Name the Poet / Poets and the titles of the poems (The winner / winners will be awarded prizes)

Brother hood

The brotherhood is not by the blood certainly,

But neither are men brothers by speech – by saying so:

Men are brothers by life lived and are hurt for it.

Hunger and hurt are the great begetters of brotherhood:

Humiliation has gotten much love:

Danger I say is the nobler father and mother.

Those are as brothers whose bodies have shared fear

Or shared harm or shared hurt or indignity.

Why are the old soldiers brothers and nearest?

Brotherhood! No word said can make you brothers!

Brotherhood only the brave earn and by danger or

Harm or by bearing hurt and by no other.

Brotherhood here in the strange world is the rich and

Rarest giving of life and the most valued,

Not to be had for a word or a week’s wishing.

Freedom

There was a time, Tom Jefferson,

When freedom made free men.

The new found earth and the new freed mind

Were brothers then.

There was a time when tyrants feared

The new world of the free.

Now freedom is afraid and shrieks

At tyranny.

Words have not changed their sense so soon

Nor tyranny grown new.

The truths you held, Tom Jefferson,

Will still hold true.

What’s changed is freedom in this age.

What great men dared to choose

Small men now dare neither win

Nor lose.

Freedom, when men fear freedom’s use

But love its useful name,

Has cause and cause enough for fear

And cause for shame.

Your countrymen who could have hurled

Their freedom like a brand

Have cupped it to a candle spark

In a frightened hand.

Freedom that was a thing to use

They’ve made a thing to save

And staked it in and fenced it round

Like a dead man’s grave.

This poems is for my wife

This poem is for my wife.

I have made it plainly and honestly:

The mark is on it

Like the burl on the knife.

I have not made it for praise.

She has no more need for praise

Than summer has

Or the bright days.

In all that becomes a woman

Wherever she is there is sun

And time and a sweet air:

Peace is there,

Work done.

There are always curtains and flowers

And candles and baked bread

And a cloth spread

And a clean house.

Her voice when she sings is a voice

At dawn by a freshening sea

Where the wave leaps in the

Wind and rejoices.

Wherever she is it is now.

It is here where the apples are:

Here in the stars,

In the quick hour.

The greatest and richest good,

My own life to live in,

This she has given me –

If giver could.