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			<title><![CDATA[mrsdepp09's Playlist @ podcast.com]]></title>

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mrsdepp09's Playlist in RSS format from podcast.com
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podcast.com - plus the respective owners of each playlist item
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			<pubDate>Fri, 05 Dec 2008 01:36:05 GMT</pubDate>

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<title><![CDATA[O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman]]></title>
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<![CDATA[
Whitman read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/  Giving voice to classic poetry.  ---------------------------------------------------   O Captain! My Captain!  by Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   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.
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<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:33:27 GMT</pubDate>
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<title><![CDATA[What is Life? by John Clare]]></title>
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<![CDATA[
Clare read by Classic Poetry Aloud: http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/  Giving voice to classic poetry.  ---------------------------------------------------   What is Life?  by John Clare (1793 – 1864)  And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream. Its length? A minute's pause, a moment's thought. And Happiness? A bubble on the stream, That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.  And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn, That of its charms divests the dewy lawn, And robs each flow'ret of its gem -and dies; A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn, Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.  And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound? That dark mysterious name of horrid sound? A long and lingering sleep the weary crave. And Peace? Where can its happiness abound? Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave.  Then what is Life? When stripped of its disguise, A thing to be desired it cannot be; Since everything that meets our foolish eyes Gives proof sufficient of its vanity. 'Tis but a trial all must undergo, To teach unthankful mortals how to prize That happiness vain man's denied to know, Until he's called to claim it in the skies.    Comments  For more information on this unjustly neglected 19th Century poet, visit http://www.johnclare.org.uk/
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<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:33:27 GMT</pubDate>
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