Sir Henry Wotton (1568 – 1639) was an English author, diplomat and politician who sat in the House of Commons in 1614 and 1625. He is often quoted as saying, "An ambassador is an honest gentleman sent to lie abroad for the good of his country."

 

 

The Character of a Happy Life

 

 

 

How happy is he born and taught

 

That serveth not another's will;

 

Whose armour is his honest thought,

 

And simple truth his utmost skill !

 

Whose passions not his masters are;

 

Whose soul is still prepared for death,

 

Untied unto the world by care

 

Of public fame or private breath;

 

Who envies none that chance doth raise,

 

Nor vice; who never understood

 

How deepest wounds are given by praise;

 

Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

 

Who hath his life from rumours freed;

 

Whose conscience is his strong retreat;

 

Whose state can neither flatterers feed,

 

Nor ruin make oppressors great;

 

Who God doth late and early pray

 

More of His grace than gifts to lend;

 

And entertains the harmless day

 

With a religious book or friend;

 

- This man is freed from servile bands

 

Of hope to rise or fear to fall:

 

Lord of himself, though not of lands,

 

And having nothing, yet hath all.

 

 

Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in America. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. One of the most popular and critically respected American poets of the twentieth century, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He became one of America's rare "public literary figures, almost an artistic institution." He was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 1960 for his poetical works.

 

 

 

The Road Not Taken

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, 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 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 sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.