Happiness is all we need.................

Translated in French

Le bonheur est ma condition. Un certain corps qui n'est pas heureux n'est pas la vie vivante heureuse. En ce monde, aucun corps n'est préfet. La perfection viennent de l'intérieur. Pour être parfait, quelqu'un doit travailler dur. Travailler dur est un signe d'une bonne personne. Toutes les personnes travaillent avec l'ardeur pour obtenir un succès. Le bonheur et le succès sont faits pour chaque autre. Tous les deux sont importants dans une vie. Certains pensent que le bonheur est stationnaire où car d'autres pensent que le bonheur est permanent. Selon moi le bonheur est un état d'esprit. Pour moi le bonheur est force pour moi. Si je suis heureux que je sois fort. En d'autres termes le bonheur est ma force.Il est un difficile chargent de créer le bonheur. La satisfaction est le facteur le plus important pour créer le bonheur.

I hate it when people say that I'm mad at them when I am really not.

I hate it when people joke around or talk gibberish while I'm thinking about something.

I hate it when I'm left behind. I hate to hurt people's feelings.

I hate it when my feelings are being hurt.

I hate it when I can't be rude when I have to be.

I hate to be blamed for something I didn't do.

I hate it when people get too emotional.

I hate it when people can't control their anger.

I hate myself when I'm too stressed.

I hate to be hated by others.

I hate it when I feel like I don't have much time to do other stuff.

I hate it when I am too pressured.

I hate people who mess with girls like me.

I hate it when people talk bad about my close friends.

I hate it when my mom shouts at me.

I hate to be untrustable.

I hate it when people lie to me.

I hate it when I can't say what I really want.

I hate it when I can't do anything right.

My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose...................

Dear Students,

Well, thanks for viewing the blog.

If ever you have any problems don't hasitate to call 09327156989 or contact personally.

16/171 Suramya appartment, Naranpura

All the best .

Sheth Sir

In Alloway, Ayrshire, that Robert Burns was born. While not himself a composer of memorable music, his ability to set words to traditional Scottish folk airs remains unrivalled, and his songs are sung by Scots the world over on Burns Night celebrations each year on and around 25th January.
Curiously, his poetry might have been lost to us, had he agreed, in 1786, to take the job he was offered as a book-keeper on a slave plantation in Jamaica. He was dissuaded from going by a letter from an older poet named Thomas Blacklock. This was handy, as the ship on which he was due to sail sank.

RED RED ROSE

O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE
Red, Red Rose By Robert Burns Written in 1794
"O, My Luve's Like a Red, Red Rose" is reprinted from English Poems.
Ed. Edward Chauncey Baldwin & Harry G. Paul. New York: American Book Company, 1908.
by: Robert Burns (1759-1796)

I
O, MY Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

II

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

III

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

IV

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!









"O, My Luve's Like a Red, Red Rose" is reprinted from English Poems. Ed. Edward Chauncey Baldwin & Harry G. Paul. New York: American Book Company, 1908.

Theme

Burns clearly states and restates the theme: The speaker loves the young lady beyond measure. The only way he can express his love for her is through vivid similes and hyperbolic comparisons.


In the first stanza, the speaker presents two similes, the first comparing his love to a rose and the second comparing his love to a melody. The speaker also uses repetition to echo his sentiments--my luve's like in lines 1 and 3; that's newly and that's sweetly (pronoun, verb, and adverb combinations) in lines 2 and 4.

The second stanza addresses the young lady as bonnie (pretty), a word derived from the French word bon (good). In the last line of the stanza, a' means all and gang means go. This line introduces to the poem hyperbole, a figure of speech that exaggerates.

The speaker links the first line of the third stanza with the last line of the second stanza by repetition. The speaker continues hyperbole in the second and fourth lines. He also again relies on repetition in the third line by repeating the third line of the second stanza.

In the fourth stanza, the speaker again addresses his beloved, noting that though he must leave her for a while he will return for her even if he must travel ten thousand miles. Repetition occurs in the first and second lines, and hyperbole occurs in the last line.

total solar eclipse 2009

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NoBfIhWCSug

Movie THE KID

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTlUxNzt5Kw

Milk for the Cat

Harold Monro


Original text: Strange Meetings: Poems By Harold Monro
(Wiltshire: Laurel Books, 2003): 46-47.
First publication date: 1915
Publication date note: Georgian Poetry 2 (1915);
Collected Poems, ed. Alida Monro, with prefaces by F. S. Flint and T. S. Eliot (London: Cobden-Sanderson, 1933): 162-63.
RPO poem editor: Ian LancashireRP edition: 2004Recent editing: 1:2004/6/10
Composition date: 1914
Form: quatrains
Rhyme: abcbdefe...

Milk for the Cat
When the tea is brought at five o'clock,
And all the neat curtains are drawn with care,
The little black cat with bright green eyes
Is suddenly purring there.

At first she pretends, having nothing to do,
She has come in merely to blink by the grate,
But, though tea may be late or the milk may be sour,
She is never late.

And presently her agate eyes
Take a soft large milky haze,And her independent casual glance'Milk for the Cat'

When the tea is brought at five o'clock,
And all the neat curtains are drawn with care,
The little black cat with bright green eyes
Is suddenly purring there.

At first she pretends, having nothing to do,
She has come in merely to blink by the grate,
But, though tea may be late or the milk may be sour,
She is never late.

And presently her agate eyes
Take a soft large milky haze,
And her independent casual glance
Becomes a stiff, hard gaze.

Then she stamps her claws or lifts her ears,
Or twists her tail and begins to stir,
Till suddenly all her lithe body becomes
One breathing, trembling purr.

The children eat and wriggle and laugh;
The two old ladies stroke their silk:
But the cat is grown small and thin with desire,
Transformed to a creeping lust for milk.

The white saucer like some full moon descends
At last from the clouds of the table above;
She sighs and dreams and thrills and glows,
Transfigured with love.

She nestles over the shining rim,
Buries her chin in the creamy sea;
Her tail hangs loose; each drowsy paw
Is doubled under each bending knee.

A long, dim ecstasy holds her life;
Her world is an infinite shapeless white,
Till her tongue has curled the last holy drop,
Then she sinks back into the night,

Draws and dips her body to heap
Her sleepy nerves in the great arm-chair,
Lies defeated and buried deep
Three or four hours unconscious there.

-- Harold Monro