Tell Me Not, In Mournful Numbers Poem by Oladejo Haneef Olalekan

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

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;

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

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.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.


Lines from:

- A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
- The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
- If— by Rudyard Kipling
- Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas
- Desiderata by Max Ehrmann
Leisure by W. H. Davies


'manAsh.