David,+Tyler,+Patrick,+Daniel

=David, Tyler, Patrick, Daniel=

DAVID POEM http://voicethread.com/share/1480530/

PATRICK DIPALO:

I Hear America Singing

By Walt Whitman I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs. David Castaneda ** By Robert Frost **

**Whose woods these are I think I know.** **His house is in the village though;** **He will not see me stopping here** **To watch his woods fill up with snow.** **My little horse must think it queer** **To stop without a farmhouse near** **Between the woods and frozen lake** **The darkest evening of the year.** **He gives his harness bells a shake** **To ask if there is some mistake.** **The only other sound’s the sweep** **Of easy wind and downy flake.** **The woods are lovely, dark and deep.** **But I have promises to keep,** **And miles to go before I sleep,** **And miles to go before I sleep.** Tyler Billings By Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. -- [] Daniel Kulinich By Emily Dickinson “Hope” is the thing with feathers “Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.