Why can't I just eat my waffle?
O the wind is a faun in the spring time When the ways are green for the tread of the May! List! hark his lay! Whist! mark his play! T-r-r-r-l! Hear how gay!
In the under-wood and the over-wood there is murmur and trill this day, For every bird is in lyric mood, And the wind will have its way.
Some must delve when the dawn is nigh; Some must toil when the noonday beams; But when might comes, and the soft winds sigh, Every man is a King of Dreams.
Upon my lips the breath of song, Within my heart a rhyme, Howe'er time trips or lags along, I keep abreast with time!
Mortals, while through the world you go, Hope may succor and faith befriend, Yet happy your hearts if you can but know, Love awaits at the journey's end!
And from the phlox and mignonette Rich attars drift on every hand; And when star-vestured twilight comes The pale moths weave a saraband. And crickets in the aisles of grass With their clear fifing pierce the hush; And somewhere you many hear anear The passion of the hermit thrush.
We got to make sure that we have the incentives for people to rise and not put them in a position of where they go to work and they lose more than what they gain and they`re like this system is terrible.
Death tripped down the corridor, changing step, struck out here and there, danced pirouettes; often I felt his breath on my face when he was miles away; often I fell asleep and dreamed while he stood leaning over my bed.
I would not have majored in English and gone on to teach literature had I not been able to construct a counterargument about the truthfulness of fiction; still, as writers turn away from the industrious villages of George Eliot and Thomas Hardy, I learn less and less from them that helps me to ponder my life. In time, I found myself agreeing with the course evaluations written by my testier freshman students:'All the literature we read this term was depressing. ' How naive. How sane.
The streets of Vienna are paved with culture, the streets of other cities with asphalt.