The Brook

Hi guys. I PROMISE I will post on Jane Eyre soon. I've been trying to juggle a lot of small art projects on top of the big summer activities I am a part of. It's so busy. I am sure everyone is busy. I plan to be more devoted to the blog when fall comes around. We are thinking of making some changes also. So start checking more regularly when that time comes.

Here is a really pretty poem. I like it.

The Brook
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

COME from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally,

And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.




By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges,

By twenty thorps, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges.




Till last by Philip's farm I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.




I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles,

I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.




With many a curve my banks I fret

by many a field and fallow,

And many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.




I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may comeand men may go,

But I go on forever.




I wind about, and in and out,

with here a blossom sailing,

And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling,




And here and there a foamy flake

Upon me, as I travel

With many a silver water-break

Above the golden gravel,




And draw them all along, and flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.




I steal by lawns and grassy plots,

I slide by hazel covers;

I move the sweet forget-me-nots

That grow for happy lovers.




I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,

Among my skimming swallows;

I make the netted sunbeam dance

Against my sandy shallows.




I murmur under moon and stars

In brambly wildernesses;

I linger by my shingly bars;

I loiter round my cresses;




And out again I curve and flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.

Selected Works

Hello everyone!!

Here are two selections of literature that I really liked. I hope that everyone enjoys them as much as I do! Some of them give a slight background, so that it makes more sense. Anthony D.

Macbeth - William Shakespeare

Macbeth became king of Scotland after murdering the previous king. He has held the crown through violence and more murder. His wife supported him, then went mad, and he has just learned that she has died. However, he knows that he must shortly fight a battle for his crown, and his life, and he knows that he will lose. These are the reflections of an evil man who realises that he has lost everything.

Macbeth: She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.


Charge of the Light Brigade - Alfred Lord Tennyson

I.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

II.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Their’s not to make reply,
Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

III.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

IV.
Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn’d in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

V.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

VI.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!


Good huh? Got to love stuff by Tennyson and Shakespeare! ~T.D.