HOPE NEVER RESULTS A NOPE
Hope our eyes will never tell a lie,
And our confidence level will never die.
Hope the forests will always remain clean and green,
And the earth will enjoy this frabjous scene.
Hope our good dreams will come true,
And nobody in this planet will rue.
Hope the sun always keep shining,
And for UV Protection, ozone will always form a thick lining.
Hope everyone live in peace and harmony,
And no one will perform any illegal activity for more money.
Hope all humans will perform their assigned passionate roles,
And everyone reach their desired goals.
But most important thing is to keep scope of hope,
Which will never result a nope.
Lewis Carroll coined the word "frabjous," a a blend of either fabulous and joyous, or fair and joyous, meaning "great, wonderful, fabulous." It is from his poem "Jabberwocky" in "Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There" (1871). However, in 1855 he had published "Stanza of Anglo-Saxon Poetry" in Mischmasch, a periodical he wrote and illustrated for the amusement of his family:
ReplyDeleteTwas bryllyg, and ye slythy toves
Did gyre and gymble in ye wabe:
All mimsy were ye borogoves;
And ye mome raths outgrabe.
The poem may have been a parody of Friedrich Heinrich Karl de la Motte (Baron Fouqué)'s ballad "Der Hirt des Riesengebürgs" (The Shepherd of the Giant Mountains), which his cousin Menella Bute Smedley had translated in 1846.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"'It seems very pretty,'" [Alice] said when she had finished it, "'but it's rather hard to understand!'" (You see she didn't like to confess, even to herself, that she couldn't make it out at all.) "'Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas -— only I don't exactly know what they are!'"