Name It February Your job is to find the poet who wrote these very famous lines.

1. Name ItFebruaryYour job is to find the poet who wrote these very famous lines.

2. The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo 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 thereHad worn them really about the same,And both that morning equally layIn leaves no 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 sighSomewhere 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.

3. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night 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 theyDo not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir 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 sightBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on that 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.

4. All the World's a Stage All the world's a stage,And all the men and women merely players;They have their exits and their entrances,And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,Seeking the bubble reputationEven in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,In fair round belly with good capon lined,With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,Full of wise saws and modern instances;And so he plays his part. The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slippered pantaloon,With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,Turning again toward childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,That ends this strange eventful history,Is second childishness and mere oblivion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

5. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of Being and ideal Grace.I love thee to the level of everyday'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

6. O Captain! My Captain! 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 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.

7. I'm Nobody! Who are you? I'm Nobody! Who are you?Are you -- Nobody -- Too?Then there's a pair of us!Don't tell! they'd advertise -- you know!How dreary -- to be -- Somebody!How public -- like a Frog --To tell one's name -- the livelong June --To an admiring Bog!

8. I know why the caged bird sings A free bird leaps on the backOf the wind and floats downstream Till the current ends and dips his wing In the orange suns raysAnd dares to claim the sky.But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cageCan seldom see through his bars of rageHis wings are clipped and his feet are tiedSo he opens his throat to sing.The caged bird sings with a fearful trillOf things unknown but longed for stillAnd his tune is heard on the distant hill forThe caged bird sings of freedom.The free bird thinks of another breezeAnd the trade winds soft throughThe sighing treesAnd the fat worms waiting on a dawn-brightLawn and he names the sky his own.But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreamsHis shadow shouts on a nightmare screamHis wings are clipped and his feet are tiedSo he opens his throat to sing.The caged bird sings withA fearful trill of things unknownBut longed for still and hisTune is heard on the distant hillFor the caged bird sings of freedom.

9. The Bells Hear the sledges with the bells-Silver bells!What a world of merriment their melody foretells!How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,In the icy air of night!While the stars that oversprinkleAll the heavens, seem to twinkleWith a crystalline delight;Keeping time, time, time,In a sort of Runic rhyme,To the tintinnabulation that so musically wellsFrom the bells, bells, bells, bells,Bells, bells, bells-From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

10. She Walks In Beauty She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that's best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes:Thus mellowed to that tender lightWhich heaven to gaudy day denies.One shade the more, one ray the less,Had half impaired the nameless graceWhich waves in every raven tress,Or softly lightens o'er her face;Where thoughts serenely sweet expressHow pure, how dear their dwelling place.And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,The smiles that win, the tints that glow,But tell of days in goodness spent,A mind at peace with all below,A heart whose love is innocent!

11. Daybreak In Alabama When I get to be a composerI'm gonna write me some music aboutDaybreak in AlabamaAnd I'm gonna put the purtiest songs in itRising out of the ground like a swamp mistAnd falling out of heaven like soft dew.I'm gonna put some tall tall trees in itAnd the scent of pine needlesAnd the smell of red clay after rainAnd long red necksAnd poppy colored facesAnd big brown armsAnd the field daisy eyesOf black and white black white black peopleAnd I'm gonna put white handsAnd black hands and brown and yellow handsAnd red clay earth hands in itTouching everybody with kind fingersAnd touching each other natural as dewIn that dawn of music when IGet to be a composerAnd write about daybreakIn Alabama.