I Demand Death others have been given before and will be given

again and again, until the oppressive economic

My hands are wet with blood. They are crimsoned system has completely perished, until the sons of
with the blood of a man I have just killed. toil have been liberated from enslavement, and
I have come here today to confess. I have until man has been fully restored to decency and
committed murder, deliberate, premeditated self respect.
murder. I have killed a man in cold blood. That You tell me of the right to life and liberty and the
man is my master. pursuit of happiness. But I have known no rights,
I am here not to ask for pity but for justice. only obligations; I have known no happiness; only
Simple, elementary justice. I am a tenant… My despair in the encumbered existence that has
father was a tenant before me and so was his always been my lot.
father before him. This misery is my inheritance My dear friend, I am a peace-loving citizen. I have
and perhaps this will be my legacy to my children. nothing but love for my fellowmen. And yet, why
I have labored on a patch of land not mine. But I did I kill this man? It is because he was the symbol
have learned to love that land, for it is the only of an economic system which has made him and
thing that lies between me and complete me what we are: He, a master, and I, a slave.
destitution. Out of a deliberate design I killed him because I
It is the only world that I have learned to cherish. could no longer stand this life of constant fear and
And somewhere on that land I have managed to being a servant. I could no longer suffer the
build what is now the dilapidated nipa shack that thought of being perpetually a slave.
has been home to me. I committed the murder as an abject lesson. I
I have but a few world possessions, mostly rags. My want to blow that spelled the death of my master
debts are heavy. They are sum total of my to be a death blow to the institution of the
ignorance and the inspired arithmetic of my economic slavery which shamelessly exists in the
master, which I do not understand. bright sunlight of freedom that is guaranteed by
the constitution to every man. My dear friend: I
I labor like a slave and out of the fruits of that do anguish from the weak and helpless and has laid
labor I get but a mere pittance for a share. And I upon the back of the ignorant labor burdens that
have to stretch that mere pittance to keep myself are too heavy to be borne, I demand death!
and my family alive.
To this callous system of exploitation that has
My poverty has reduced me to the bare necessities tightened the fetters of perpetual bondage in the
of life. And the constant fear of rejection from the hands of thousands, and has killed the spirit of
land has made me totally subservient to my freedom in the hearts of men, I demand death.
master. You tell me that under the constitution, I
am a free man-free to do what I believe is just, To this oppression that has denied liberty to the
free to do what I think is right, and free to worship free and unbounded children of God, I DEMAND
God according to the dictate of my conscience. But DEATH!
I do not understand the meaning of all these for I
have never known freedom. I have always obeyed
the wishes of my master out of fear. I have always
regarded myself as no better than a slave to the
man who owns the land on which I live. I do not
ask you to forgive me nor to mitigate my crime. I
have taken the law into my own hands, and I must
pay for it in atonement.
But kill this system. Kill this system and you kill
despotism. Kill this system and you kill slavery.
Kill this despotism and you set the human soul to
liberty and freedom. Kill this slavery and you
release the human spirit into happiness and
contentment. For the cause of human liberty, of
human happiness and contentment, thousands and
even millions have died and will continue to die.
Mine is only one life. Take me if you must but let
it be a sacrifice to the cause which countless
The Face Upon the Floor My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out and my
Hugh Antoine D’Arcy lungs are going fast.

“I’ll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise,

‘Twas a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd
too.
was there,
Say! Give me another whiskey and I’ll tell you
Which well-nigh filled Joe’s barroom, on the
what I’ll do…
corner of the square;
That I was ever a decent man not one of you would
And as songs and witty stories Came through the
think;
open door,
But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the
me another drink.
floor.
“Where did it come from?” someone said. “The
“Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my
wind has blown it in.”
frame–
“What does it want?” another cried. “Some
Such little drinks to a bum like me are miserably
whiskey, or rum or gin?”
tame;
“Here, Toby, sic ’em, if your stomach’s equal to
Five fingers… there, that’s the scheme… and
the work–
corking whiskey, too.
I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s filthy as a
Well, here’s luck, boys and landlord… my best
Turk.”
regards to you.

This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical

“You’ve treated me pretty kindly and I’d like to
good grace;
tell you true
In fact, he smiled as tho’ he thought he’d struck
How I came to be the dirty sot, you see before you
the proper place.
now.
“Come, boys, I know there’s kindly hearts among
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle,
so good a crowd–
frame, and health,
To be in such good company would make a deacon
And but for a blunder ought to have made,
proud.
considerable wealth.

“Give me a drink–that’s what I want… I’m out of

“I was a painter, not one that daubed on bricks
funds, you know,
and wood,
When I had cash to treat the gang this hand was
But an artist, and for my age, was rated pretty
never slow.
good.
What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket
I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to
never held a sou;
rise,
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my
you.
eyes.

“There, thanks, that’s braced me nicely, God bless

“I made a picture perhaps you’ve seen, ’tis called
you one and all;
the ‘Chase of Fame’.
Next time I pass this good saloon, I’ll make another
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to
call.
my name,
Give you a song? No, I can’t do that, my singing
And then I met a woman… now comes the funny
days are past;
part–
With eyes that petrified my brain and sunk into my “Say, boys, if you give me just another whiskey I’ll
heart. be glad,
And I’ll draw right here a picture of the face that
“Why don’t you laugh? ’tis funny that the vagabond drove me mad.
you see Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark
Could ever love a woman and expect her love for the baseball score
me; You shall see the lovely Madeline upon the
But ’twas so, and for a month or two, her smiles barroom floor.”
were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine, it carried Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the
me to Heaven. vagabond began
To sketch a face that well might buy, the soul of
“Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom your soul any man.
you’d give, Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to head,
live; With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor and a picture… dead!
wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, ’twas she, for there never was, another half
so fair.

“I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,

Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived
across the way.
And Madeline admired it and much to my surprise,
Said she’d like to know the man, that had such
dreamy eyes.

“It didn’t take long to know him and before the

month had flown
My friend had stole my darling, and I was left
alone;
And ere a year of misery had passed above my
head,
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished and
was dead.

That’s why I took to drink, boys. why, I never see

you smile,
I thought you’d be amused and laughing all the
while.
Why, what’s the matter, friend?… there’s a tear-
drop in your eye,
Come, laugh like me ’tis only babes and women
that should cry.
Declamation

Pieces for High

School

Here's a list of high school declamation pieces perfect for

public speaking classes or competitions.

Declamation Defined
According to Merriam-Webster, to declaim is "to
speak rhetorically" or "to recite something as an
exercise in elocution." A declamation is a statement
that allows you to do this—is is a strong speech
filled with emotion.
Outside of politics, the most likely place to
encounter a declamation is a public speaking class.
Most public speaking classes ask students to
deliver declamation pieces. This is a favorite activity
for the speech teacher because it allows the student
to prominently show emotions. The term
"declamation" can be interpreted differently, but
most take declamation to mean expressing a
speech or piece in a dramatic and eloquent fashion.
Declamation is filled with passion and dramatic flair.
It is not a simple affair, nor is it an ordinary "reading"
of a piece. Declamation requires acting.

Most speeches can be declamation pieces, but

there are some that seem to be made for it. So here
is a list of declamation pieces, explanations of what
makes them fun and worthy to recite, and links to
full copies.
Bad Girl If you really wish to ensure my future...

This is a popular declamation piece about a "bad Then hurry....hurry back home! Where I await you,

girl" who becomes bad because of the negligence because I need you.

of her family, school, and society. Protect me from all evil influences that will threaten
me at my very own understanding.
Hey! Everybody seems to be staring at me.
But if I am bad, really bad...then, you've got to help
You! You! All of you!
me!
How dare you to stare at me?!
Help me! Oh please... Help me!
Why? Is it because I`m a bad girl?
A bad girl I am, a good-for-nothing teenager—a
problem child?
That's what you call me!
I smoke. I drink. I gamble at my young tender age.
I lie. I cheat, and I could even kill, if I have to.
Yes, I`m a bad girl, but where are my parents?
You! You! You are my good parents?
My good elder brother and sister in this society
where I live?

Look! Look at me.... What have you done to me?

You have pampered and spoiled me, neglected me
when I needed you most!
Entrusted me to a yaya, whose intelligence was
much lower than mine!
While you go about your parties, your meetings and
gambling session.
Thus... I drifted away from you!
Longing for a father`s love, yearning for a mother`s
care!

As I grew up, everything changed!

You too have changed!
You spent more time in your poker, majong tables,
bars and night clubs.
You even landed on the headlines of the newspaper
as crooks, pedlars and racketeers.
Now, you call me names, accuse me of everything I
do to myself?
Tell me! How good are you?
The Rich Man and the Poor Man But I understand because of your situation.”

This is another popular piece that has been boastfully the rich man said.

delivered in declamation contests time and time Outraged the poor man answered:
again. It is a dialogue between two men: the selfish “How pitiful the person blinded with pleasure;
rich and the begging poor. It is, perhaps, No, you don’t care of our journey
memorable for this line: "Eat, drink, and be merry. That you have created through your greediness.
For tomorrow you shall die!" Come now, man of weak soul!

“Food and money I give to you, Your days are numbered for you to face

Why do you shout so mercilessly The Man of Love.

When I give you your part?” You may not cry now but later you will

queried the rich man. When the chilling reality of the last judgment
Comes across your way;
The poor man replied:
Yes, then you will pity, but not for me.
“Your question you cannot answer
Not for anybody else.
For from pain and agony you are free,
But for yourself only!
But I have suffered and borne
Yes, eat, drink, and be merry.
The situation that I don’t like to be in.”
For tomorrow you shall die!
“That I couldn’t understand
Because life for me is easy;
I take this and take that,
And life is just what I want it to be.”
consented the rich man.

“Comfort your mind, rich man,

with realities of death.
Your wealth I do not envy
For you cannot buy
eternity with money.
If to live happily
is to live in hypocrisy,
Then I prefer to be silly
so I would be holy.
Life you love so much you will lose
And only then will you understand
What agony is,” the poor man shouted.

“Ha! Ha! Ha! You say so

For you desire this place of mine.
Indulgence you have clouded with reason
"If--" by Rudyard Kipling "If--" by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too: But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise; And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your If you can dream—and not make dreams your
master; master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim, If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same: And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools; And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss: And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone, To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much: If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son! And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
The Charge of the Light Brigade Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
This narrative poem written by Lord Alfred Tennyson as a Storm'd at with shot and shell,
dedication to the Charge of the Light Brigade at the Battle of
Balaclava during the Crimean War. This poem expresses the
While horse and hero fell,
bravery and honor displayed the cavalry, even at the risk of They that had fought so well
their own lives and the threat of imminent death. Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
1. All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward, 6.
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred. When can their glory fade?
"Forward, the Light Brigade! O the wild charge they made!
"Charge for the guns!" he said: All the world wondered.
Into the valley of Death Honor the charge they made,
Rode the six hundred. Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.
2.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
3.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
4.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
5.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,
Am I to Be Blamed? "TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had
been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad?
(This is a moving piece about a young girl arrested The disease had sharpened my senses, not
for stealing. She pleads her case to the police destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense
officers and tells her life story.) of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven
and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How
They're chasing me, they're chasing, no they must
then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how
not catch me, I have enough money now, yes
healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.
enough for my starving mother and brothers.
Please let me go, let me go home before you It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my
imprison me. brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and
Very well, officers? Take me to your headquarters. night. Object there was none. Passion there was
Good morning captain! no captain, you are none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged
mistaken, I was once a good girl, just like the rest of me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I
you here. Just like any of your daughters. But time had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this!
was, when I was reared in slums. But we lived One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture -- a pale
honestly, we lived honestly in life. My, father, blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me
mother, brothers, sisters, and I. But then, poverty my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very
entered the portals of our home. My father became gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the
jobless, my mother got ill. The small savings that my old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.
mother had kept for our expenses were spent. All
for our daily needs and her needed medicine. Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen
One night, my father went out, telling us that he know nothing. But you should have seen me. You
would come back in a few minutes with plenty of should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with
food and money, but that was the last time I saw what caution -- with what foresight, with what
him. He went with another woman. If only I could lay dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to
my hands on his neck I would wring it without pain the old man than during the whole week before I
until he breathes no more. If you were in my place, killed him."
you'll do it, wouldn't you Captain? What? You won't
still believe in me? Come and I'll show you a Land of Bondage, Land of the Free
dilapidated shanty by a railroad.
Mother, mother I'm home. Mother? Mother?! There This is written by Raul S. Manglapus and is about
Captain, see my dead mother. Captain? There are the oppression of the Filipino farmers during the
tears in your eyes? Now pack this stolen money and Spanish colonization. However, the piece can also
return it to the owner. What good would this do to be interpreted as a nation's continuing fight against
my mother now? She's already gone! Do you hear its oppressors in any era. This is a very passionate
me? She's already gone. Am I to be blamed for the piece. The last few lines will make your blood rush
things I have done? with honor and pride.
Again, this piece is a longer one (though not as long
"The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe "The Tell-Tale Heart"). You can easily find it in full,
The Tell-Tale Heart (one of my personal favorites) is but here is an excerpt to give you a feel:
written by Edgar Allan Poe, one of America's
"Once upon a time, the tao owned a piece of land. It
prominent writers of the Romantic movement. The
was all he owned. But he cherished it, for it gave
piece is long, but filled with drama and raw emotion.
him three things, having which, he was content: life,
It tells about someone who killed an old man
first of all, and liberty, and happiness.
because he (or she for all we know) was haunted by
Then one day the Spaniard came and commanded
the old man's "vulture-eye". The narrator or persona
him to pay tribute to the crown of Spain. The tao
of the tale tries to convince the reader that he is
paid tribute. And he was silent — he was certain
NOT crazy and is justified in killing the old man.
that he was still the master of his land.
However, at the end of the tale, the persona is
The Spaniard became rich. But with riches, evil
driven to confessing his own crime because he
entered into him and he came to the tao a second
"heard" the beating of the old man's heart (having
time. He read to the tao a formidable document
hidden the body below the floorboards) and is
saying: “According to this decreto real, which
convinced that the police officers have also heard
unfortunately you cannot read, this that you have
the loud beating of the old man's tell-tale heart.
been paying me is not tribute but rent, for the land is
The piece can easily be found in full elsewhere not yours but mine.” The tao paid tribute and said
online, but here is a taste: nothing … He ceased to be a freeman. He became
a serf. Still the tao held his peace. The rent went up
and up. The tao starved.
And this time at last he spoke. Not in words, but
with that rustic instrument with which he cleared the
land once his own — the bolo. He transformed it
from an instrument of tillage to an instrument of
death, and with it drove away the stranger."

O Captain! My Captain!
This poem by Walt Whitman is a memorable one
that many students deliver. Dedicated to Abraham
Lincoln, this poem talks about a fallen captain who
would no longer be around to witness the clear
waters and solid land that his ship has come upon
after weathering tumultuous waves and tempests.
This is a sad poem, expressing the grievance of a
people who have lost their leader.

I have included the first stanza here, but take a look

at the Poetry Foundation for a copy of the poem that
is correctly formatted; as you will be able to see, it
does make a difference.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we
sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all
exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim
and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

A Psalm of Life
"The Psalm of Life" is a poem by Henry Wadsworth works are always a joy to deliver. Sonnet 116 is
Longfellow (another personal favorite) that considered the most romantic sonnet that sums up
expresses a beautiful message of life: to make use everything that loving a person entails. Here are just
of our time on earth, to pursue dreams, and just two of Shakespeare's amazing sonnets.
LIVE!
SONNET 116
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream! Let me not to the marriage of true minds
For the soul is dead that slumbers, Admit impediments. Love is not love
And things are not what they seem. Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
Life is real! Life is earnest! O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
And the grave is not its goal; That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, It is the star to every wandering bark,
Was not spoken of the soul. Whose worth's unknown, although his height be
taken.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Is our destined end or way; Within his bending sickle's compass come;
But to act, that each to-morrow Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
Find us farther than to-day. But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
SONNET 18
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
In the world’s broad field of battle, Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
In the bivouac of Life, And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
Be a hero in the strife! And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
Let the dead Past bury its dead! But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Act,— act in the living Present! Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Heart within, and God o’erhead! Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
Lives of great men all remind us So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
We can make our lives sublime, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time; Here's Tom Hiddleston (aka Marvel's Loki) reading
Sonnet 18.
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, "How do I love thee? Let me count the
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
ways..."
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Of course, we also have to mention Elizabeth
Let us, then, be up and doing, Barrett Browning's sonnets, one of which is "Sonnet
With a heart for any fate; 43: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways," a
Still achieving, still pursuing, romantic and poetic declaration of unconditional
Learn to labor and to wait. love.

Sonnet XLIII
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
Shakespeare's Sonnets My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
Of course, if the teacher allows, then I love thee to the level of everyday's
Shakespearean sonnets are your to-go pieces! Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
Filled with passion and romance, Shakespeare's
I love thee freely, as men might strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
Land of Bondage, Land of the
With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath, Free
Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
This is written by Raul S. Manglapus and is about
the oppression of the Filipino farmers during the
Spanish colonization. However, the piece can also
be interpreted as a nation's continuing fight
against its oppressors in any era. This is a very
passionate piece. The last few lines will make
your blood rush with honor and pride.

Again, this piece is a longer one (though not as

long "The Tell-Tale Heart"). You can easily find
it in full, but here is an excerpt to give you a feel:

"Once upon a time, the tao owned a piece of land.

It was all he owned. But he cherished it, for it
gave him three things, having which, he was
content: life, first of all, and liberty, and
happiness.
Then one day the Spaniard came and commanded
him to pay tribute to the crown of Spain. The tao
paid tribute. And he was silent — he was certain
that he was still the master of his land.
The Spaniard became rich. But with riches, evil
entered into him and he came to the tao a second
time. He read to the tao a formidable document
saying: “According to this decreto real, which
unfortunately you cannot read, this that you have
been paying me is not tribute but rent, for the land
is not yours but mine.” The tao paid tribute and
said nothing … He ceased to be a freeman. He
became a serf. Still the tao held his peace. The
rent went up and up. The tao starved.
And this time at last he spoke. Not in words, but
with that rustic instrument with which he cleared
the land once his own — the bolo. He transformed
it from an instrument of tillage to an instrument of
death, and with it drove away the stranger."

O Captain! My Captain!
This poem by Walt Whitman is a memorable one
that many students deliver. Dedicated to Abraham
Lincoln, this poem talks about a fallen captain
who would no longer be around to witness the In the world’s broad field of battle,
clear waters and solid land that his ship has come In the bivouac of Life,
upon after weathering tumultuous waves and Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
tempests. This is a sad poem, expressing the Be a hero in the strife!
grievance of a people who have lost their leader.
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
I have included the first stanza here, but take a Let the dead Past bury its dead!
look at the Poetry Foundation for a copy of the Act,— act in the living Present!
poem that is correctly formatted; as you will be Heart within, and God o’erhead!
able to see, it does make a difference.
Lives of great men all remind us
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, We can make our lives sublime,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we And, departing, leave behind us
sought is won, Footprints on the sands of time;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all
exulting, Footprints, that perhaps another,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
and daring; A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
But O heart! heart! heart! Seeing, shall take heart again.
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies, Let us, then, be up and doing,
Fallen cold and dead. With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
A Psalm of Life
"The Psalm of Life" is a poem by Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow (another personal
favorite) that expresses a beautiful message of
life: to make use of our time on earth, to pursue
dreams, and just LIVE! Shakespeare's Sonnets
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Of course, if the teacher allows, then
Life is but an empty dream! Shakespearean sonnets are your to-go pieces!
For the soul is dead that slumbers, Filled with passion and romance, Shakespeare's
And things are not what they seem. works are always a joy to deliver. Sonnet 116 is
considered the most romantic sonnet that sums up
Life is real! Life is earnest! everything that loving a person entails. Here are
And the grave is not its goal; just two of Shakespeare's amazing sonnets.
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul. SONNET 116

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Is our destined end or way; Admit impediments. Love is not love
But to act, that each to-morrow Which alters when it alteration finds,
Find us farther than to-day. Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
And our hearts, though stout and brave, It is the star to every wandering bark,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating Whose worth's unknown, although his height be
Funeral marches to the grave. taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and
cheeks With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,
Within his bending sickle's compass come; Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, I shall but love thee better after death.
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

SONNET 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course,
untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Here's Tom Hiddleston (aka Marvel's Loki)

reading Sonnet 18.

"How do I love thee? Let me

count the ways..."
Of course, we also have to mention Elizabeth
Barrett Browning's sonnets, one of which is
"Sonnet 43: How do I love thee? Let me count the
ways," a romantic and poetic declaration of
unconditional love.

Sonnet XLIII

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men might strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose