Manual The Road To Paradise

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By: Niall Christie. By: Wilferd Madelung. By: Dorothee Pielow.

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By: Michael E. By: Hermann Landolt. By: Mohammed Rustom. By: Maryam Moazzen. By: Omid Ghaemmaghami. By: Elizabeth Alexandrin. By: S.

The Road to Paradise Island by Victoria Holt

By: Jamel A. By: Alexey A. By: Orkhan Mir-Kasimov. By: Mohammad Hassan Khalil. Pages: i—xii. By: Fred M. By: Martin Tamcke. By: Sidney H. By: Waleed Ahmed. By: Mahmoud Hegazi. By: Roberto Tottoli. By: Samar Attar. By: Claudia Ott. By: Walid A.

Hoopoe - An imprint of AUC Press

By: Suha Kudsieh. By: Maribel Fierro. OUT in the dark the train passes And the whistle calls to the child, Desolate, piercing, wild, From the track in the meadow-grasses. CLOSE upon the window-glass pressed our eager faces— Hearts and torches all aflare, frame on frame of laces, Wreathing roses all abloom, Cupids all awing, Valentines— and valentines! Slow we tiptoed in the shop, scarlet-cheeked and shy, Half-elate, half-afraid to be asked to buy, Sidling toward the prettiest on their swaying strings, Laughing at the ugliest, monstrous painted things. Still the little thrill of fear— life was strange, you knew— What if someone sometime sent one of those to you?


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Tense we watched the lagging mail, furtive hearts abeat. Surely it would never come down the endless street!

Surely all the valentines would be gone before Out of sight, into sight it could reach our door. Surely all the envelopes sealed with hearts of red Were they there? Were they ours? Hearts and doves, wreaths and loves wonderful to see! Would He know the straggling hand, all in print and bent Up and down on the folds of the one you sent?

We're too old to buy them now— all the loves and laces, We can only watch above other little faces. Glowing at the prettiest, laughing at the plain, Still the eager faces crowd by the lighted pane. Once we too saw wonderlights glinting on the snow, Once we too bought valentines— too long, too long ago! Oh, say yes or no! There is something you do not know, Something to give you joy, On the other side of the door There in the firelight's glow, There in the lighted room.

My quick heart whispers me, "The kinsman gone oversea, The one they have always said Would surely come back some day, Waits for you, brown, windblown.


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Or the lover you have not known Is waiting you there tonight— Do you wonder that I rejoice? Or the dearest one of the dead Waits in the ring of light With the old glad face and voice As if he were never away. But when I open the door There are only the old lights And the old accustomed faces And the firelight on the floor. THE people up and down the world that talk and laugh and cry, They're pleasant when you're young and gay, and life is all to try, But when your heart is tired and dumb, your soul has need of ease, There's none like the quiet folk who wait in libraries— The counselors who never change, the friends who never go, The old books, the dear books that understand and know!

The foolish thing that hurt you so your lips could never tell, Your sister out of Babylon she knows its secret well, The merriment you could not share with any on the earth Your brother from King Francis' court he leans to share your mirth, For all the ways your feet must fare, the roads your heart must go, The old books, the dear books, they understand and know! You read your lover's hid heart plain beneath some dead lad's lace, And in a glass from some Greek tomb you see your own wet face, For they have stripped from out their souls the thing they could not speak And strung it to a written song that you might come to seek, And they have lifted out their hearts when they were beating new And pinned them on a printed page and given them to you.

The people close behind you, all their hearts are dumb and young, The kindest word they try to say it stumbles on the tongue, Their hearts are only questing hearts, and though they strive and try, Their softest touch may hurt you sore, their best word make you cry. But still through all the years that come and all the dreams that go The old books, the dear books, they understand and know!

YOU fret and grieve and turn about To make this world and living out, With "This is so" and "That is so—" Ah, sirs, we learned it long ago! If you should make an angel tell What Mary learned of Gabriel Yet could you know the flaming words That pierced her with the seven swords? And if some fiend-snake hissed you low All he told Eve where God's trees grow, Yet could you learn the thing she learned Who sobbing out of Eden turned? We watched with smiling mother-eyes The while you stormed, and thought you wise, At God's great walls, as if you beat Like babes, with angry hands and feet; For God, who bound our feet and hands And laid us under your commands, Still left us silence, love, and pain, And dreams to hide and peace to gain.

Why, when you search beyond a doubt The furthest star's last secret out, Some woman from her nook shall smile, Laying her needle down the while, "Dear, that old dream I told to you? You smiled. I thought you always knew! The thing we tell is no new thing, A wisdom born of suffering, That there is pain, and there is love, And God's great silence still above, And this is all— though you have hurled Your strength forever on the world. Quick, let us speak to you, ere yet Passed from our silence we forget, Like you, with crowds made deaf and blind, With dealing close to humankind: Be swift, for soon we too shall be With no more place for memory, Going unfettered as man goes And scarcely wounded more— who knows?

And all our Vala-dreams shall lift Like Tyre-smoke and Atlantis-drift. SHE sits and makes pink roses with her thread And wonders what to do, her heart astir, What road to take, where roads branch close ahead, And how to know her true love calling her; Whether to follow thorny paths but sweet The young wild heart's way! The rose-sprung needle keeps its darting deft. When life has gone whichever way it goes, Of all her wonderings shall be only left The texture and the pattern of this rose: And when her old eyes see its flowering spread, Dull-faded, a known decking of her room, Wherever that may be then— all words said, All life made certain then until the tomb!

Something shall clutch her still of youth and pain, From that far-thrilled girl-day, and she will see Its shape grow in that breathless hour again With all her ordered years were still to be; From that brown silken flower shall flush in death Youth with its rosy terrors quivering gay, And she shall think, set free for one swift breath— "Ah, yes, I made it on that very day! SHE loves the flowers, the wind that bends the fir; When the Spring comes she dances; and her mirth Comes always when the water laughs to her. She holds the little daily sweets of earth On high and pleasures in them; words that sing, Clear music, lovely faces; all delight We others pass use-dulled, unnoticing— The sunrise and the sunset, day and night.

Yet somehow all her woven joys endure Too perfect, too well-shapen to have rayed Light-heartedly on her. Oh, I am sure That once upon a time we do not know God took away from her— once, long ago— All life's real, rugged things, too sharp for joys, And— for she looked at Him still unafraid— He laid within her hands instead these toys. Oh, on the gentle day when she goes hence I hope that for her gay obedience He has reward for her: that when she dies He will not send her straight to Paradise. She knows enough of Paradisal mirth— Oh, surely He will give her back the earth, And all its living that He made her miss, Locked close to life by its most burning kiss, Clutching decisions, terror-haunted breath, Great grief, great raptures, passion, birth and death.

And yet. I hope that she has found it now. YOU live as the world would have you do— Only the sleeping soul of you Lies unwakened by wind or dew. Your soul, that thrilled like a harpstring shaken Dusty hands of the world have taken And thrust it deeper than life can waken:. You, who quickened our heavy eyes, Our hearts weighed down beyond will to rise, With silver shadows of Paradise! Were it only your heart that the years had broken, Still should be for a shining token How your soul had glowed and your lips had spoken—.

Were it only your life that was crushed and through! They have taken the starry soul of you And hidden it deep from the wind and dew!

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A small flight of stairs leads to another beautiful lookout of the falls. You can also see Point Success — the false summit of Mt. Rainier, Gibraltar Rock and Cowlitz Cleaver. The cone-shaped peak down the valley is Tumtum Peak.


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  • The Ricksecker Point Road is open in the summer months only. Walk the short trail to a view of the falls at 0. If you time it right you may catch rainbows dancing in the mist of the falls.

    This massive foot waterfall is truly breathtaking, as the waters fan a thick mist out over this popular viewpoint. Be sure to stop at the pullout on your left to take a look at the Glacier Vista Exhibit. Learn about the fascinating glaciers of the mountain. Look up to the summit and see Nisqually glacier and its origin on the permanent Nisqually snowfield. Beginning at 14, feet, this is the fastest moving glacier on the mountain, moving slowly at a little over one foot a day.

    At 5, feet, this area with its glorious views of Mount Rainier is the primary destination for many visitors to the park.