A Dog Named Bo
by Jimmy Stewart
Watch Jimmy's recital of this poem on The Tonight Show

He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball
or he felt like it
But mostly he didn’t come at all.

When he was young he never learned to heal or sit or stay
He did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn’t drag.

He’d dig up a rose bush just to spite me
And when I’d grab him he’d turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.

The gas man wouldn’t read our meter
He said we owned a real man eater.

He set the house on fire
But the story’s long to tell
Suffice to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.

And on evening walks, and Gloria took him
He was always first out the door.
The old one and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore

And he’d charge up the street with Mom hangin’ on
What a beautiful pair they were
And if it was still light and the tourists were out
They created a bit of a stir.

But every once in a while he’d stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face, look around.
It was just to make sure that the old one was there
To follow him where he was bound.

We’re early to bedders in our house
I guess I’m the first to retire
And as I’d leave the room he’d look at me
And get up from his place by the fire

He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs
And I’d give him one for a while
And he’d push it under the bed with his nose
And I’d dig it out with a smile

But before very long he’d tire of the ball
And he’d be asleep in his corner in no time at all

And there were nights when I’d feel him climb upon our bed
And lie between us and I’d pat his head

And there were nights when I’d feel this stare
And I’d wake up and he’d be sitting there.
And I’d reach out to stroke his hair
And sometimes I’d feel him sigh

And I think I know the reason why.
He’d wake up at night and he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things
And he’d be glad to have me near.

And now he’s dead
And there are nights when I think I feel him climb upon our bed
And lie between us
And I'd pat his head

And there are nights when I think I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair
And he’s not there, oh how I wish that wasn't so
I’ll always love a dog named Bo.

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN 
by Walt Whitman

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 my heart! heart! heart! 
O the bleeding drops of red, 
Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
Fallen cold and dead. 

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; 
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills, 
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a- 
crowding, 
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; 
Here Captain! dear father 
This arm beneath your head! 
It is some dream that on the deck, 
You've fallen cold and dead. 

My captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, 
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; 

Exult O shores, and ring O bells! 
But I with mournful tread 
Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
Fallen cold and dead.

Ulysses
by A.L. Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king, 
By this still hearth, among these barren crags, 
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole 
Unequal laws unto a savage race, 
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. 
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink 
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd 
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those 
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when 
Tho' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades 
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; 
For always roaming with a hungry heart 
Much have I seen and known; cities of men 
And manners, climates, councils, governments, 
Myself not least, but, honour'd of them all; 
And drunk delight of battle with my peers, 
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wheretho' 
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades 
for ever and for ever when I move. 
How dull it is to pause, to make and end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use, 
As tho' to breath were life. Life piled on life 
Were all too little, and of one to me 
Little remains: but every hour is saved 
From that eternal silence, something more, 
A bringer of new things; and vile it were, 
For some three suns to store and hoard myself, 
And this gray spirit yearning in desire 
To follow knowledge like a sinking star, 
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 

This is my son, mine own Telomachus, 
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle- 
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil 
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild 
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees 
Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere 
Of common duties, decent not to fail 
In offices of tenderness, and pay 
Meet adoration to my household gods, 
When I am gone, He works his work, I mine. 

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail: 
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, 
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me- 
That ever with a frolic welcome took 
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 
Free hearts, free foreheads-you and I are old; 
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; 
Death closes all: but something ere the end, 
Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: 
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep 
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world, 
Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: 
It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' 
We are not now that strength which in old days 
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; 
One equal temper of heroic hearts, 
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield.

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOODNIGHT
by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that goodnight, 
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 goodnight. 

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 goodnight. 

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 goodnight. 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that 
can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, 
and soar out of them again and become invisible 
in the sunny spaces. And even if he forever 
flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the 
mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop 
the mountain eagle is still higher 
than other birds upon the plain, 
even though they soar. 
 

Herman Melville Moby-Dick

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

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

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 
and sorry I could not travel both 
And be one traveler, long I stood 
An looked down one as far as I could 
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 
And having perhaps the better claim, 
For it was grassy and wanted wear; 
Though as for that the passing there 
Had worn them really about the some, 

And both that morning equally lay 
In leaves not step had trodden black. 
Oh, I kept the first for another day! 
Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 
I doubted if I should ever come back. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh 
Somewhere ages and ages hence: 
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I- 
I took the one less traveled by, 
And that has made all the difference. 

No complaints and no regrets--I still believe in chasing dreams and 
placing bets. 
But I have learned that all you give is all you get, so give it all 
you've got. 
I had my share--I drank my fill--and even though I'm satisfied I'm 
hungry still... 
To see what's down another road beyond a hill and do it all again. 
So here's to life, and every joy it brings.  Here's to life--to dreamers 
and their dreams. 
Funny how the time just flies!  How love can go from warm 'hellos' to 
sad 'goodbyes' 
And leave you with memories you've memorized to keep your winters warm. 
For there's no 'yes' in yesterday, and who knows what tomorrow brings or 
takes away? 
As long as I'm still in the game, I want to play--for laughs, for life, 
for love! 
So here's to life, and every joy it brings.  Here's to life--to dreamers 
and their dreams. 
May all your storms be weathered, and all that's good get better... 
Here's to life, Here's to love, Here's to you. 

I met a traveler from an antique land 
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, 
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; 
And on the pedestal these words appear; 
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings; 
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' 
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare 
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

I was angry with my friend; 
I told my wrath, my wrath did end. 
I was angry with my foe; 
I told it not, my wrath did grow. 
And I watered it in fears, 
Night and morning with my tears; 
And I sunnèd it with smiles, 
And with soft deceitful wiles. 
And it grew both day and night, 
Till it bore an apple bright; 
And my foe beheld it shine, 
And he knew that it was mine, 
And into my garden stole 
When the night had veiled the pole; 
In the morning, glad, I see 
My foe outstretched beneath the tree 

The fountains mingle with the river, 
And the rivers with the ocean; 
The winds of heaven mix forever 
With a sweet emotion; 
Nothing in the world is single; 
All things by a law divine 
In another's being mingle-- 
Why not I with thine? 
See, the mountains kiss high heaven, 
And the waves clasp one another; 
No sister flower could be forgiven 
If it disdainèd its brother; 
And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;-- 
What are all these kissings worth, 
If thou kiss not me? 

Death is nothing at all 
I have only slipped away into the next room. 
I am I and you are you; 
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. 
Call me by my old familar name, 
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. 
Put no difference in your tone, 
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. 
Laugh as we always laughed 
At the little jokes we enjoy together. 
Pray smile, think of me, pray for me. 
Let my name be ever the household word it always was, 
Let it be spoken without effect 
Without the trace of a shadow upon it. 
Life means all that it ever was, 
There is an unbroken continuity. 
What is death but a negligible accident? 
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? 
I am waiting for you for an interval, somewhere very near, 
Just around the corner. 

All is well. 

"It is not the critic who counts, not the one who points out how the strong man stumbled or how the doer of deeds might have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred with sweat and dust and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat." 

When I die, I want your hands on my eyes:
I want the light and wheat of your beloved hands
to pass their freshness over me once more:
I want to feel the softness that changed my destiny.

I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep.
I want your ears still to hear the wind, I want you
to sniff the sea's aroma that we loved together,
to continue to walk on the sand we walk on.

I want what I love to continue to live,
and you whom I love and sang above everything else
to continue to flourish, full-flowered:

so that you can reach everthying my love directs you to,
so that my shadow can travel along in your hair,
so that everthing can learn the reason for my song.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapors weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality
Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,
A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream
The ever-silent spaces of the East,
Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.

  Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man--
So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,
Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd
To his great heart none other than a God!
I ask'd thee, `Give me immortality.'
Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,
Like wealthy men who care not how they give.
But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills,
And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me,
And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd
To dwell in presence of immortal youth,
Immortal age beside immortal youth,
And all I was, in ashes.  Can thy love,
Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now,
Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,
Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears
To hear me?  Let me go: take back thy gift:
Why should a man desire in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men,
Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance
Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? 

  A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes
A glimpse of that dark world where I was born.
Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals
From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,
And bosom beating with a heart renew'd.
Thy cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom,
Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,
Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team
Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,
And shake the darkness from their loosen'd manes,
And beat the twilight into flakes of fire. 

  Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful
In silence, then before thine answer given
Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek. 

  Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,
And make me tremble lest a saying learnt,
In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true?
`The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.' 

  Ay me! ay me! with what another heart
In days far-off, and with what other eyes
I used to watch--if I be he that watch'd--
The lucid outline forming round thee; saw
The dim curls kindle into sunny rings;
Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood
Glow with the glow that slowly crimson'd all
Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay,
Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm
With kisses balmier than half-opening buds
Of April, and could hear the lips that kiss'd
Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet,
Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing,
While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.

  Yet hold me not for ever in thine East:
How can my nature longer mix with thine?
Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold
Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet
Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam
Floats up from those dim fields about the homes
Of happy men that have the power to die,
And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
Release me, and restore me to the ground;
Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave:
Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn;
I earth in earth forget these empty courts,
And thee returning on thy silver wheels. 

In Heaven, 
Some little blades of grass
Stood before God.
"What did you do?"
Then all save one of the little blades
Began eagerly to relate
The merits of their lives.
This one stayed a small way behind
Ashamed.
Presently God said:
"And what did you do?"
The little blade answered: "Oh, my lord,
"Memory is bitter to me
"For if I did good deeds
"I know not of them."
Then God in all His splendor
Arose from His throne.
"Oh, best little blade of grass," He said

A Man Said to the Universe
by Stephen Crane

A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
"A sense of obligation."

The Last Song
Elton John

Yesterday you came to lift me up
As light as straw and brittle as a bird
Today I weigh less than a shadow on the wall
Just one more whisper of a voice unheard

Tomorrow leave the windows open
As fear grows please hold me in your arms
Won't you help me if you can to shake this anger
I need your gentle hands to keep me calm

`Cause I never thought I'd lose
I only thought I'd win
I never dreamed I'd feel
This fire beneath my skin
I can't believe you love me
I never thought you'd come
I guess I misjudged love
Between a father and his son

Things we never said come together
The hidden truth no longer haunting me
Tonight we touched on the things that were never spoken
That kind of understanding sets me free

`Cause I never thought I'd lose
I only thought I'd win
I never dreamed I'd feel
This fire beneath my skin
I can't believe you love me
I never thought you'd come
I guess I misjudged love
Between a father and his son