Bond and Free by Robert Frost

Love has earth to which she clingsWith hills and circling arms about—Wall within wall to shut fear out.But Thought has need of no such things,For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings. On snow and sand and turf, I seeWhere Love has left a printed traceWith straining in the world’s embrace.And such is Love and …

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In a Vale by Robert Frost

When I was young, we dwelt in a valeBy a misty fen that rang all night,And thus it was the maidens paleI knew so well, whose garments trailAcross the reeds to a window light. The fen had every kind of bloom,And for every kind there was a face,And a voice that has sounded in my …

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The Unkindest Blow by Saki

The season of strikes seemed to have run itself to a standstill.  Almost every trade and industry and calling in which a dislocation could possibly be engineered had indulged in that luxury.  The last and least successful convulsion had been the strike of the World’s Union of Zoological Garden attendants, who, pending the settlement of …

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Essay on of Social Media

The generation of 21st century stand at a point where we are fortunate enough to witness some of the most amazing technological advancements ever in history. Every now and then some innovation is built or an amazing idea is built which creates a craze equally all over the globe. Social media is the social interaction …

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Pea Brush by Robert Frost

I walked down alone Sunday after churchTo the place where John has been cutting treesTo see for myself about the birchHe said I could have to bush my peas. The sun in the new-cut narrow gapWas hot enough for the first of May,And stifling hot with the odor of sapFrom stumps still bleeding their life …

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The Lull by Saki

“I’ve asked Latimer Springfield to spend Sunday with us and stop the night,” announced Mrs. Durmot at the breakfast-table. “I thought he was in the throes of an election,” remarked her husband. “Exactly; the poll is on Wednesday, and the poor man will have worked himself to a shadow by that time.  Imagine what electioneering …

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Rose Pogonias by Robert Frost

A saturated meadow,Sun-shaped and jewel-small,A circle scarcely widerThan the trees around were tall;Where winds were quite excluded,And the air was stifling sweetWith the breath of many flowers,—A temple of the heat. These were bowed us in the burning,As the sun’s right worship is,To pick where none could miss themA thousand orchises;For though the grass was …

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