On the Way
(PHILADELPHIA, 1794)
NOTE.—The following imaginary dialogue between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, which is not based upon any specific incident in American history, may be supposed to have occurred a few months previous to Hamilton’s retirement from Washington’s Cabinet in 1795 and a few years before the political ingenuities of Burr—who has been characterized, without much exaggeration, as the inventor of American politics—began to be conspicuously formidable to the Federalists. These activities on the part of Burr resulted, as the reader will remember, in the Burr-Jefferson tie for the Presidency in 1800, and finally in the Burr-Hamilton duel at Weehawken in 1804.
BURR
Hamilton, if he rides you down, remember
That I was here to speak, and so to save
Your fabric from catastrophe. That’s good;
For I perceive that you observe him also.
A President, a-riding of his horse,
May dust a General and be forgiven;
But why be dusted—when we’re all alike,
All equal, and all happy? Here he comes—
And there he goes. And we, by your new patent,
Would seem to be two kings here by the wayside,
With our two hats off to his Excellency.
Why not his Majesty, and done with it?
Forgive me if I shook your meditation,
But you that weld our credit should have eyes
To see what’s coming. Bury me first if I do.
HAMILTON
There’s always in some pocket of your brain
A care for me; wherefore my gratitude
For your attention is commensurate
With your concern. Yes, Burr, we are two kings;
We are as royal as two ditch-diggers;
But owe me not your sceptre. These are the days
When first a few seem all; but if we live
We may again be seen to be the few
That we have always been. These are the days
When men forget the stars, and are forgotten.
BURR
But why forget them? They’re the same that winked
Upon the world when Alcibiades
Cut off his dog’s tail to induce distinction.
There are dogs yet, and Alcibiades
Is not forgotten.
HAMILTON
Yes, there are dogs enough,
God knows; and I can hear them in my dreams.
BURR
Never a doubt. But what you hear the most
Is your new music, something out of tune
With your intention. How in the name of Cain,
I seem to hear you ask, are men to dance,
When all men are musicians. Tell me that,
I hear you saying, and I’ll tell you the name
Of Samson’s mother. But why shroud yourself
Before the coffin comes? For all you know,
The tree that is to fall for your last house
Is now a sapling. You may have to wait
So long as to be sorry; though I doubt it,
For you are not at home in your new Eden
Where chilly whispers of a likely frost
Accumulate already in the air.
I think a touch of ermine, Hamilton,
Would be for you in your autumnal mood
A pleasant sort of warmth along the shoulders.
HAMILTON
If so it is you think, you may as well
Give over thinking. We are done with ermine.
What I fear most is not the multitude,
But those who are to loop it with a string
That has one end in France and one end here.
I’m not so fortified with observation
That I could swear that more than half a score
Among us who see lightning see that ruin
Is not the work of thunder. Since the world
Was ordered, there was never a long pause
For caution between doing and undoing.
BURR
Go on, sir; my attention is a trap
Set for the catching of all compliments
To Monticello, and all else abroad
That has a name or an identity.
HAMILTON
I leave to you the names—there are too many;
Yet one there is to sift and hold apart,
As now I see. There comes at last a glimmer
That is not always clouded, or too late.
But I was near and young, and had the reins
To play with while he manned a team so raw
That only God knows where the end had been
Of all that riding without Washington.
There was a nation in the man who passed us,
If there was not a world. I may have driven
Since then some restive horses, and alone,
And through a splashing of abundant mud;
But he who made the dust that sets you on
To coughing, made the road. Now it seems dry,
And in a measure safe.
BURR
Here’s a new tune
From Hamilton. Has your caution all at once,
And over night, grown till it wrecks the cradle?
I have forgotten what my father said
When I was born, but there’s a rustling of it
Among my memories, and it makes a noise
About as loud as all that I have held
And fondled heretofore of your same caution.
But that’s affairs, not feelings. If our friends
Guessed half we say of them, our enemies
Would itch in our friends’ jackets. Howsoever,
The world is of a sudden on its head,
And all are spilled—unless you cling alone
With Washington. Ask Adams about that.
HAMILTON
We’ll not ask Adams about anything.
We fish for lizards when we choose to ask
For what we know already is not coming,
And we must eat the answer. Where’s the use
Of asking when this man says everything,
With all his tongues of silence?
BURR
I dare say.
I dare say, but I won’t. One of those tongues
I’ll borrow for the nonce. He’ll never miss it.
We mean his Western Majesty, King George.
HAMILTON
I mean the man who rode by on his horse.
I’ll beg of you the meed of your indulgence
If I should say this planet may have done
A deal of weary whirling when at last,
If ever, Time shall aggregate again
A majesty like his that has no name.
BURR
Then you concede his Majesty? That’s good,
And what of yours? Here are two majesties.
Favor the Left a little, Hamilton,
Or you’ll be floundering in the ditch that waits
For riders who forget where they are riding.
If we and France, as you anticipate,
Must eat each other, what Cæsar, if not yourself,
Do you see for the master of the feast?
There may be a place waiting on your head
For laurel thick as Nero’s. You don’t know.
I have not crossed your glory, though I might
If I saw thrones at auction.
HAMILTON
Yes, you might.
If war is on the way, I shall be—here;
And I’ve no vision of your distant heels.
BURR
I see that I shall take an inference
To bed with me to-night to keep me warm.
I thank you, Hamilton, and I approve
Your fealty to the aggregated greatness
Of him you lean on while he leans on you.
HAMILTON
This easy phrasing is a game of yours
That you may win to lose. I beg your pardon,
But you that have the sight will not employ
The will to see with it. If you did so,
There might be fewer ditches dug for others
In your perspective; and there might be fewer
Contemporary motes of prejudice
Between you and the man who made the dust.
Call him a genius or a gentleman,
A prophet or a builder, or what not,
But hold your disposition off the balance,
And weigh him in the light. Once (I believe
I tell you nothing new to your surmise,
Or to the tongues of towns and villages)
I nourished with an adolescent fancy—
Surely forgivable to you, my friend—
An innocent and amiable conviction
That I was, by the grace of honest fortune,
A savior at his elbow through the war,
Where I might have observed, more than I did,
Patience and wholesome passion. I was there,
And for such honor I gave nothing worse
Than some advice at which he may have smiled.
I must have given a modicum besides,
Or the rough interval between those days
And these would never have made for me my friends,
Or enemies. I should be something somewhere—
I say not what—but I should not be here
If he had not been there. Possibly, too,
You might not—or that Quaker with his cane.
BURR
Possibly, too, I should. When the Almighty
Rides a white horse, I fancy we shall know it.
HAMILTON
It was a man, Burr, that was in my mind;
No god, or ghost, or demon—only a man:
A man whose occupation is the need
Of those who would not feel it if it bit them;
And one who shapes an age while he endures
The pin pricks of inferiorities;
A cautious man, because he is but one;
A lonely man, because he is a thousand.
No marvel you are slow to find in him
The genius that is one spark or is nothing:
His genius is a flame that he must hold
So far above the common heads of men
That they may view him only through the mist
Of their defect, and wonder what he is.
It seems to me the mystery that is in him
That makes him only more to me a man
Than any other I have ever known.
BURR
I grant you that his worship is a man.
I’m not so much at home with mysteries,
May be, as you—so leave him with his fire:
God knows that I shall never put it out.
He has not made a cripple of himself
In his pursuit of me, though I have heard
His condescension honors me with parts.
Parts make a whole, if we’ve enough of them;
And once I figured a sufficiency
To be at least an atom in the annals
Of your republic. But I must have erred.
HAMILTON
You smile as if your spirit lived at ease
With error. I should not have named it so,
Failing assent from you; nor, if I did,
Should I be so complacent in my skill
To comb the tangled language of the people
As to be sure of anything in these days.
Put that much in account with modesty.
BURR
What in the name of Ahab, Hamilton,
Have you, in the last region of your dreaming,
To do with “people”? You may be the devil
In your dead-reckoning of what reefs and shoals
Are waiting on the progress of our ship
Unless you steer it, but you’ll find it irksome
Alone there in the stern; and some warm day
There’ll be an inland music in the rigging,
And afterwards on deck. I’m not affined
Or favored overmuch at Monticello,
But there’s a mighty swarming of new bees
About the premises, and all have wings.
If you hear something buzzing before long,
Be thoughtful how you strike, remembering also
There was a fellow Naboth had a vineyard,
And Ahab cut his hair off and went softly.
HAMILTON
I don’t remember that he cut his hair off.
BURR
Somehow I rather fancy that he did.
If so, it’s in the Book; and if not so,
He did the rest, and did it handsomely.
HAMILTON
Commend yourself to Ahab and his ways
If they inveigle you to emulation;
But where, if I may ask it, are you tending
With your invidious wielding of the Scriptures?
You call to mind an eminent archangel
Who fell to make him famous. Would you fall
So far as he, to be so far remembered?
BURR
Before I fall or rise, or am an angel,
I shall acquaint myself a little further
With our new land’s new language, which is not—
Peace to your dreams—an idiom to your liking.
I’m wondering if a man may always know
How old a man may be at thirty-seven;
I wonder likewise if a prettier time
Could be decreed for a good man to vanish
Than about now for you, before you fade,
And even your friends are seeing that you have had
Your cup too full for longer mortal triumph.
Well, you have had enough, and had it young;
And the old wine is nearer to the lees
Than you are to the work that you are doing.
HAMILTON
When does this philological excursion
Into new lands and languages begin?
BURR
Anon—that is, already. Only Fortune
Gave me this afternoon the benefaction
Of your blue back, which I for love pursued,
And in pursuing may have saved your life—
Also the world a pounding piece of news:
Hamilton bites the dust of Washington,
Or rather of his horse. For you alone,
Or for your fame, I’d wish it might have been so.
HAMILTON
Not every man among us has a friend
So jealous for the other’s fame. How long
Are you to diagnose the doubtful case
Of Demos—and what for? Have you a sword
For some new Damocles? If it’s for me,
I have lost all official appetite,
And shall have faded, after January,
Into the law. I’m going to New York.
BURR
No matter where you are, one of these days
I shall come back to you and tell you something.
This Demos, I have heard, has in his wrist
A pulse that no two doctors have as yet
Counted and found the same, and in his mouth
A tongue that has the like alacrity
For saying or not for saying what most it is
That pullulates in his ignoble mind.
One of these days I shall appear again,
To tell you more of him and his opinions;
I shall not be so long out of your sight,
Or take myself so far, that I may not,
Like Alcibiades, come back again.
He went away to Phrygia, and fared ill.
HAMILTON
There’s an example in Themistocles:
He went away to Persia, and fared well.
BURR
So? Must I go so far? And if so, why so?
I had not planned it so. Is this the road
I take? If so, farewell.
HAMILTON
Quite so. Farewell.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Related quotes
O Burr
O Burr, O Burr, what hast though done?
Thou hast shooted dead great Hamilton.
You hid behind a bunch of thistle,
And shooted him dead with a great hoss pistol.
Caption on a wax tableau of Vice President Aaron Burr's fatal interview with General Alexander Hamilton.
If you seek Hamilton's monument, look around. You are living in it. We honor Jefferson, but live in Hamilton's country, a mighty industrial nation with a strong central government.
quote by George Will
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hamilton
WILD and wet, and windy wet falls the night on Hamilton,
Hamilton that seaward looks unto the setting sun,
Lady of the patient face, lifted everlastingly,
Veiled and hushed and mystical as a cloistered nun.
O the days, the cruel days creeping over Hamilton
Like a train of haggard ghosts, homeless and accursed,
Moaning for a fleet o’ dream silver-sailed and wonderful,
Moaning for a sorrow’s sake, the fairest and the first.
O the moon, the lonely moon, leaning low on Hamilton,
Thro’ the years that sunder us the dead come back, come back,
Scent of white eucrephia stars blown on winds of Memory,
Glint and gleam of fagus gold adown the torrent’s track.
Half my heart is buried there, buried high on Hamilton,
Lonely is the sepulchre with never stone for sign,
Where the nodding myrtle-plumes stand like sable sentinels
And the ruddy rimony wreathes the hooded pine.
Half my heart is yearning yet, yearning yet for Hamilton,
Hamilton beyond the surge of sobbing Southern main,
O the croon of wistful winds calling, calling, calling me,
Where the mottled mountain thrush is singing in the rain.
We shall ne’er go back again, back again to Hamilton,
Heart o’ me, our track is toward the heart of burning day,
Hills beyond the call of hills beaconing and beckoning—
Westward, westward winds the track, a thread of dusky grey.
poem by Marie E J Pitt
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Song - On Hamilton Road
It was down by the corner on Hamilton Road
On a cold Sunday night when we met long ago
And we tenderly talked about what might have been
And your kiss was so soft and your lips were so sweet
We were only eighteen; I was full of it then
When we sat face to face in old F O S 10
And to have and to hold you, to fall or to dance
To win or to lose you, my very last chance
(Chorus)
And the heavens held station above us that night
All the stars and the moon, they were waiting for signs
And you offered the dream I’d had since we were kids
And I threw it all to the cold winter wind
It was coming on Christmas, I was blind, I was young,
and though all that unfolded was just distance my love
You can still find a part of me chained like a ghost
In search of that dream down on Hamilton Road
(Chorus)
But there’s no place for sorrow though love fled the field
Like the swirling snowflake that’s preparing to yield
Because you were the sweet breeze that gave this life flight
The beautiful storm that once brought me to life
chorus
Now the world keeps on turning from the world we once knew
From rusting school gates where I waited for you
To streets where we’re strangers by night and by day
But Hamilton Road – sometimes seems like yesterday
7 10 06
Burr(r) Oak Cemetery aka How Cold is That!
In the south side outskirts of Chicago,
Where President, then US Senator, Barack Obama made himself known.
In Alsip, at the cold-hearted Burr Oak Cemetery, the owners,
-If you want to know,
Decided to ‘resell’ the land, not ‘loan’,
Previous plots,
-mind you that bodies were entombed,
-that were owned by others.
Some where famous,
such as civil rights icon Emmett Till,
Blues singers Dinah Washington and Willie Dixon.
Remembered,
- and some were not
The plots were the final resting spots,
For fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers.
.How cold is that?
Some bodies where exhumed, some of them were mutilated,
--and taken to a trash heap.
Other caskets were crushed to make room for more.
Headstones were removed,
--once for the family member’s memories to keep.
These souls are not resting in peace.
Come to think of it,
- Michael Jackson’s is at not at peace but rather at a ‘piece’.
His body is not buried yet,
It has been two weeks ago, lest we forget.
How cold is that?
Last Tuesday, there was memorial service for Jackson.
However there was not an open casket.
Was his body there?
Doesn’t anyone at the memorial service even care?
His brain is in a forensic toxicology lab somewhere.
It’s a pain to die, especially when you are or aren’t famous.
Where ever it may be,
Neverland or Burr Oak Cemetery,
- it’s rather incredulous.
By the way, where will the brain go?
Is it possible that they are putting Michael Jackson’s body on ice?
So to speak, for a few more weeks?
To make sure that he is all intact when Jehovah summons his body?
Is there no end to this mayhem, please help somebody!
As far as the Burr Oak Cemetery situation is concerned;
“The suspects, all of whom are black, were identified as Carolyn Towns,49,
Keith Nicks,45, and Terrence Nicks,39 — all of Chicago —
and Maurice Dailey,61, of Robbins. (Illinois)
They each have been charged with one count of dismembering a human body,
-a felony.”
How cold is that?
7-10-09
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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You’re in My Prayers, I Wish You Could Hear Them
You’re in My Prayers, I Wish You Could Hear Them
By Uriah Lee Hamilton
Gentle birdsong at dawn,
I like to find myself mingled in sunrise
With hope still lingering in my heart.
Like Walt Whitman and St. Francis
I could easily live with the animals,
My ideas, love, and loyalty
All simple, sweet, and non-harmful.
When we leave this life,
We return to the earth,
This really is reincarnation
And rejuvenation.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Go West, young man.
quote by Aaron Burr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghost Poetry
Ghost Poetry
By Uriah Lee Hamilton
I could kiss your wrists on a Saturday in the summer
Sitting by an apple tree in the park;
The warm breeze and sunlight on lush leaves
And the fragrance of peach conditioner in your hair,
It all makes me smile and believe in love.
One day, we will cease to exist.
Maybe long before that day,
Love and joy will have retreated
Distantly from our lives;
And thus, it so important and essential
To make it known this moment
The sweet innocent pleasure I receive
In telling you how special and meaningful
Everything about you is to me.
Perhaps, I can leave ghost poetry behind
So the world knows a woman was adored;
But if it all burns away like little paper boats
On the sea of forgetfulness,
I will find happiness today that it was understood
You were the only one that called my heart into being
From my first glimpse of your appearance.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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I’m The Catcher in the Rye
I’m The Catcher in the Rye
By Uriah Lee Hamilton and Leah
Threads of truth suspend in time,
Spinning webs of illusion,
Catching us each time we fall from grace.
I didn’t lie when I kissed your face
And said we’d be together for eternity,
I didn’t lie when I said
I’m the Catcher in the Rye.
Our lives are falling apart
Like crumbling leaves,
Beauty’s candlelight is fading
But not yet extinguished.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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The Queen's Marie
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi ribbons in her hair;
The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
Than ony that were there.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi ribbons on her breast;
The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
Than he listend to the priest.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi gloves upon her hands;
The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
Than the queen and a' her lands.
She hadna been about the king's court
A month, but barely one,
Till she was beloved by a' the king's court,
And the king the only man.
She hadna been about the king's court
A month, but barely three,
Till frae the king's court Marie Hamilton,
Marie Hamilton durst na be.
The king is to the Abbey gane,
To pu the Abbey tree,
To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;
But the thing it wadna be.
O she has rowd it in her apron,
And set it on the sea:
'Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,
Ye's get na mair o me.'
Word is to the kitchen gane,
And word is to the ha,
And word is to the noble room,
Amang the ladyes a',
That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed,
And the bonny babe's mist and awa.
Scarcely had she lain down again,
And scarcely faen asleep,
When up then started our gude queen,
Just at her bed-feet,
Saying 'Marie Hamilton, where's your babe?
For I am sure I heard it greet.'
'O no, O no, my noble queen!
Think no such thing to be!
'Twas but a stitch into my side,
And sair it troubles me.'
'Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton,
Get up, and follow me,
For I am going to Edinburgh town,
A rich wedding for to see.'
O slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly put she on;
And slowly rode she out the way,
Wi mony a weary groan.
The queen was clad in scarlet,
Her merry maids all in green;
And every town that they cam to,
They took Marie for the queen.
'Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,
Ride hooly now wi' me!
For never, I am sure, a wearier burd
Rade in your cumpanie.'
But little wist Marie Hamilton,
When she rade on the brown,
That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town,
And a' to be put down.
'Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives,
Why look ye so on me?
O, I am going to Edinburgh town,
A rich wedding for to see!'
When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs,
The corks frae her heels did flee;
And lang or eer she cam down again,
She was condemned to die.
When she cam to the Netherbow Port,
She laughed loud laughters three;
But when she cam to the gallows-foot,
The tears blinded her ee.
'Yestreen the queen had four Maries,
The night she'll hae but three;
There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaten,
And Marie Carmichael, and me.
'O, often have I dressd my queen,
And put gold upon her hair;
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows to be my share.
'Often have I dressd my queen,
And often made her bed:
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows-tree to tread.
'I charge ye all, ye mariners,
When ye sail ower the faem,
Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
But that I'm coming hame.
'I charge ye all, ye mariners,
That sail upon the sea,
Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
This dog's death I'm to die.
'For if my father and mother got wit,
And my bold brethren three,
O mickle wad be the gude red blude,
This day wad be spilt for me!
'O little did my mother ken,
The day she cradled me,
The lands I was to travel in,
Or the death I was to die!'
poem by Andrew Lang
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Never do today what you can put off till tomorrow. Delay may give clearer light as to what is best to be done.
quote by Aaron Burr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell to Time
Farewell to Time
By Uriah Lee Hamilton
Empty-handed at heaven’s gate,
I have nothing to give,
No reason to live,
I’m just lingering in the shadows
Of yesterday’s vague dreams of happiness
That today are a deluge of heartaches and regrets
Impossible to swim.
My one and only friend,
We are both forgotten in a lonely day
Where flowers delicately prepare
A pretty grave after so many mistaken breaths
That were meant as kind advice and loving thought,
A bouquet of friendship or a perfumed handkerchief of empathy
But it is now only words of inconsequential nonsense
For a life sadly misspent without returns
Or any evidence of a worthy existence.
Farewell to time
And the tears
That reached
No compassionate brow or cheek.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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The Queen's Marie
MARIE HAMILTON 's to the kirk gane,
Wi' ribbons in her hair;
The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton
Than ony that were there.
Marie Hamilton 's to the kirk gane
Wi' ribbons on her breast;
The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton
Than he listen'd to the priest.
Marie Hamilton 's to the kirk gane,
Wi' gloves upon her hands;
The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton
Than the Queen and a' her lands.
She hadna been about the King's court
A month, but barely one,
Till she was beloved by a' the King's court
And the King the only man.
She hadna been about the King's court
A month, but barely three,
Till frae the King's court Marie Hamilton,
Marie Hamilton durstna be.
The King is to the Abbey gane,
To pu' the Abbey tree,
To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;
But the thing it wadna be.
O she has row'd it in her apron,
And set it on the sea--
'Gae sink ye or swim ye, bonny babe,
Ye'se get nae mair o' me.'
Word is to the kitchen gane,
And word is to the ha',
And word is to the noble room
Amang the ladies a',
That Marie Hamilton 's brought to bed,
And the bonny babe 's miss'd and awa'.
Scarcely had she lain down again,
And scarcely fa'en asleep,
When up and started our gude Queen
Just at her bed-feet;
Saying--'Marie Hamilton, where 's your babe?
For I am sure I heard it greet.'
'O no, O no, my noble Queen!
Think no sic thing to be;
'Twas but a stitch into my side,
And sair it troubles me!'
'Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton:
Get up and follow me;
For I am going to Edinburgh town,
A rich wedding for to see.'
O slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly put she on;
And slowly rade she out the way
Wi' mony a weary groan.
The Queen was clad in scarlet,
Her merry maids all in green;
And every town that they cam to,
They took Marie for the Queen.
'Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,
Ride hooly now wi' me!
For never, I am sure, a wearier burd
Rade in your companie.'--
But little wist Marie Hamilton,
When she rade on the brown,
That she was gaen to Edinburgh town,
And a' to be put down.
'Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives,
Why look ye so on me?
O I am going to Edinburgh town,
A rich wedding to see.'
When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs,
The corks frae her heels did flee;
And lang or e'er she cam down again,
She was condemn'd to die.
When she cam to the Netherbow port,
She laugh'd loud laughters three;
But when she came to the gallows foot
The tears blinded her e'e.
'Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
The night she'll hae but three;
There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton,
And Marie Carmichael, and me.
'O often have I dress'd my Queen
And put gowd upon her hair;
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows to be my share.
'Often have I dress'd my Queen
And often made her bed;
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows tree to tread.
'I charge ye all, ye mariners,
When ye sail owre the faem,
Let neither my father nor mother get wit
But that I'm coming hame.
'I charge ye all, ye mariners,
That sail upon the sea,
That neither my father nor mother get wit
The dog's death I'm to die.
'For if my father and mother got wit,
And my bold brethren three,
O mickle wad be the gude red blude
This day wad be spilt for me!
'O little did my mother ken,
The day she cradled me,
The lands I was to travel in
Or the death I was to die!
Never do today what you can do tomorrow. Something may occur to make you regret your premature action.
quote by Aaron Burr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
quote by Amelia Burr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Last Good Hand
(john jarrard, gary burr)
The stars are way out of reach, they all said
Those are crazy schemes that fill your fool head
But it was clear from the moment we met
We could prove them wrong
All my life I heard that same old story
Dare to dream and youll just be sorry
I might have given up my shot at glory
But then you came along
Chorus:
Were not expecting this to go down easy
Were not expecting any sweet dreams
Sure thing
But with a little luck
Could be well be
Winding up the way we planned
Heading for our promised land
Holding one last good hand
Somethings calling us I know you hear it
Day by day I feel us growing near it
But once you find a kindred spirit
Theres nothing you can do
Oh, baby Im not saying we wont ever stumble
Some days will be rough and tumble
You and I know that lifes a gamble
But ill
Bet mine on you
Repeat chorus:
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men give me credit for some genius. All the genius I have lies in this when I have a subject in hand, I study it profoundly. Day and night it is before me. My mind becomes pervaded with it. Then the effort that I have made is what people are pleased to call the fruit of genius. It is the fruit of labor and thought.
quote by Alexander Hamilton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The inconveniences we faced within this state are minor compared to... New Orleans.
quote by Richard Burr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The terror attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, changed the way we think about security.
quote by Richard Burr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unexpected Event
Burr,
Bun,
Bum,
Likely,
Really,
Used to;
This great person!
Back to the real world,
Like arts and crafts.
Sleeping,
On the couch;
With figures, shapes, shades, images and colours! !
However, it was more than that;
because, i was preparing myself for an unexpected event.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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