The Motivational Adda

A Photograph The cardboard shows me how it was When the two girl cousins went paddling Each one holding one of my mother’s hands,  And she the big girl - some twelve years or so.  All three stood still to smile through their hair At the uncle with the camera, A sweet face My mother’s, that was before I was born And the sea, which appears to have changed less Washed their terribly transient feet.  Some twenty-thirty- years later She’d laugh at the snapshot. “See Betty And Dolly," she’d say, “and look how they Dressed us for the beach." The sea holiday was her past, mine is her laughter. Both wry With the laboured ease of loss Now she’s has been dead nearly as many years As that girl lived. And of this circumstance There is nothing to say at all,  Its silence silences. - Shirley Toulson Summary And Theme : The poetess in this poem is describing the photograph of her mother's childhood when she went on a holiday with her two cousins. Further in the poem, it can be seen t

I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.                              - Robert Frost

"You may have to fight a Battle more than once to win it." More Links: Quotes: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Quotes Poetry: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Poetry Life Lessons: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Life%20Lessons

"Space is to Place as eternity is to time." Links You May Like: Quotes: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Quotes Motivational Quotes: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/p/motivational-quotes_10.html Poetry: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Poetry Hindi Poetry: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Hindi%20Poetry

" Tears Are The silent language of grief." More Links: Robert Frost Poetry:  https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Robert%20Frost Jane Austen Poetry: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Jane%20Austen

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less  gone ?   All  that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep — while I weep! O God! Can I not grasp  Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One  from the pitiless wave? Is  all  that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?             - Edgar Allan Poe

"Everyone is Gifted - But Some People Never open their Package." Links You May Like: Quotes: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Quotes Sonnets: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Sonnet P.B.Shelley: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/P.B.%20Shelley William Wordsworth: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/William%20Wordsworth

Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean  The children walking two & two in red & blue & green  Grey-headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snow,  Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow  O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London town  Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own  The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs  Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands  Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song  Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among  Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor  Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door .                                                     - William Blake More Links: Robert Frost: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Robert%20Frost William Shakespeare: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/l

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:     So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,  So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.                             - William  Shakespeare

SONNET 52 So am I as the rich, whose blessed key, Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.   Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since, seldom coming in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special-blest, By new unfolding his imprisoned pride.     Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,     Being had, to triumph, being lacked, to hope.              - William Shakespeare

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree  Toward heaven still,  And there's a barrel that I didn't fill  Beside it, and there may be two or three  Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.  But I am done with apple-picking now.  Essence of winter sleep is on the night,  The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.  I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight  I got from looking through a pane of glass  I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough  And held against the world of hoary grass.  It melted, and I let it fall and break.  But I was well  Upon my way to sleep before it fell,  And I could tell  What form my dreaming was about to take.  Magnified apples appear and disappear,  Stem end and blossom end,  And every fleck of russet showing clear.  My instep arch not only keeps the ache,  It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.  I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.  And I keep hearing from the cellar bin  Th

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;  Coral is far more red than her lips' red;  If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;  If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.  I have seen roses damasked, red and white,  But no such roses see I in her cheeks;  And in some perfumes is there more delight  Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.  I love to hear her speak, yet well I know  That music hath a far more pleasing sound;  I grant I never saw a goddess go;  My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.     And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare     As any she belied with false compare.             - William Shakespeare

A Chieftan to the Highlands bound, Cries, ‘Boatman, do not tarry; And I’ll give thee a silver pound To row us o’er the ferry.’ ‘Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?’ ‘Oh! I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle, And this Lord Ullin’s daughter. ‘And fast before her father’s men Three days we’ve fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. ‘His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?’ Outspoke the hardy Highland wight: ‘I’ll go, my chief – I’m ready: It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady. ‘And by my word, the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry: So, though the waves are raging white, I’ll row you o’er the ferry.’ By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still, as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew dre

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;  Or surely you'll grow double:  Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;  Why all this toil and trouble?  The sun above the mountain's head,  A freshening lustre mellow  Through all the long green fields has spread,  His first sweet evening yellow.  Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:  Come, hear the woodland linnet,  How sweet his music! on my life,  There's more of wisdom in it.  And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!  He, too, is no mean preacher:  Come forth into the light of things,  Let Nature be your teacher.  She has a world of ready wealth,  Our minds and hearts to bless—  Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,  Truth breathed by cheerfulness.  One impulse from a vernal wood  May teach you more of man,  Of moral evil and of good,  Than all the sages can.  Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;  Our meddling intellect  Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of

The Day I learned How to Live alone Everything became Beautiful.  Links You May Like: Quotes: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Quotes Life Lessons: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Life%20Lessons Robert Frost Poems: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Robert%20Frost Hindi Poetry: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Hindi%20Poetry Stories: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Story

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—     While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—             Only this and nothing more.”     Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.     Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow     From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—             Nameless  here  for evermore.     And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;     So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating     “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber doo