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# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Epistles - Third Series/LIII Alberta

LIII
PERROS GUIREC
BERTAGNE,
22nd September, 1900.
To Miss Alberta Sturges on her 23rd birthday
The mother's heart, the hero's will, The softest flower's sweetest feel; The charm and force that ever sway The altar fire's flaming play; The strength that leads, in love obeys; Far-reaching dreams, and patient ways, Eternal faith in Self, in all The sight Divine in great in small; All these, and more than I could see Today may "Mother" grant to thee.
Ever yours with love and blessings,
VIVEKANANDA.
DEAR ALBERTA,
This little poem is for your birthday. It is not good, but it has all my love. I am sure, therefore, you will like it.
Will you kindly send a copy each of the pamphlets there to madame Besnard, Clairoix, Bres Compiegne, Oise, and oblige?
Your well-wisher,
VIVEKANANDA.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Epistles - Third Series/LII Aunt Roxy

LII
2nd May, 1900.
DEAR AUNT ROXY, (Mrs. Blodgett of Los Angeles),
Your very, very kind letter came. I am down again with nerves and fever, after six months of hard work. However, I found out that my kidneys and heart are as good as ever. I am going to take a few days' rest in the country and then start for Chicago.
I have just written to Mrs. Milward Adams and also have given an introduction to my daughter, Miss Noble, to go and call upon Mrs. Adams and give her all information she wants about the work.
Well, dear good mother, may all blessings attend you and peace. I just want a bit of peace badly — pray for me. With love to Kate,
Ever your son,
VIVEKANANDA.
PS. Love to Miss Spencer — the Basaquisitz(?), Mrs. S__, and the other friends.
A heap of loving pats on the head to Tricks.
V.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Epistles - Third Series/Note

NOTE
Before leaving for the USA, Swamiji used to change his name very often. In earlier years he signed as Narendra or Naren; then for some time as Vividishananda or Sachchidananda. But for the convenience of the readers, these volumes use the more familiar name Vivekananda.
PUBLISHER
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Epistles - Third Series/II Sir

II
(Translated from Bengali)
Glory to Ramakrishna!
ALLAHABAD,
30th December, 1889.
DEAR SIR (Shri Balaram Bose),
Gupta left a slip when coming and the next day a letter from Yogananda gave me all the news and I immediately started for Allahabad which I reached the day after, to find that Yogananda had completely recovered. He had chicken-pox (with one or two smallpox rashes also). The doctor is a noble soul, and they have got a brotherhood, who are all great pious men and highly devoted to the service of Sâdhus. They are particularly anxious that I pass the month of Mâgh here, but I am leaving for Varanasi. . . . How are you? I pray to God for the welfare of yourself and your family. Please convey my compliments to Tulasiram, Chuni Babu, and the rest.
Yours affectionately,
VIVEKANANDA.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Epistles - Third Series/LI Mr. Leggett

LI
17th April, 1900.
MY DEAR MR. LEGGETT,
Herewith I send the executed Will to you. It has been executed as desired by her, and of course, as usual, I am requesting you for the trouble of taking charge of it.
You and yours have been so uniformly kind to me. But you know, dear friend, it is human nature to ask for more favours (now that they have come) where it gets from.
I am only a man, your child.
I am so sorry A__ has made disturbances. He does that now and then, at least used to. I do not venture to meddle, for fear of creating more trouble. You know how to manage him best. By the time you receive this letter, I will be off from San Francisco. Will you kindly send my Indian mail C/o Mrs. Hale, 10 Aster Street, Chicago, and to Margot in the same place? Margot writes very thankfully of your gift of a thousand dollars for her school.
May all blessings ever follow you and yours for your uniform kindness to me and mine, is the constant prayer of
Yours affectionately,
VIVEKANANDA.
PS. I am so glad to learn that Mrs. Leggett has already recovered.
V.
# The City of Dreadful Night and other poems/Life's Hebe

LIFE'S HEBE.
1866.
In the early morning-shine Of a certain day divine, I beheld a Maiden stand With a pitcher in her hand; Whence she poured into a cup Until it was half filled up Nectar that was golden light In the cup of crystal bright.
And the first who took the cup With pure water filled it up; As he drank then, it was more Ruddy golden than before: And he leapt and danced and sang As to Bacchic cymbals' clang.
But the next who took the cup With the red wine filled it up; What he drank then was in hue Of a heavy sombre blue:
First he reeled and then he crept, Then lay faint but never slept.
And the next who took the cup With the white milk filled it up; What he drank at first seemed blood, Then turned thick and brown as mud: And he moved away as slow As a weary ox may go.
But the next who took the cup With sweet honey filled it up; Nathless that which he did drink Was thin fluid black as ink: As he went he stumbled soon, And lay still in deathlike swoon.
She the while without a word Unto all the cup preferred; Blandly smiled and sweetly laughed As each mingled his own draught.
And the next who took the cup To the sunshine held it up, Gave it back and did not taste; It was empty when replaced:
First he bowed a reverent bow, Then he kissed her on the brow.
But the next who took the cup Without mixture drank it up; When she took it back from him It was full unto the brim: He with a right bold embrace Kissed her sweet lips face to face.
Then she sang with blithest cheer: Who has thirst, come here, come here! Nectar that is golden light In the cup of crystal bright, Nectar that is sunny fire Warm as warmest heart's desire; Pitcher never lacketh more, Arm is never tired to pour: Honey, water, milk, or wine Mingle with the draught divine, Drink it pure, or drink it not; Each is free to choose his lot: Am I old? or am I cold? Only two have kissed me bold!
She was young and fair and gay As that young and glorious day.
# The City of Dreadful Night and other poems/E. B. B.

E. B. B.
1861.
I.
The crown of laurel at her head, Her noble life on earth complete, Lay her in the last low bed For the slumber calm and deep: "He giveth His beloved sleep."
II.
In the field whereon they died; So her spirit pure and brave Leaves the clay it glorified To the land for which she fought With such grand impassioned thought.
III.
She in well-loved Tuscan earth; Finding all their death's long home. Far from their old home of birth. Italy, you hold in trust Very sacred English dust.
IV.
That you yet may worthy prove Of the heirlooms they bequeath Who have loved you with such love: Fairest land while land of slaves Yields their free souls no fit graves.
# The City of Dreadful Night and other poems/Philosophy

PHILOSOPHY.
1866.
I.
Nor wealth nor honour, glory nor delight, Which he could grasp and keep with might and right.
Flowers bloomed for maidens, swords outflashed for boys, The world's big children had their various toys; He could not feel their sorrows and their joys.
Hills held a secret they would not unfold, In careless scorn of him the ocean rolled, The stars were alien splendours high and cold.
He felt himself a king bereft of crown, Defrauded from his birthright of renown, Bred up in littleness with churl and clown.
II.
That found not anywhere their proper prize, Looked through and through the specious earth and skies,
They probed, and all things yielded to their probe; They saw the void around the massy globe, The raging fire within its flowery robe.
They pierced through beauty; saw the bones, the mesh Of nerves and veins, the hideous raw red flesh, Beneath the skin most delicate and fresh:
Saw Space a mist unfurled around the steep Where plunge Time's waters to the blackest deep; Saw Life a dream in Death's eternal sleep.
III.
Responding to him as the day to night: To yearning, love; to cold and gloom, warm light.
A hope sprang from his breast, and fluttered far On rainbow wings; beyond the cloudy bar, Though very much beneath the nearest star.
His eyes drew back their beams to kindle fire In his own heart; whose masterful desire Scorned all beyond its aim, lower or higher.
This fire flung lustre upon grace and bloom, Gave warmth and brightness to a little room, Burned Thought to ashes in its fight with gloom.
IV.
Life's lovely surfaces of form and hue; And not Death's entrails, looking through and through.
Bones, nerves, and veins, and flesh, are covered in By this opaque transparency of skin, Precisely that we should not see within.
The corpse is hid, that Death may work its vile Corruption in black secrecy; the while Our saddest graves with grass and fair flowers smile.
If you will analyse the bread you eat, The water and the wine most pure and sweet, Your stomach soon must loathe all drink and meat.
Life liveth but in Life, and doth not roam To other realms if all be well at home: "Solid as ocean-foam," quoth ocean-foam.
If Midge will pine and curse its hours away Because Midge is not Everything For-aye, Poor Midge thus loses its one summer day; Loses its all—and winneth what, I pray?
# The City of Dreadful Night and other poems/L'Ancien Régime; or, The Good Old Rule

L'ANCIEN RÉGIME;
OR,
THE GOOD OLD RULE.
1867.
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king, Our king all kings above? A young girl brought him love; And he dowered her with shame, With a sort of infamous fame, And then with lonely years Of penance and bitter tears: Love is scarcely the thing To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king? A statesman brought him planned Justice for all the land; And he in recompense got Fierce struggle with brigue and plot,
Then a fall from lofty place Into exile and disgrace: Justice is never the thing To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king? A writer brought him truth; And first he imprisoned the youth; And then he bestowed a free pyre That the works might have plenty of fire, And also to cure the pain Of the headache called thought in the brain: Truth is a very bad thing To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king? The people brought their sure Loyalty fervid and pure; And he gave them bountiful spoil Of taxes and hunger and toil, Ignorance, brutish plight, And wholesale slaughter in fight: Loyalty's quite the worst thing To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king? A courtier brought to his feet Servility graceful and sweet, With an ever ready smile And an ever supple guile; And he got in reward the place Of the statesman in disgrace: Servility's always a thing To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king? A soldier brought him war, La gloire, la victoire, Ravage and carnage and groans, For the pious Te Deum tones; And he got in return for himself Rank and honours and pelf: War is a very fine thing To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king? A harlot brought him her flesh, Her lusts, and the manifold mesh
Of her wiles intervolved with caprice; And he gave her his realm to fleece, To corrupt, to ruin, and gave Himself for her toy and her slave: Harlotry's just the thing To bring as a gift for our king.
Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king, Our king who fears to die? A priest brought him a lie, The blackness of hell uprolled In heaven's shining gold; And he got as guerdon for that A see and a cardinal's hat: A lie is an excellent thing To bring as a gift for our king.
Has any one yet a thing For a gift to our lord the king? The country gave him a tomb, A magnificent sleeping-room; And for this it obtained some rest, Clear riddance of many a pest,
And a hope which it much enjoyed That the throne would continue void: A tomb is the very best thing For a giſt to our lord the king.
# The Cash Boy
### PREFACE

"The Cash Boy," by Horatio Alger, Jr., as the name implies, is a story about a boy and for boys.
Through some conspiracy, the hero of the story when a baby, was taken from his relatives and given into the care of a kind woman.
Not knowing his name, she gave him her husband's name, Frank Fowler. She had one little daughter, Grace, and showing no partiality in the treatment of her children, Frank never suspected that she was not his sister. However, at the death of Mrs. Fowler, all this was related to Frank.
The children were left alone in the world. It seemed as though they would have to go to the poorhouse but Frank could not become reconciled to that.
A kind neighbor agreed to care for Grace, so Frank decided to start out in the world to make his way.
He had many disappointments and hardships, but through his kindness to an old man, his own relatives and right name were revealed to him.

### Contents

* Chapter I: A Revelation
* Chapter II: Mrs. Fowler's Story
* Chapter III: Left Alone
* Chapter IV: The Town Autocrat
* Chapter V: A Little Misunderstanding
* Chapter VI: Frank Gets a Place
* Chapter VII: The Cash Boy Has an Adventure
* Chapter VIII: An Unexpected Engagement
* Chapter IX: The Housekeeper's Nephew
* Chapter X: The Housekeep Scheming
* Chapter XI: John Wade
* Chapter XII: A False Friend
* Chapter XIII: The Spider and the Fly
* Chapter XIV: Springing the Trap
* Chapter XV: From Bad to Worse
* Chapter XVI: An Accomplice Found
* Chapter XVII: Frank and His Jailer
* Chapter XVIII: "Over the Hill to the Poorhouse"
* Chapter XIX: What Frank Heard Through the Crevice
* Chapter XX: The Escape
* Chapter XXI: John Wade's Disappointment
* Chapter XXII: Conclusion
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Constitution of India (Original Calligraphed and Illuminated Version)/Part 22

Part XXII Short Title, Commencement and Repeals
393. This Constitution may be called the Constitution of India.
394. This article and articles 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 60, 324, 366, 367, 379, 380, 388, 391, 392 and 393 shall come into force at once, and the remaining provisions of this Constitution shall come into force on the twenty-sixth day of January, 1950, which day is referred to in this Constitution as the commencement of this Constitution.
395. The Indian Independence Act, 1947, and the Government of India Act, 1935, together with all enactments amending or supplementing the latter Act, but not including the Abolition of Privy Council Jurisdiction Act, 1949, are hereby repealed.
Short title.
Commencement.
Repeals.
# The Constitution of India (Original Calligraphed and Illuminated Version)/Part 20

Part XX Amendment of the Constitution
368. An amendment of this Constitution may be initiated only by the introduction of a Bill for the purpose in either House of Parliament, and when the Bill is passed in each House by a majority of the total membership of that House and by a majority of not less than two-thirds of the members of that House present and voting, it shall be presented to the President for his assent and upon such assent being given to the Bill, the Constitution shall stand amended in accordance with the terms of the Bill:
Provided that if such amendment seeks to make any change in—
the amendment shall also require to be ratified by the Legislatures of not less than one-half of the States specified in Parts A and B of the First Schedule by resolutions to that effect passed by those Legislatures before the Bill making provision for such amendment is presented to the President for assent.
Procedure for amendment of the Constitution.
# The Curse

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Curse."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* "The Curse" by John Donne
* "The Curse" by Ed Smith
* "The Curse. A Song" by Robert Herrick

### See also

* Curses
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/Eclipse

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
ECLIPSE
So for the luxury of the flesh, wrap it in fur of fox that it be warm, In the bear's coat sheltering its nakedness from storm. Give wine for its hot veins, fame for its throne, and laughter for its lips, All ends in one eclipse. Sunshine or snows. We gain a grave, and afterwards—God knows.
Bemoan beside your fire your own particular fate, that evil wind That blows for you no mercy, think till the wearied mind Doth ease itself in tears, or reason from her high throne slips, So ends life in eclipse, However the wind blows, We gain a grave, and afterwards—God knows.
“And wherefore is all this?” you question me, “this weighing of rich and poor, Of many tears and laughter of which no mind hath cure?” Nought save 'twere thinking for a winter's night, till my mind trips O'er thought and finds eclipse For smiles and woes, And I a grave, and afterwards—God knows.
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/I Am the World

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
I AM THE WORLD
I am the song, that rests upon the cloud; I am the sun: I am the dawn, the day, the hiding shroud, When dusk is done.
I am the changing colours of the tree; The flower uncurled: I am the melancholy of the sea; I am the world.
The other souls that, passing in their place, Each in his groove; Outstretching hands that chain me and embrace, Speak and reprove.
"O atom of that law, by which the earth Is poised and whirled: Behold! you hurrying with the crowd assert You are the world."
Am I not one with all the things that be Warm in the sun? All that my ears can hear, or eyes can see, Till all be done.
Of song and shine, of changing leaf apart, Of bud uncurled: With all the senses pulsing at my heart, I am the world.
One day the song that drifts upon the wind I shall not hear; Nor shall the rosy shoots to eyes grown blind Again appear.
Deaf, in the dark, I shall arise and throw From off my soul The withered world with all its joy and woe, That was my goal.
I shall arise, and like a shooting star Slip from my place; So lingering see the old world from afar Revolve in space.
And know more things than all the wise may know Till all be done; Till One shall come who, breathing on the stars, Blows out the sun.
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/I Have Been to Hy-Brasail

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
I HAVE BEEN TO HY-BRASAIL
I have been to Hy-Brasail,
And the Land of Youth have seen,
Much laughter have I heard there.
And birds amongst the green.
Many have I met there,
But no one ever old,
Yet I have left Hy-Brasail
Before my time was told.
Love have I known, too.
As I shall meet no more;
Lost is the magic island,
And I cannot find the shore.
Since I have left Hy-Brasail,
Age has encompassed me.
She plucks me by the shoulder
And will not let me be.
Her face is grey and mournful,
Her hand is hard and cold,
Yet I have left Hy-Brasail
Before my time was told.
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/For Whom?

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
FOR WHOM?
“Ach Gott! wem gehort dieses Hans?”—Tyrolese house motto.
I built a house, four perfect walls and strong, To hold the landly roof, whose sheltering eve Did tempt the darting swallows from their flight To nest and stay all loth and late to leave. Wide windows, planned to hold the circling sun Each in its hour—to no fair prospect blind. Deep hearths to bid the stranger welcome here To this good house with so much thought designed. I built a house that shall the years withstand, I—who to dust must fall in life's swift race, As shall he too who tenant follows here— For whom, then, have I built this pleasant place?
I set a tree, and with much labour brought Rich loam about its root, and bent it so That each young branch, outspreading in the sun, Reflects in shadow on the sod below. I oft with care surveyed its slender height In fear lest blasting wind should bite its green, And smiled at last to see the timid leaves In floating pennants where the bud had been. I set a tree that shall the storms withstand Nor soon to wither 'neath Time's hand afraid, I whom the years shall break and overthrow. For whom, then, have I planned this welcome shade?
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/How Long Wilt Thou Love Me?

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
HOW LONG WILT THOU LOVE ME?
How long wilt thou love me, O my love? “As long as life may be.” Life is but a breath Breathed us by Death, That we may learn and be the makers of our Destiny. How long wilt thou love me, O beloved?
“So long shall I love thee, O my love! As long as time may be.” Time's but the go and come Of a clock's pendulum, Made so we count and see a cycle of Eternity. How long wilt thou love me, O beloved?
“So long shall I love thee, O my love! As long as tears may be.” Tears may turn to laughter In the long Hereafter. Laughter to tears for me, as is in our God's decree. How long wilt thou love me, O beloved?
“So long shall I love thee, O my love! As long as love may be, Love that can courage give To the faint heart to live. To the faint heart Death to see, love that is Eternity, So long shall I love thee, O my love!”
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/Donacha Rua

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
DONACHA RUA
Donacha rua of Donegal, (Holy Mary, how slow the dawn!) This is the hour of your loss or gain: Is go d-tigeadh tu mo mhúirnín slán!
Donacha rua, but the hour was ill (O Mary Mother, how high the price!) When you swore you'd game with Death himself; Ay, and win with the devil's dice.
Donacha rua, you must play with Death (Mary, watch with him till the light!) Through the dark hours, for the words you said, All this strange and noisy night.
Donacha rua, you are pale and cold; (How the demons laugh through the air!) The anguish beads on your frowning brow; Mary set on your lips a prayer!
Donacha rua, you have won the toss: (Mother, pray for his soul's release!) ShufiBe and deal ere the black cock crows, That your spirit may find its peace.
Donacha rua, you have played a king; (How strange a light on your fingers fall!) A voice, “I was cold, and he sheltered me…” The trick is gained, but your chance is small.
Donacha rua, now an ace is yours; (Mother Mary, the night is long!) “I was a sin that he hurried aside…” O for the dawn and the blackbird's song!
Donacha rua, now a ten of suit; (Mother Mary, what hot winds blow!) “Nine little fives hath he saved in his path…” And the black cock that does not crow.
Donacha rua, you have played a knave; (O what strange gates on their hinges groan!) “I was a friend who had wrought him ill; When I had fallen he cast no stone…”
Donacha rua, now a queen has won! (The black cock crows with the flash of dawn.) And she is the woman who prays for you: “Is go d-tigeadh tu mo mhúirnín slán!”
# The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/For Ever

From The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter (1907).
FOR EVER
He heard it first upon the lips of love, And loved it for love's sake; A faithful word, that knows nor time nor change, Nor lone heart-break.
It sung across his heart-strings like a breath Of Heaven's faithfulness, that whispered “Never To part, to lose, to linger from your gaze.” She said, “I love forever.”
He heard it then upon the lips of death, Of things that fade and die; A word of sorrow never to be stilled, An ever echoing sigh.
And loneliness within his soul did dwell, And struck upon his heart-strings, crying “Never To meet, to have, to hold, to see again.” She said, “Goodbye forever.”