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All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes, a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king...         From LOTR, The Council of Elrond THE POET      J R R Tolkien  The teller of the tolkien  legendarium John Ronald Reuel Tolkien ,  CBE   FRSL  ( / ˈ t ɒ l k iː n / ; [a]  3 January 1892 – 2 September 1973) was an English writer, poet,  philologist , and university professor who is best known as the author of the classic  high fantasy  works  The Hobbit ,  The Lord of the Rings , and  The Silmarillion .

Percy Shelley's "Ozymandias" I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is  Ozymandias , King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away Percy B. Shelley

Ode to the West Wind BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY I am autumn I   O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,  Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead  Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,  Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,  Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,  Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed  The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,  Each like a corpse within its grave, until  Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow  Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill  (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)  With living hues and odours plain and hill:  Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;  Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!  I am your fields II   Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion,  L...

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, The night above the dingle starry, Time let me hail and climb Golden in the heydays of his eyes, And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves Trail with daisies and barley Down the rivers of the windfall light. And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home, In the sun that is young once only, Time let me play and be Golden in the mercy of his means, And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold, And the sabbath rang slowly In the pebbles of the holy streams. All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air And playin...

It's a lesson you should heed, Try, try again. If at first you don't succeed, Try, try again. Then your courage should appear, For if you will persevere, You will conquer, never fear, Try, try again. Once or twice, though you should fail, Try, try again. If you would at last prevail, Try, try again. If we strive, 'tis no disgrace, Though we do not win the race; What should you do in that case? Try, try again. If you find your task is hard, Try, try again. Time will bring you your reward, Try, try again. All that other folk can do, Why, with patience, should not you? Only keep this rule in view, Try, try again

(A part of a dialogue from As You Like It ) All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages.  At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school.  And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow.  Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth.  And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part.  The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthfu...

Robert Frost 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.