Pythoness body—arching
Over the night like an ecstasy—
I feel your coils tightening…
And the world’s lessening breath.

Have I broken the smaller tabernacles, O Lord?
And in the destruction of these set up the greater and massive, the everlasting tabernacles?
I know nothing today, what I have done and why, O Lord, only I have broken and broken tabernacles.
They were beautiful in a way, these tabernacles torn down by strong hands swearing—
They were beautiful—why did the hypocrites carve their own names on the corner-stones? why did the hypocrites keep on singing their own names in their long noses every Sunday in these tabernacles?

Broderet paa et Guitarbaand
til en Kriger
Sang i Hjerte, Sværd i Haand,
Over Dig den danske Aand.

Bride's robes, would suit thee well,
Ye, my beloved of short years
Thy braids of hair, thy ear rings
peep from beneath the gossamer cover

Mother love is hushed
silence in the distant son
broken vase upon the floor

O Hari, 'tis morn, awake, there's water in the jar for you to wash your face no need to hurry there's plenty of time.

I'll bring you whatever you like for your breakfast- dried fruits, butter, honey and bread.

Says Suradasa, Yashoda's heart overflows with joy when her gaze alights on her darling boy.

Bread and milk for breakfast,
And woollen frocks to wear,
And a crumb for robin redbreast
On the cold days of the year.

Oh, my heart it is just achin'
For a little bit of bacon
A hunk of bread, a little mug of brew
I'm tired of seein' scenery
Just lead me to a beanery
Where there's something more than only air to chew

To be brave is to behave
bravely when your heart is faint.
So you can be really brave
only when you really ain't.

Born on the breast of the prairie, she smiles to her sire--the sun,
Robed in the wealth of her wheat-lands, gift of her mothering soil,
Affluence knocks at her gateways, opulence waits to be won.
Nuggets of gold are her acres, yielding and yellow with spoil,
Dream of the hungry millions, dawn of the food-filled age,
Over the starving tale of want her fingers have turned the page;
Nations will nurse at her storehouse, and God gives her grain for wage.