Another child, far, far away

It's the birthday of Robert Louis Stevenson, born in Edinburgh, Scotland (1850).

To Any Reader

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

As from the house your mother sees 

You playing round the garden trees, 

So you may see, if you will look 

Through the windows of this book, 

Another child, far, far away, 

And in another garden, play. 

But do not think you can at all, 

By knocking on the window, call 

That child to hear you. He intent 

Is all on his play-business bent. 

He does not hear; he will not look, 

Nor yet be lured out of this book. 

For, long ago, the truth to say, 

He has grown up and gone away, 

And it is but a child of air 

That lingers in the garden there.

Army general’s final ‘walk’ at Tomb of the Unknowns

 

Maj. Gen. William Zana, the only guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier to reach the rank of general, took a final guard shift on the night he retired.

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And now we lie in Flanders fields

In Flanders Fields

BY JOHN MCCRAE

In Flanders fields the poppies

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

    The torch; be yours to hold it high.

    If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

        In Flanders fields.

What art can wash her guilt away?

When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH

When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray,

What charm can sooth her melancholy,

What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom—is to die.

Old age should burn and rave at close of day

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

BY DYLAN THOMAS

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,   

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

First library in America gets its start in Philadelphia

On this day in 1731, a group of young men in Philadelphia pooled their money to set up the first library in America. The idea for a library came about when Benjamin Franklin started a club with about 50 friends so they could debate about politics, morality, and the natural sciences. The group was called the Club of Mutual Improvement. When they disagreed about a topic, they liked to consult books. But books were expensive in those days, so they combined their resources to found a subscription library. They called it the Philadelphia Library Company. The rule was that any "civil gentleman" could browse through the volumes, but only subscribers were allowed to borrow them. The library expanded over the years. Later it moved to Carpenter's Hall, the building where the First Continental Congress met in 1774. Franklin said that after the library opened, "reading became fashionable, and our people, having no public amusements to divert their attention from study, became better acquainted with books." (Source: The Writer’s Almanac)