A Calendar of Sonnets: June
O month whose promise and fulfilment blend,
And burst in one! it seems the earth can store
In all her roomy house no treasure more;
Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend
On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end.
And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before
It hath made ready at its hidden core
Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend
Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee
Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth?
No room is left for deeper ecstacy?
Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free
Germs for thy future summers on the earth.
A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Saxon Epitaph
The earth builds on the earth
Castles and towers;
The earth saith of the earth:
All shall be ours.
Yea, though they plan and reap
The rye and the corn,
Lo, they were bond to Sleep
Ere they were born.
Yea, though the blind earth sows
For the fruit and the sheaf,
They shall harvest the leaf of the rose
And the dust of the leaf.
Pride of the sword and power
Are theirs at their need
Who shall rule but the root of the flower
The fall of the seed.
They who follow the flesh
In splendour and tears,
They shall rest and clothe them afresh
In the fulness of years.
From the dream of the dust they came
As the dawn set free.
They shall pass as the flower of the flame
Or the foam of the sea.
The earth builds on the earth
Castles and towers.
The earth saith of the earth:
All shall be ours.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love You Always Expect Love That Is Sweet And Enduring
we were once in love
i will not deny that
we make love almost every moment we look at each other
in the beach
in the camarin
in the house of your mother in the house of your friend
we like making love and we were content with what love is
for the time being
in the flesh,
we mature like some ripe fruits and we have no other option
like the fruit we fall
to the grounds of questioning ourselves
will this love be real even without the flesh
of the fruit?
will this love be true even without the leaves
of the trees?
will this love endure even when the tree is cut
because it will bear no fruit any longer?
i promise you love and i put the word there
forever,
but i never told you that there will be no pain
we compensate
we shall also be both broken......the sweetness shall not last longer,
but it is not the end yet, the sweetness shall linger in the memories
of our youth
when we wilt we shall be ready with our new seeds,
the rain shall make
the seeds grow again
time showers it with longings
and we shall now watch the flowers and the fruits
from a certain distance...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Dream Of Evolution....
shall a seed be
a seed forever?
do you not dream
someday that it shall
be planted
so that it can sprout
and grow
and then finally see
its flower
and fruit?
must the flower and fruit
be just the same
like the rest of the histories of
the other seeds
of their own form and kind?
must i hope
for an evolution
a seed turning
into a bee
a bee into
a butterfly into wind
into star?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My God, I Thank Thee who Hast Made
My God, I thank Thee who hast made
The earth so bright;
So full of splendour and of joy,
Beauty and light;
So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right!
I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made
Joy to abound;
So many gentle thoughts and deeds
Circling us round,
That in the darkest spot of earth
Some love is found.
I thank Thee more that all our joy
Is touched with pain;
That shadows fall on brightest hours;
So that earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain.
For Thou, who knowest, Lord, how soon
Our weak heart clings,
Hath given us joys, tender and true,
Yet all with wings;
So that we see, gleaming on high,
Diviner things.
I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept
The best in store:
We have enough, yet not too much
To long for more;
A yearning for a deeper peace,
Not known before.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Death And Birth
Death and birth should dwell not near together:
Wealth keeps house not, even for shame, with dearth:
Fate doth ill to link in one brief tether
Death and birth.
Harsh the yoke that binds them, strange the girth
Seems that girds them each with each: yet whether
Death be best, who knows, or life on earth?
Ill the rose-red and the sable feather
Blend in one crown's plume, as grief with mirth:
Ill met still are warm and wintry weather,
Death and birth.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Genesis
In the outer world that was before this earth,
That was before all shape or space was born,
Before the blind first hour of time had birth,
Before night knew the moonlight or the morn;
Yea, before any world had any light,
Or anything called God or man drew breath,
Slowly the strong sides of the heaving night
Moved, and brought forth the strength of life and death.
And the sad shapeless horror increate
That was all things and one thing, without fruit,
Limit, or law; where love was none, nor hate,
Where no leaf came to blossom from no root;
The very darkness that time knew not of,
Nor God laid hand on, nor was man found there,
Ceased, and was cloven in several shapes; above
Light, and night under, and fire, earth, water, and air.
Sunbeams and starbeams, and all coloured things,
All forms and all similitudes began;
And death, the shadow cast by life's wide wings,
And God, the shade cast by the soul of man.
Then between shadow and substance, night and light,
Then between birth and death, and deeds and days,
The illimitable embrace and the amorous fight
That of itself begets, bears, rears, and slays,
The immortal war of mortal things that is
Labour and life and growth and good and ill,
The mild antiphonies that melt and kiss,
The violent symphonies that meet and kill,
All nature of all things began to be.
But chiefliest in the spirit (beast or man,
Planet of heaven or blossom of earth or sea)
The divine contraries of life began.
For the great labour of growth, being many, is one;
One thing the white death and the ruddy birth;
The invisible air and the all-beholden sun,
And barren water and many-childed earth.
And these things are made manifest in men
From the beginning forth unto this day:
Time writes and life records them, and again
Death seals them lest the record pass away.
For if death were not, then should growth not be,
Change, nor the life of good nor evil things;
Nor were there night at all nor light to see,
Nor water of sweet nor water of bitter springs.
For in each man and each year that is born
Are sown the twin seeds of the strong twin powers;
The white seed of the fruitful helpful morn,
The black seed of the barren hurtful hours.
And he that of the black seed eateth fruit,
To him the savour as honey shall be sweet;
And he in whom the white seed hath struck root,
He shall have sorrow and trouble and tears for meat.
And him whose lips the sweet fruit hath made red
In the end men loathe and make his name a rod;
And him whose mouth on the unsweet fruit hath fed
In the end men follow and know for very God.
And of these twain, the black seed and the white,
All things come forth, endured of men and done;
And still the day is great with child of night,
And still the black night labours with the sun.
And each man and each year that lives on earth
Turns hither or thither, and hence or thence is fed;
And as a man before was from his birth,
So shall a man be after among the dead.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Falling Petal
It starts to grow in the morning dew
The beauty it shines through and through
Until one-day it is fully grown
Being grateful its seeds were sown
The flower has blossomed and it stands tall
But sadly it knows it soon will fall
For right now, it is so proud
And in the shade, it does not shrowd
For something that was once a beautiful flower
It now just withers and in a corner it cowers
It used to bloom in the light of day
Hoping its beauty will always stay
But now winter is here and the beauty's no-more
And the future of this flower has nothing in store
When the winter snow begins to settle
Thats when you see the first falling petal
poem by Jane Allan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
the Falling Petal
It starts to grow in the morning dew
The beauty it shines through and through
Until one-day it is fully grown
Being grateful its seeds were sown
The flower has blossomed and it stands tall
But sadly it knows it soon will fall
For right now, it is so proud
And in the shade, it does not shrowd
For something that was once a beautiful flower
It now just withers and in a corner it cowers
It used to bloom in the light of day
Hoping its beauty will always stay
But now winter is here and the beauty's no-more
And the future of this flower has nothing in store
When the winter snow begins to settle
Thats when you see the first falling petal
poem by Shirts Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wayfarer of Earth
Up, heart of mine,
Thou wayfarer of Earth!
Of seed divine,
Be mindful of thy birth.
Though the flesh faint
Through long-endured constraint
Of nights and days,
Lift up thy praise
To Life, that set thee in such strenuous ways,
And left thee not
To drowse and rot
In some thick-perfumed and luxurious plot.
Strong, strong is Earth,
With vigour for thy feet,
To make thy wayfaring
Tireless and fleet.
And good is Earth–
But Earth not all thy good,
O thou with seed of suns
And star-fire in thy blood.
And though thou feel
The slow clog of the hours
Leaden upon thy heel,
[Page 52]
Put forth thy powers.
Thine the deep sky,
The unpreëmpted blue,
The haste of storm,
The hush of dew.
Thine, thine the free
Exalt of star and tree,
The reinless run
Of wind and sun,
The vagrance of the sea!
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tonight I Sleep With Mother Earth
Seventy more years must pass,
To plus these ones gone past,
My eyelids, before they may close
Before Mother Earth opens up her core
To take my body in once more,
Before I sleep with Mother Earth.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
My castles strewn across the sky
Shall come down to the earth,
And grow up to scrape the sky.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
Life shall answer all questions posed,
I shall plaster all precious stones
Around my name, in umeasured fold.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth.
I shall grow tall and strong like a giant,
I shall be elephated from ant to elephant.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
All ears that hear must hear,
And those that can't must read,
And those that can't must feed,
Ingest by all means, the words that I speak.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
I must sleep with Success,
From that whore, I shall receive suck-sex
A crowned head, I'll not settle for any less.
I shall drink from the brooks of plenty,
I shall autograph the books of many.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
All my toils shall be brought to boil,
My labour shall bring forth fruit,
Truth and Life shall birth through me, Poetry
All my impregnations shall get expression,
I shall pour out my soul upon all flesh,
And still erect, I shall come, into Mother Earth.
Then I shall say:
'Seventy more years have gone past,
Many more tears have flushed past,
My eyelids, and now they may close,
As Mother Earth opens up her core,
For the time has come, as I said afore,
Tonight I sleep wiith Mother Earth.'
poem by Joba Akinola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Autumn
So still—so still! Only the endless sighing
Of sad Æolian harp-notes overhead;
Only the soft mass-music for the dying;
Only the requiem for the newly dead!
So strangely dim!—the grey mist on the heather,
The chill cloud-twilight in the wind-stripped bowers,
Where gold and scarlet sunlights lay together
On harvest fruit and summer wealth of flowers.
So empty now!—only the dead leaves sifting
The dead brown berries underneath the trees;
Only my fair dead treasures idly drifting
About my footsteps in the autumn breeze.
All over now! No flowers that must be tended
Are left to grow upon the open plain;
No fruits to ripen; for the harvest's ended—
There's no more need for either sun or rain.
The infinite hope, the boundless, strong endeavour,
The love and joy I never thought to sum,
The precious things that were to last for ever—
All gather'd now, and nothing more to come!
Only the shroud of snow, the white star-tapers,
The passionate storm-winds, wailing in the air;
Only the icy rain and tearful vapours,
Only the winter darkness of despair!
* * * * *
So still, so sweet! with tender breezes blowing
Amongst the hills and o'er the Lowland sod,
And golden drifts of dead leaves softly strowing
The seed-graves hollow'd by the hands of God.
So grey and calm! the crimson glory faded
From this low sky, pale blue and purple-barred—
This placid sea, with steel and silver shaded—
This fair earth, now with autumn furrows scarred.
In the decay such chasten'd beauty blending—
Beauty late-born of peace, and hope, and rest,
As in a saintly life when near the ending,
When all its strife and labour has been blest.
The harvest-time is past. But there remaineth
The well-stored treasure-house—the hidden seed
That dead leaves help to nourish, which containeth
The germ of a new life that's life indeed.
poem by Ada Cambridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Born On Earth
How many have you given birth,
Mother earth, Mother earth?
Bore them here to drink your rain,
bore them here to feel your pain?
You cannot count them though you try,
not until you feel them die.
One by one they came to you
and one by one they left your view.
They plowed your fields and reaped your seed
and ate of you to fill their need.
Some were kind and pure of heart,
some foolhardy from the start.
How many came and breathed your air
and offered thanks and gave you prayer?
Did you keep a record of each brave soul
or just use yourself to cover the hole
that waits and observes their destiny
and accepts their bodies with sympathy?
How many more will you give birth
to stake their claim upon your earth?
Too many, too many I'm afraid
and for most a terrible price will be paid.
How many have you given birth
Mother earth, Mother earth?
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Thyrza: And Thou Art Dead, As Young And Fair
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth received them in her bed
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And cans't not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine,
That all those charms have pass'd away
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath passed
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.
Treasure In Heaven
We spend and splurge all the day, while allowing our soul to stray,
Attracted to what pleases the eye, while we allow our soul to die.
Enticed by what the eye can see, with no thought towards eternity.
We spend effort and much time, securing what we claim as mine.
How much can you truly secure and keep with you forevermore?
Even those dear to your heart, will one day from this life depart.
Nothing of this world shall be, embraced in Heaven through Eternity.
The former things will be no more, after you enter Eternity’s Door.
Don’t store treasure here on earth, for in the end it’s of little worth.
Here moths destroy and rust corrode, not so in your heavenly abode.
Store treasure in Heaven friend, where an Eternity you will spend.
Where your treasure is, you’ll see, there your heart shall also be.
Christ came to this earth to fulfill, not His own, but His Father’s will.
As a servant, The Lord Jesus Christ laid His life down as a sacrifice.
Pick up your cross and follow Christ, as He’s already paid the price.
My friend if you will deny yourself, you shall have Eternal wealth.
Seek The Kingdom of God first and you will have an Eternal purse.
So seek the Righteousness of The Lord and He will open up a door,
For you to serve The Risen Christ, here on earth as a living sacrifice.
Then your treasure will endure, in Heaven with Christ forevermore.
(Copyright ©11/2004)
To Mary in Heaven
I.
I met thee first in May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May;
But now thou art away, Mary!
Away from me—away!
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
II.
Ah! then thine eyes were mild, Mary!
Thy deep blue eyes were mild;
For thou wert then a child, Mary!
And I another child.
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
III.
Thy face was then so meek, Mary!
So saintly mild, so meek,
Thy lily-form seemed weak, Mary!
And mine for thine grew weak
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
IV.
You led me through the meads, Mary!
The flower-enameled meads,
By brooks of rustling reeds, Mary!
By brooks of rustling reeds—
Where thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
V.
Wherever you then went, Mary!
No matter where you went—
I followed with content, Mary!
Because you were content.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VI.
I recollect the morn, Mary!
The beautiful May-Morn,
Beside the Field of Corn, Mary!
The rustling reeds of Corn—
That thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VII.
Ah! then I took thy hand, Mary!
Thy lily snow-white hand;
And walked along the sand, Mary!
The milk-white road of sand.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VIII.
I caught thee round the waist, Mary!
The slender Sylph-like waist,
And felt my heart beat fast, Mary!
Because thine own beat fast.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
IX.
Such words fell from thy tongue, Mary!
Such sweet words from thy tongue,
That when you talked you sung, Mary!
You never talked but sung.
Then thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
X.
Thus through the month of May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May,
We, courting, went to play, Mary!
And courted in our play.
The years were then to me, Mary!
As hours are now to me;
As time is now to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XI.
For Love knows nought of years, Mary!
Love nothing knows of years;
And sheds no bitter tears, Mary!
Time measured is by tears.
Thus thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XII.
What thou art now above, Mary!
I was, as if above;
For Heaven is made of love, Mary!
And I was full of love.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XIII.
But now these days are gone, Mary!
These halcyon days are gone!
And I am left alone, Mary!
Alone on earth-- alone!
What would I give to see, Mary!
Thy precious form to see?
All thou wouldst give to be, Mary!
In this dark world with me.
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from Eonchs of Ruby (1851)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
My Strawberry
O marvel, fruit of fruits, I pause
To reckon thee. I ask what cause
Set free so much of red from heats
At core of earth, and mixed such sweets
With sour and spice: what was that strength
Which out of darkness, length by length,
Spun all thy shining thread of vine,
Netting the fields in bond as thine.
I see thy tendrils drink by sips
From grass and clover's smiling lips;
I hear thy roots dig down for wells,
Tapping the meadow's hidden cells.
Whole generations of green things,
Descended from long lines of springs,
I see make room for thee to bide
A quiet comrade by their side;
I see the creeping peoples go
Mysterious journeys to and fro,
Treading to right and left of thee,
Doing thee homage wonderingly.
I see the wild bees as they fare,
Thy cups of honey drink, but spare.
I mark thee bathe and bathe again
In sweet unclaendared spring rain.
I watch how all May has of sun
Makes haste to have thy ripeness done,
While all her nights let dews escape
To set and cool thy perfect shape.
Ah, fruit of fruits, no more I pause
To dream and seek thy hidden laws!
I stretch my hand and dare to taste,
In instant of delicious waste
On single feast, all things that went
To make the empire thou hast spent.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A seed of love
I stand here with a dying
flower in my hand
It's our love
It's petals lie at my feet
along with the pieces of my heart
All twisted and black
But deep in the dark corner
of your heart
Theres a seed
a seed of love
Being kept from the light
I know cause i planted it there
And when your mind feels free
to let the light in and let it grow
It will overcome you and burst into flower
I will be there to hold that flower
And we together will nurture
that flower
And from it make a garden of love
to live in forever
poem by Paul Larmour
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Planted A Seed
I Planted A Seed
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Monday, April 26,2010 @ 1: 22 AM
I planted seeds and watched them grow
Each day I fertilized, pesticide, and watered the seeds
Weeds couldn’t strangle my seeds I made sure
They flourished in fertile soil gaining strength by the day
I tended my garden daily without fail
At night I made sure comforted they were
Kept them safe from the elements to flourish
Strong they grew so proud I was of my seedlings
Exquisite blossoms grew from the seeds I sow
Blessed was I my garden full of life and magnificence
Gracious flowers from seeds bloomed respectfully there
Rare colors of light bloom in my plot
Flourished flowers came and went in seasons due
Now fully mature they need tending no more
Their colors now turn a pale winter blue
Scornful now my flowers turn a shadowy brown
Fields I no longer tend dry from disuse
Efforts made gallantly on unappreciative ears they are falling
Ostracized be by flowers lacking in devotion
Buds turned left the farmer to burn in summers heat
One seedling still cares and is always there
Never far fledged the one daffodil looms
In shadows bloomed now to a spectacular delight
In sorrowed fields once a daffodil is now in full bloom
In loving care suffered they not from abandonment
Tender the care giving for the farmer was driven
Success was a must for crooked the journey was laid
Apples of my eyes for I planted seeds and watch them grow
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Lamb’s Specimens of Dramatic Poets: Sonnets
I.
IF ALL the flowers of all the fields on earth
By wonder-working summer were made one,
Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun,
Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth
Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth
Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run
Breathed life, and all its breath was benison.
Beloved beyond all names of English birth,
More dear than mightier memories; gentlest name
That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame,
Or linked itself with loftiest names of old
By right and might of loving; I, that am
Less than the least of those within thy fold,
Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb.
II.
So many a year had borne its own bright bees
And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived,
John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived
So well with craft of moulding melodies,
Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease
Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived
Of summer music from the spring derived
When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees
But thine was not the chance of every day:
Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny,
And light between the clouds ere sunset swam,
Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away,
When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey
Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The harvest of the mind
Consider for a while,
deeper mind as agriculture:
garnered seeds at rightful time –
deeds as seeds –
surrendered to the wisdom of the earth
which contains the wisdom
of all other elements:
surrendered to the faith in nature,
hope of harvest;
in the meantime, nought to do
but pray and praise and cultivate
that inner earth; care
for next year’s seeding field;
repair the fences of discrimination; trim
the hedges, spinneys, copses,
where free nature of herself displays
so beautifully, that which is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!