What are they?

HOPES what are they?--Beads of morning
Strung on slender blades of grass;
Or a spider's web adorning
In a strait and treacherous pass.

What are fears but voices airy?
Whispering harm where harm is not;
And deluding the unwary
Till the fatal bolt is shot!

What is glory?--in the socket
See how dying tapers fare!
What is pride?--a whizzing rocket
That would emulate a star.

What is friendship?--do not trust her,
Nor the vows which she has made;
Diamonds dart their brightest lustre
From a palsy-shaken head.

What is truth?--a staff rejected;
Duty?--an unwelcome clog;
Joy?--a moon by fits reflected
In a swamp or watery bog;

Bright, as if through ether steering,
To the Traveller's eye it shone:
He hath hailed it re-appearing--
And as quickly it is gone;

Such is Joy--as quickly hidden,
Or mis-shapen to the sight,
And by sullen weeds forbidden
To resume its native light.

What is youth?--a dancing billow,
(Winds behind, and rocks before!)
Age?--a drooping, tottering willow
On a flat and lazy shore.

What is peace?--when pain is over,
And love ceases to rebel,
Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing knell!

- William Wordsworth

Break Free..

Just imagine a life without lectures/ quizzes/ labs/ assignments/ projects/ midsem/ endsem....
Just reading things I like and I enjoy.. Wondering deep into some intellectual realm rather than cramming for the bullshit cpi.
Once again seems like you are being taught the things you dont like.

Life of a programmer/Compi ghoda

Think..

Dude.. do you really need to go through a bed of thorns to get the rosy bed.You will just get it but think.. Will you Enjoy it??
Can you sleep on a rose bed after being scratched and bruised all over?

A NIGHT THOUGHT

LO! where the Moon along the sky
Sails with her happy destiny;
Oft is she hid from mortal eye
Or dimly seen,
But when the clouds asunder fly
How bright her mien!

Far different we--a froward race,
Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace
With cherished sullenness of pace
Their way pursue,
Ingrates who wear a smileless face
The whole year through.

If kindred humours e'er would make
My spirit droop for drooping's sake,
From Fancy following in thy wake,
Bright ship of heaven!
A counter impulse let me take
And be forgiven.

- William Wordsworth