angel spoke, and turn'd his eyes away,
Adding new radiance to the rising day.
Now David comes: the fatal stones demand
His left, the staff engag'd his better hand:
The giant mov'd, and from his tow'ring height
Survey'd the stripling, and disdain'd the fight,
And thus began: "Am I a dog with thee?
"Bring'st thou no armour, but a staff to me?
"The gods on thee their vollied curses pour,
"And beasts and birds of prey thy flesh devour."
David undaunted thus, "Thy spear and shield
"Shall no protection to thy body yield:
"Jehovah's name------no other arms I bear,
"I ask no other in this glorious war.
"To-day the Lord of Hosts to me will give
"Vict'ry, to-day thy doom thou shalt receive;
"The fate you threaten shall your own become,
"And beasts shall be your animated tomb,
"That all the earth's inhabitants may know
"That there's a God, who governs all below:
"This great assembly too shall witness stand,
"That needs nor sword, nor spear, th' Almighty's
hand:
"The battle his, the conquest he bestows,
"And to our pow'r consigns our hated foes."
Thus David spoke; Goliath heard and came
To meet the hero in the field of fame.
Ah! fatal meeting to thy troops and thee,
But thou wast deaf to the divine decree;
Young David meets thee, meets thee not in vain;
'Tis thine to perish on th' ensanguin'd plain.
And now the youth the forceful pebble slung
Philistia trembled as it whizz'd along:
In his dread forehead, where the helmet ends,
Just o'er the brows the well-aim'd stone descends,
It pierc'd the skull, and shatter'd all the brain,
Prone on his face he tumbled to the plain:
Goliath's fall no smaller terror yields
Than riving thunders in aerial fields:
The soul still ling'red in its lov'd abode,
Till conq'ring David o'er the giant strode:
Goliath's sword then laid its master dead,
And from the body hew'd the ghastly head;
The blood in gushing torrents drench'd the plains,
The soul found passage through the spouting veins.
And now aloud th' illustrious victor said,
"Where are your boastings now your champion's
"dead?"
Scarce had he spoke, when the Philistines fled:
But fled in vain; the conqu'ror swift pursu'd:
What scenes of slaughter! and what seas of blood!
There Saul thy thousands grasp'd th' impurpled sand
In pangs of death the conquest of thine hand;
And David there were thy ten thousands laid:
Thus Israel's damsels musically play'd.
Near Gath and Edron many an hero lay,
Breath'd out their souls, and curs'd the light of day:
Their fury, quench'd by death, no longer burns,
And David with Goliath's head returns,
To Salem brought, but in his tent he plac'd
The load of armour which the giant grac'd.
His monarch saw him coming from the war,
And thus demanded of the son of Ner.
"Say, who is this amazing youth?" he cry'd,
When thus the leader of the host reply'd;
"As lives thy soul I know not whence he sprung,
"So great in prowess though in years so young:"
"Inquire whose son is he," the sov'reign said,
"Before whose conq'ring arm Philistia fled."
Before the king behold the stripling stand,
Goliath's head depending from his hand:
To him the king: "Say of what martial line
"Art thou, young hero, and what sire was thine?"
He humbly thus; "The son of Jesse I:
"I came the glories of the field to try.
"Small is my tribe, but valiant in the fight;
"Small is my city, but thy royal right."
"Then take the promis'd gifts," the monarch cry'd,
Conferring riches and the royal bride:
"Knit to my soul for ever thou remain
"With me, nor quit my regal roof again."
Written by Paul Laurence Dunbar | Create an image from this poem

Keep A-pluggin' Away

I 've a humble little motto
That is homely, though it 's true,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
It's a thing when I 've an object
That I always try to do,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
When you 've rising storms to quell,
When opposing waters swell,
It will never fail to tell,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
If the hills are high before
And the paths are hard to climb,
Keep a-pluggin' away.
And remember that successes
Come to him who bides his time,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
From the greatest to the least,
None are from the rule released.
Be thou toiler, poet, priest,
Keep a-pluggin' away.
Delve away beneath the surface,
There is treasure farther down,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
Let the rain come down in torrents,
Let the threat'ning heavens frown,
Keep a-pluggin' away.
When the clouds have rolled away,
There will come a brighter day
All your labor to repay,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
There 'll be lots of sneers to swallow,
There 'll be lots of pain to bear,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
If you 've got your eye on heaven,
Some bright day you 'll wake up there,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
Perseverance still is king;
Time its sure reward will bring;
Work and wait unwearying,—
Keep a-pluggin' away.
Written by Wallace Stevens | Create an image from this poem

A High-Toned Old Christian Woman

 Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle. That's clear. But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones. And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began. Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince. But fictive things
Wink as they will. Wink most when widows wince.
Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

From Cocoon forth a Butterfly

 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
As Lady from her Door
Emerged -- a Summer Afternoon --
Repairing Everywhere --

Without Design -- that I could trace
Except to stray abroad
On Miscellaneous Enterprise
The Clovers -- understood --

Her pretty Parasol be seen
Contracting in a Field
Where Men made Hay --
Then struggling hard
With an opposing Cloud --

Where Parties -- Phantom as Herself --
To Nowhere -- seemed to go
In purposeless Circumference --
As 'twere a Tropic Show --

And notwithstanding Bee -- that worked --
And Flower -- that zealous blew --
This Audience of Idleness
Disdained them, from the Sky --

Till Sundown crept -- a steady Tide --
And Men that made the Hay --
And Afternoon -- and Butterfly --
Extinguished -- in the Sea --
Written by Mary Darby Robinson | Create an image from this poem

Lines inscribed to P. de Loutherbourg Esq. R. A

 WHERE on the bosom of the foamy RHINE,
In curling waves the rapid waters shine;
Where tow'ring cliffs in awful grandeur rise,
And midst the blue expanse embrace the skies;
The wond'ring eye beholds yon craggy height,
Ting'd with the glow of Evening's fading light:
Where the fierce cataract swelling o'er its bound,
Bursts from its source, and dares the depth profound.
On ev'ry side the headlong currents flow,
Scatt'ring their foam like silv'ry sands below:
From hill to hill responsive echoes sound,
Loud torrents roar, and dashing waves rebound:
Th' opposing rock, the azure stream divides
The white froth tumbling down its sparry sides;
From fall to fall the glitt'ring channels flow,
'Till lost, they mingle in the Lake below.
Tremendous spot ! amid thy views sublime,
The mental sight ethereal realms may climb,
With wonder rapt the mighty work explore,
Confess TH' ETERNAL'S pow'r ! and pensively adore! 

ALL VARYING NATURE! oft the outstretch'd eye 
Marks o'er the WELKIN's brow the meteor fly: 
Marks, where the COMET with impetuous force, 
O'er Heaven's wide concave, skims its fiery course: 
While on the ALPINE steep thin vapours rise, 
Float on the blast­or freeze amidst the skies: 
Or half congeal'd in flaky fragments glide 
Along the gelid mountain's breezy side; 
Or mingling with the waste of yielding snow, 
From the vast height in various currents flow. 

Now pale-ey'd MORNING, at thy soft command, 
O'er the rich landscape spreads her dewy hand: 
Swift o'er the plain the lucid rivers fly, 
Imperfect mirrors of the dappled sky: 
On the fring'd margin of the dimpling tide, 
Each od'rous bud, by FLORA'S pencil dy'd, 
Expands its velvet leaves of lust'rous hue, 
Bath'd in the essence of celestial dew: 
While from the METEOR to the simplest FLOW R, 
Prolific Nature ! we behold thy pow'r ! 
Yet has mysterious Heaven with care consign'd 
Thy noblest triumphs to the human mind; 
MAN feels the proud preeminence impart 
Intrepid firmness to his swelling heart; 
Creation's lord ! where'er HE bends his way, 
The torch of REASON spreads its godlike ray. 

As o'er SIClLlAN sands the Trav'ler roves, 
Feeds on its fruits, and shelters in its groves, 
Sudden amidst the calm retreat he hears 
The pealing thunders in the distant spheres; 
He sees the curling fumes from ETNA rise, 
Shade the green vale, and blacken all the skies. 
Around his head the forked lightnings glare,
The vivid streams illume the stagnant air: 
The nodding hills hang low'ring o'er the deep, 
The howling winds the clust'ring vineyards sweep; 
The cavern'd rocks terrific tremours rend; 
Low to the earth the tawny forests bend: 
While He an ATOM in the direful scene, 
Views the wild CHAOS, wond'ring, and serene; 
Tho' at his feet sulphureous rivers roll, 
No touch of terror shakes his conscious soul: 
His MIND ! enlighten'd by PROMETHEAN rays 
Expanding, glows with intellectual blaze! 

Such scenes, long since, th' immortal POET charm'd,
His MUSE enraptur'd, and his FANCY warm'd:
From them he learnt with magic eye t' explore,
The dire ARCANUM of the STYGIAN shore !
Where the departed spirit trembling, hurl'd
"With restless violence round the pendent world,"
On the swift wings of whistling whirlwinds flung, 
Plung'd in the wave, or on the mountain hung. 

While o'er yon cliff the ling'ring fires of day,
In ruby shadows faintly glide away; 
The glassy source that feeds the CATARACT's stream, 
Bears the last image of the solar beam: 
Wide o'er the Landscape Nature's tints disclose, 
The softest picture of sublime repose; 
The sober beauties of EVE'S hour serene, 
The scatter'd village, now but dimly seen, 
The neighb'ring rock, whose flinty brow inclin'd, 
Shields the clay cottage from the northern wind: 
The variegated woodlands scarce we view, 
The distant mountains ting'd with purple hue: 
Pale twilight flings her mantle o'er the skies, 
From the still lake, the misty vapours rise; 
Cold show'rs descending on the western breeze, 
Sprinkle with lucid drops the bending trees, 
Whose spreading branches o'er the glade reclin'd, 
Wave their dank leaves, and murmur to the wind. 

Such scenes, O LOUTHERBOURG! thy pencil fir'd, 
Warm'd thy great mind, and every touch inspir'd: 
Beneath thy hand the varying colours glow, 
Vast mountains rise, and crystal rivers flow: 
Thy wond'rous Genius owns no pedant rule, 
Nature's thy guide, and Nature's works thy school: 
Pursue her steps, each rival's art defy, 
For while she charms, THY NAME shall never die.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry