"My Heart's in the Highlands"

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

A poem by Robert Burns. He can only be speaking of the Ethiopian Highlands here of course! "My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here..."

"Farewell, My Friends, Adieu"

I hate to say good-bye
Yet we have to say farewell
For we shall meet again
That I can foretell

The future is unpredictable
Tomorrow is uncertain
Keep our laughs and memoirs
But I wish you have no burden

We shall keep on learning
Remain as students and become as mentors
Face the unknown with confident yearning
Pursue our life endeavors

Farewell, my friends, adieu
I utter it with pain
Farewell, my friends, adieu
In sunshine or in rain

Farewell, my friends, adieu
This day would come, we knew
Our dreams we shall pursue
For now, my friends, adieu.

A poem by Verona Valentine. No doubt written for a graduation, but all the same this resonates with me...

"To Nature"

It may indeed be fantasy when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings;
And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
Lessons of love and earnest piety.
So let it be; and if the wide world rings
In mock of this belief, it brings
Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,
And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,
Thee only God! and thou shalt not despise
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.

A poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

"Te Deum"

Not because of victories
I sing,
Having none,
But for the common sunshine,
The breeze,
The largess of the spring.

Not for victory
But for the day's work done
As well as I was able;
Not for a seat upon the dais
But at the common table.

A poem by Charles Reznikoff.

"The Road Not Taken"

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And 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
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked 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 wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

A poem by Robert Frost.

"The Hard Road"

Pure wine costs, for the golden cup, ten thousand coppers a flagon,
And a jade plate of dainty food calls for a million coins.
I fling aside my food-sticks and cup, I cannot eat nor drink...
I pull out my dagger, I peer four ways in vain.
I would cross the Yellow River, but ice chokes the ferry;
I would climb the Taihang Mountains, but the sky is blind with snow...
I would sit and poise a fishing-pole, lazy by a brook -
But I suddenly dream of riding a boat, sailing for the sun...
Journeying is hard,
Journeying is hard.
There are many turnings -
Which am I to follow?...
I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves
And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea.

A poem by Li Bai.

"Ozymandias"

I met a traveller 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.

By Percy Bysshe Shelley.