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ReadingWillow structured literacy program for Australian students
Poetry Library

— Stephen Crane

I stood upon a high place,

And saw, below, many devils

Running, leaping,

And carousing in sin.

…

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adjective

Engaged in or ready for action; characterized by energetic work, thought, or speech.

“The students were very active in class discussions, asking many thoughtful questions.”

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I. FROM JANE TO HER MOTHER.

82 lines
Coventry Patmore·1823–1896
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hank Heaven, the burthens on the heartAre not half known till they depart!Although I long'd, for many a year,To love with love that casts out fear,My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,And heaven seem'd less far off than he;And in my fancy I would traceA lady with an angel's face,That made devotion simply debt,Till sick with envy and regret,And wicked grief that God should e'erMake women, and not make them fair.That me might love me more becauseAnother in his memory was,And that my indigence might beTo him what Baby's was to me,The chief of charms, who could have thought?But God's wise way is to give noughtTill we with asking it are tired;And when, indeed, the change desiredComes, lest we give ourselves the praise,It comes by Providence, not Grace;And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rsAre groans at unexpected cares,First Baby went to heaven, you know,And, five weeks after, Grace went, too,Then he became more talkative,And, stooping to my heart, would giveSigns of his love, which pleased me moreThan all the proofs he gave before;And, in that time of our great grief,We talk'd religion for relief;For, though we very seldom nameReligion, we now think the same!Oh, what a bar is thus removedTo loving and to being loved!For no agreement really isIn anything when none's in this.Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'dHis wife against his hearty breast,The interior difference seem'd to tearMy own, until I could not bearThe trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.He never felt this. If he did,I'm sure it could not have been hid;For wives, I need not say to you,Can feel just what their husbands do,Without a word or look; but thenIt is not so, you know, with men.From that time many a Scripture textHelp'd me, which had, before, perplex'd.Oh, what a wond'rous word seem'd thisHe is my head, as Christ is his!None ever could have dared to seeIn marriage such a dignityFor man, and for his wife, still less,Such happy, happy lowliness,Had God himself not made it plain!This revelation lays the rein--If I may speak so--on the neckOf a wife's love, takes thence the checkOf conscience, and forbids to doubtIts measure is to be withoutAll measure, and a fond excessIs here her rule of godliness.I took him not for love but fright;He did but ask a dreadful right.In this was love, that he loved meThe first, who was mere poverty.All that I know of love he taught;And love is all I know of aught.My merit is so small by his,That my demerit is my bliss.My life is hid with him in Christ,Never therefrom to be enticed;And in his strength have I such restAs when the baby on my breastFinds what it knows not how to seek,And, very happy, very weak,Lies, only knowing all is well,Pillow'd on kindness palpable.
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