The tyger :

Tyger ! Tyger ! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry ?

In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes ? On what wings dare he aspire ? What the hand dare sieze the fire ?

And what shoulder, & what art. Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand ? & what dread feet ?

What the hammer ? what the chain ? In what furnace was thy brain ? What the anvil ? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp ?

When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see ? Did he who made the Lamb make thee ?

Tyger ! Tyger ! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ?

R Herrick : to the virgins, to make much of time. Listen here

A scene from Dead poets’ society :

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying : And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he’s a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer ; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry : For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry

W Wordsworth : the daffodils

Rudyard Kipling : If

IF you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too ; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise :

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master ; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim ; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same ; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools :

If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss ; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them : ’Hold on !’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, ’ Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much ; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And - which is more - you’ll be a Man, my son !

J Keats : when I have feras that I may cease to be.