En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Anecdote For Fathers

By the late W. W. (of H.M. Inland Revenue Service).
And is it so? Can Folly stalk
And aim her unrespecting darts
In shades where grave Professors walk
And Bachelors of Arts?
I have a boy, not six years old,
A sprite of birth and lineage high:
His birth I did myself behold,
His caste is in his eye.
And oh! his limbs are full of grace,
His boyish beauty past compare:
His mother's joy to wash his face,
And mine to brush his hair!
One morn we strolled on our short walk,
With four goloshes on our shoes,
And held the customary talk
That parents love to use.
(And oft I turn it into verse,
And write it down upon a page,
Which, being sold, supplies my purse
And ministers to age.)
So as we paced the curving High,
To view the sights of Oxford town
We raised our feet (like Nelly Bly),
And then we put them down.
'Now, little Edward, answer me'—
I said, and clutched him by the gown—
'At Cambridge would you rather be,
Or here in Oxford town?'
My boy replied with tiny frown
(He'd been a year at Cavendish),
'I'd rather dwell in Oxford town,
If I could have my wish.'
'Now, little Edward, say why so;
My little Edward, tell me why.'
'Well, really, Pa, I hardly know.'
'Remarkable!' said I:
'For Cambridge has her 'King's Parade,'
And much the more becoming gown;
Why should you slight her so,' I said,
'Compared with Oxford town?'
At this my boy hung down his head,
While sterner grew the parent's eye;
And six-and-thirty times I said,
'Come, Edward, tell me why?'
For I loved Cambridge (where they deal—
How strange!—in butter by the yard);
And so, with every third appeal,
I hit him rather hard.
Twelve times I struck, as may be seen
(For three times twelve is thirty-six),
When in a shop the Magazine
His tearful sight did fix.
He saw it plain, it made him smile,
And thus to me he made reply:—
'At Oxford there's a Crocodile;
And that's the reason why.'
Oh, Mr. Editor! my heart
For deeper lore would seldom yearn,
Could I believe the hundredth part
Of what from you I learn.

poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
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Oxford Town

Oxford town, oxford town
Evrybodys got their heads bowed down
The sun dont shine above the ground
Aint a-goin down to oxford town
He went down to oxford town
Guns and clubs followed him down
All because his face was brown
Better get away from oxford town
Oxford town around the bend
He come in to the door, he couldnt get in
All because of the color of his skin
What do you think about that, my frien?
Me and my gal, my gals son
We got met with a tear gas bomb
I dont even know why we come
Goin back where we come from
Oxford town in the afternoon
Evrybody singin a sorrowful tune
Two men died neath the mississippi moon
Somebody better investigate soon
Oxford town, oxford town
Evrybodys got their heads bowed down
The sun dont shine above the ground
Aint a-goin down to oxford town

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have Not Been To Oxford Town

Baby grace is the victim
She was 14 years of age
And the wheels are turning, turning
For the finger points at me
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
And the prison priests are decent
My attorney seems sincere
I fear my days are numbered
Lord get me out of here
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
This is your shadow on my wall
This is my flesh and blood
This is what I couldve been
And the wheels are turning and turning
As the 20th century dies
If I had not ripped the fabric
If time had not stood still
If I had not met ramona
If Id only paid my bill
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
And the wheels are turning and turning
As the 20th century dies
This is my bunk with two sheets
This is my food though foul
This is what I could have been
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies

song performed by by David Bowie
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Oxford is Oxford: not a mere receptacle for youth, like Cambridge. Perhaps it wants its inmates to love it rather than to love one another.

quote by E.M. Forster
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Anecdote For Fathers

I HAVE a boy of five years old;
His face is fair and fresh to see;
His limbs are cast in beautyÕs mold
And dearly he loves me.

One morn we strolled on our dry walk,
Or quiet home all full in view,
And held such intermitted talk
As we are wont to do.

My thoughts on former pleasures ran;
I thought of Kilve's delightful shore,
Our pleasant home when spring began,
A long, long year before.

A day it was when I could bear
Some fond regrets to entertain;
With so much happiness to spare,
I could not feel a pain.

The green earth echoed to the feet
Of lambs that bounded through the glade,
From shade to sunshine, and as fleet
From sunshine back to shade.

Birds warbled round me---and each trace
Of inward sadness had its charm;
Kilve, thought I, was a favoured place,
And so is Liswyn farm.

My boy beside me tripped, so slim
And graceful in his rustic dress!
And, as we talked, I questioned him,
In very idleness.

'Now tell me, had you rather be,'
I said. and took him by the arm,
'On Kilve's smooth shore, by the green sea,
Or here at Liswyn farm?'

In careless mood he looked at me,
While still I held him by the arm,
And said, 'At Kilve I'd rather be
Than here at Liswyn farm.'

'Now, little Edward, say why so:
My little Edward, tell me why.'---
'I cannot tell, I do not know.'---
'Why, this is strange,' said I;

'For, here are woods, hills smooth and warm:
There surely must one reason be
Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm
For Kilve by the green sea.'

At this, my boy hung down his head,
He blushed with shame, nor made reply;
And three times to the child I said,
'Why, :Edward, tell me why?'

His head he raised---there was in sight,
It caught his eye, he saw it plain---
Upon the house-top, glittering bright,
A broad and gilded vane.

Then did the boy his tongue unlock,
And eased his mind with this reply:
'At Kilve there was no weather-cock;
And that's the reaon why.'

O dearest, dearest boy! my heart
For better lore would seldom yearn,
Could I but teach the hundredth part
Of what from thee I learn.

poem by William Wordsworth
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The Oxford Thrushes

FEBRUARY, 1917

I never thought again to hear
The Oxford thrushes singing clear,
Amid the February rain,
Their sweet, indomitable strain.

A wintry vapor lightly spreads
Among the trees, and round the beds
Where daffodil and jonquil sleep,
Only the snowdrop wakes to weep.

It is not springtime yet. Alas,
What dark, tempestuous days must pass,
Till England's trial by battle cease,
And summer comes again with peace.

The lofty halls, the tranquil towers,
Where Learning in untroubled hours
Held her high court, serene in fame,
Are lovely still, yet not the same.

The novices in fluttering gown
No longer fill the ancient town,
But fighting men in khaki drest--
And in the Schools the wounded rest.

Ah, far away, 'neath stranger skies
Full many a son of Oxford lies,
And whispers from his warrior grave,
"I died to keep the faith you gave."

The mother mourns, but does not fail,
Her courage and her love prevail
O'er sorrow, and her spirit hears
The promise of triumphant years.

Then sing, ye thrushes, in the rain
Your sweet indomitable strain.
Ye bring a word from God on high
And voices in our hearts reply.

poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Robert Fleming Gourley

There came to Oxford Robert Gourley,
In his old ago his health was poorly ;
He was a relic of the past,
In his dotage sinking fast,

Yet he was erect and tall,
Like noble ruined castle wall.
In early times they did him impeach
For demanding right of speech,
Now Oxford he wished to represent
In Canadian Parliament ;
But him the riding did not honor,
But elected Doctor Connor.

poem by James McIntyre
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The dons of Oxford and Cambridge are too busy educating the young men to be able to teach them anything.

quote by Samuel Butler
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Sonnet 11

XI

A Book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon;
And wov'n close, both matter, form and stile;
The Subject new: it walk'd the Town a while,
Numbring good intellects; now seldom por'd on.
Cries the stall-reader, bless us! what a word on
A title page is this! and some in file
Stand spelling fals, while one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why is it harder Sirs then Gordon,
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?
Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,
Hated not Learning wors then Toad or Asp;
When thou taught'st Cambridge, and King Edward Greek.

Note: Camb. Autograph supplies title, On the Detraction which
followed my writing certain Treatises.

poem by John Milton
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I broke down while at Oxford, was rejected by a record number of medical tribunals during the War, and finally got permission to leave Oxford and do civilian work till the War ended.

quote by Leonard Alfred George Strong
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Looking back, nostalgically

The dreaming spires of Oxford lie
beneath an ever changing sky
A place where students aspire to
the earning of a sporting blue.

Or concentrate their energy
towards a double first degree
Some will succeed and make their mark.
To others just a youthful lark

An honoured university
which has been here for centuries
The town and gown oft disagree
they co exist uneasily

The students come from far and wide
to study by this riverside.
They stay here temporarily.
Then they must move on hopefully.

They leave the dreaming spires behind
as they strike out and try to find.
Some way to make their dreams come true
Some will succeed the elite few
.
On leaving university
you have to face reality.
The dreaming spires reluctantly
must be consigned to memory.

There is so much they need to learn.
As everybody must in turn,
success does not come easily.
Degrees provide no guarantee.

Now is the time when you must show
How much or little that you know.
Demonstrate your ability
and your adaptability..

Convince employers that you can
Do just as well as any man.
Although you lack experience
you have expressed a preference

by choosing them to apply to.
You like the kind of work they do.
If you survive the interview
and they decide to employ you.

Your years at university
As you will very quickly see
have not prepared you to compete.
Your dancing to a different beat.

You have signed on to the Rat race.
The city is a different place
From Oxford and its dreaming spires
where scholars pursue their desires.

All that counts here is success
you have work hard to progress.
Life here is lived by different rules
the city has no time for fools.

You must produce results it seems
If you want to fulfil your dreams.
Although in truth you’d rather be
back at your university.

The dreaming spires of Oxford lie
beneath an ever changing sky.
They do not change, no reason to.
Unlike the students who must do.

16-Mar-09

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Monty Python crowd; half of them came from Cambridge, and half of them came from Oxford. But, there seems to be this jewel, this sort of two headed tradition of doing comedy, of doing sketches, and that kind of thing.

quote by Rowan Atkinson
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For nine years, till the spring of 1881, we lived in Oxford, in a little house north of the Parks, in what was then the newest quarter of the University town.

quote by Mary A. Ward
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Isandlwana

Scarlet coats, and crash o' the band,
The grey of a pauper's gown,
A soldier's grave in Zululand,
And a woman in Brecon Town.

My little lad for a soldier boy,
(Mothers o' Brecon Town!)
My eyes for tears and his for joy
When he went from Brecon Town,
His for the flags and the gallant sights
His for the medals and his for the fights,
And mine for the dreary, rainy nights
At home in Brecon Town.

They say he's laid beneath a tree,
(Come back to Brecon Town!)
Shouldn't I know? -- I was there to see:
(It's far to Brecon Town!)
It's me that keeps it trim and drest
With a briar there and a rose by his breast --
The English flowers he likes the best
That I bring from Brecon Town.

And I sit beside him -- him and me,
(We're back to Brecon Town.)
To talk of the things that used to be
(Grey ghosts of Brecon Town);
I know the look o' the land and sky,
And the bird that builds in the tree near by,
And times I hear the jackals cry,
And me in Brecon Town.

Golden grey on miles of sand
The dawn comes creeping down;
It's day in far off Zululand
And night in Brecon Town.

poem by John McCrae
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English Names on Canadian Thames

England hath given us the names
To adorn Canadian Thames,
And charms to them she hath lent,
In Oxford, Middlesex and Kent.
She Essex kisseth in her mouth,
And Scottish names, one north, one south ;
And London now she justly claims
She's capital of vale of Thames,
And her strong castellated tower .
Doth on the river frowning lower ;
And Chatham is the river's port,
There slaves for freedom did resort,
And they did industrious toil
And now many own the soil.
Stratford, now, shall be our theme,
On Avon, tributary stream,
And its clear waters it doth launch
Into the Thames, northern branch.
Near that substantial stone town,
St. Mary's, with mills of renown.

Some imagine the Thames is too insignificant a stream
to be sung in verse.' Distance lends enchantment to
the view. and they fancy the old Scottish rivers are
more worthy of song ; but many of them are polluted of
late years with vile odors from factories ; and, as the
county of Oxford is agreeably diversified with hills
and dales, the clear, sparkling stream, flowing over a
pebbly bottom, is indeed 'a thing of beauty and a joy forever.'

poem by James McIntyre
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Oxford Street

London's Oxford Street,
Where is my lover who left me last night?
For the rains have set in and i am walking along alone without her;
But with the hope that i will reach to my house safely because,
It is dark and i am already socked in the rain.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Boys-Town And Girls-Town

Boys-Town and Girls-Town,
The human race reacts to the weather in different ways;
But i am the king that you are looking for.
This is like the last spiritual dance in your town,
And it is like the queen that you are seeking for;
But the healing tree is very far away from home!
And like the red colour of the earth around us.
Boys-Town and Girls-Town,
We all see what is going on around us;
But are we really ready to learn? !
For many have been deceived already,
And we cannot overcome the sickness of this world.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet: My Climb with Wings

I couldn’t afford Harvard, Cambridge, Oxford!
Nor could I walk on banks of river Thames;
I couldn’t travel by Rolls-Royce and Bedford,
Nor win the love of pretty, and young dames!

I could not go around the world by Jet;
Make friends with aristocratic persons;
Nor indulge in horse-racing, dice and bet;
From scholarly, great teachers, get lessons.

Despite my many hurdles, I sped fast,
Down lanes of life, I never dreamt I would;
I am the captain of my ship with mast!
Ready to sail around the globe with ‘food’.

I am a Bard and I’m glad about it;
And God will soon make me for praises fit.

6-22-2001

poem by John Celes
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When People Ask Me Where I Come From

I am just a peasant fellow without pretension to renown
But in some ways I feel lucky I was raised near Millstreet Town
And if anybody ask me where are you from anyway?
I tell them I come from Millstreet from a place called Claraghatlea.

Claraghatlea that sounds a strange name and where the hecks might Millstreet be?
I tell them a Town in North Cork inland distant from the sea
In green and fertile Duhallow with high mountains all around
Where you can view the finest scenery when you climb the higher ground.

Of Millstreet you paint a good picture but how do it compare to here?
We only read of wet Ireland where the skies are seldom clear
Not much point in pretty scenery if the weather's seldom fine
Give me Queensland and warm weather, golden beaches and sunshine.

With them I don't try to argue each to their own point of view
And what they read of Irish weather in some ways is partly true
But I have often been to Queensland and thought the climate hot and dry
And even in cooler Victoria risk of skin cancer is high.

When people ask me where I come from my heritage I don't deny
I tell them I come from Millstreet twelve thousand miles north as plane fly
Winter months were wet and frosty and in Spring some heavy showers
But from May onwards so much beauty, fields and gardens full of flowers.

It is Spring now in Victoria and today is such a pleasant day
And the grey shrike thrush is whistling in the wood across the way
it is almost perfect weather a high of twenty degrees
And the nestling birds are chirping in their nests high on the trees.

Wish today could last forever but wishing cannot make it be
In the Summer temperatures soar to a high of forty three
And this a cool part of Australia further north it's hot all year
And to some parts rain is a stranger and the drought can hit severe.

When people ask me where I come from west of Millstreet Town I say
In green and fertile Duhallow in a place called Claraghatlea
This Claraghatlea sounds such a strange name and where the hecks might Millstreet be?
I tell them by Clara mountain inland distant from the sea.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Paparrazzi

Eating ice-cream,
The sun is very hot and you are using the advantage;
But these paparrazzi around will never stop spying on you,
And like the schnapps sold along Oxford Street.

Where there is a will there is a hope,
So mark my words and study my muse;
Because your ice-cream is like the muse of my land!

Where there is a will there is a way,
But my heart will grow on because of your love;
And like the paparrazzi in the land of your muse,
But i am ready to love you with my sweet muse.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Whale

The Whale that wanders round the Pole
Is not a table fish.
You cannot bake or boil him whole
Nor serve him in a dish;

But you may cut his blubber up
And melt it down for oil.
And so replace the colza bean
(A product of the soil).

These facts should all be noted down
And ruminated on,
By every boy in Oxford town

Who wants to be a Don.

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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