On this particular March day inTheodore Facepaint, who was nine years old, agreed to do a parody.
Rider of the high trails, equally at ease astride Pegasus or the Roan Cayuse. There is no author attributed in that instance, either.
You can see the poem in that Life magazine herein an edition that has been digitized by Google Book Search. Thanks to Jeri Dobrowski for the book jacket image; she has a rare copy with a jacket in her collection.
Other states were carved or born Texas grew from hide and horn. Other states are long and wide, Texas is a shaggy hide. Dripping blood and crumpled hair; Some fat giant flung it there, Laid the head where valleys drain, Stretched its rump along the plain.
Other soil is full of stones, Texans plow up cattle-bones. Herds are buried on the trail, Underneath the powdered shale; Herds that stiffened like the snow, Where the icy northers go. Other states have built their halls, Humming tunes along the walls.
Texans watched the mortar stirred, While they kept the lowing herd. Stamped on Texan wall and roof Gleams the sharp and crescent hoof.
High above the hum and stir Jingle bridle rein and spur. Other states were made or born, Texas grew from hide and horn. O cruel road to Texas, How many hearts you broke Before you gave to Texas The rugged strength of oak! Frank Dobie writes, "The map of Texas looks somewhat like a roughly skinned cowhide spread out on the ground, the tail represented by the tapering peninsula at the mouth of the Rio Grande, the broad head by the Panhandle.
But 'Cattle,' by Berta Hart Nance, goes deeper than the map.
Inher book-length poem about Texas was published, The Round-Up. She had two other books of poetry published, and her work was included in many anthologies. Berta Hart Nance was also an accomplished singer and violinist, and the Old Jail Art Center in Albany, Texas, near her birthplace, includes correspon dence, newspaper articles, her violin, and other materials.
That book also contains her poem, "The Road to Texas," from which the book takes it title. The look upon his youthful face Was sinister and dark, And the pistol in his scabbard Had never missed its mark. The moonlight on the river Was bright as molten ore The ripples broke in whispers Along the sandy shore.
The breath of prairie flowers Had made the night-wind sweet, And a mockingbird made merry In a lacy-leafed mesquite. Death looked toward the river, He looked toward the land He took his broad sombrero off And held it in his hand, And death felt something touch him He could not understand.
The lights at Madden's ranch-house Were brighter than the moon, The girls came tripping in like deer, The fiddles were in tune, And death saw through the window The man he came to kill, And he that did not hesitate Sat hesitating still A cloud came over the moon, The moon came out and smiled, A coyote howled upon the hill, The mockingbird went wild.John marsden home and away analysis essay.
Lehrer dance review essay Chops poem analysis essays Chops poem analysis essays trichothecium roseum descriptive essay disappearing languages essays absolutism and relativism essays on love essay of african literature poems. Away from you It never worked before, being away From you.
But since I’m gone I can feel when the early shines of the sun puts a wide grin between your cold, red cheeks.
My heart beats, And it . "Home is the place when you go there, they have to take you in." In western society, most people move away from their family of origin.
In spite of this fact, it is good to know that the home of your youth is still there. Walking Home: Travels With a Troubadour on the Pennine Way by Simon Armitage – review Read more There is a want of feeling in this book, a distance, even a numbness, for which I struggle to account.
How to Write a Poem. In this Article: Article Summary Sample Poems Starting the Poem Writing the Poem Polishing the Poem Community Q&A Writing a poem is all about observing the world within or around you.
A poem can be about anything, from love to loss to the rusty gate at the old farm. (In , Sunil Iyengar gave a matchless stanza by stanza reading of that poem for this Review.) To be sure, two of the four bombs that killed 50 people and injured over exploded in subway stations on London Underground’s District and Circle line.