I have a LOT of “favorite things” – probably like most of y’all do. But one of them that is kind of unique, in a way, is poetry of all kinds. This might seem natural for someone who is a writer, but I don’t think that’s always the case.
For instance, in the world of music, I can APPRECIATE what the Beatles did for music and especially for rock and roll—no doubt they were talented in so many ways, and influenced the world of music for generations to come—but I was not ever a huge fan of their music. So that being said, I think there are a lot of people who are excellent writers but aren’t very interested in poetry.
I was read to a LOT by my family when I was young, and of course, nursery rhymes were the beginning of my love of verse. Then, of course, the songs that I learned were my second “teacher” of rhythm and rhyme.
Isn’t it amazing how lines from a poem can affect us our entire lives? Sometimes, the patterns of the rhythm and rhyme of poetry can reach us as nothing else can.
Growing up in the 60’s, the wonderful music all around me at that time fortified my love of poetry. There are too many songs to mention, but like the old Cotton, Inc., commercial used to say, it was “the fabric of our lives” and remains that way.
Do you remember a favorite childhood poem? Remember the one by Robert Louis Stevenson, “The Swing”? Here’s the first verse:
How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Simple, yes? There is a tune that goes with it. I can’t tell you how often I sang that as I swung on my own swing set as a kid. Great memories! Here’s a portrait of Robert Louis Stevenson–he was fairly young when he died but he left a wonderful legacy of poetry and stories!
A few years older, enter “Puff, the Magic Dragon”, written by Leonard Lipton/Peter Yarrow. Peter Yarrow was the “Peter” of the folk group Peter, Paul and Mary. There have been lots of explanations of the lyrics, but to me, it was always about the boy, Jackie Paper, growing up and losing his childlike imagination. Puff is relegated to going back to his cave by the end of the song since Jackie is grown now, but here is the hopeful beginning verse:
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff
And brought him strings, and sealing wax, and other fancy stuff.
Of course, I vowed I would never be like Jackie—I would ALWAYS keep my imagination! (I think I was successful in that!) LOL
By the time I was in middle school, we had memorized countless poems—an assignment most of my classmates detested, but I actually loved. I had two favorites in elementary school, and both of these were 4th grade assignments. I remember well, because my teacher that year had us memorize a lot of poetry. These were the two I loved best, and here is a link of Robert Frost reading some of his poems–a rare glimpse of an author such as this reading his works. The second one, I believe, is “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening”:
“Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
(ONLY THE FIRST TWO VERSES SHOWN HERE)
“Windy Nights” by Robert Louis Stevenson
Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.
Evidently, I had a love for windy nights and highwaymen, because this one caught my eye during high school days. This is a very long story poem that was also set to music by Loreena McKennitt, and I’ve included the link here for the entire version of this masterpiece, and also will include the video of Loreena McKennitt’s version set to music. It is really beautiful!
The Highwayman
BY ALFRED NOYES
PART ONE
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
(FIRST TWO VERSES OF THE POEM)
Here’s the video of Loreena McKennitt’s version–just a lovely rendition!
As you can see, I had an affinity for handsome, rugged, ‘heroes’ (or anti-heroes) from a very young age—because of poems like these that brought them to life!
As for the softer romantic side of things, this was always a favorite—short, simple, and impactful:
Jenny Kiss’d Me
BY LEIGH HUNT
Jenny kiss’d me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss’d me,
Say I’m growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss’d me.
There are far too many favorites to list here! This barely scratches the surface at different times in my life, and were memorable for all different kinds of reasons.
Probably one of my favorite poems of all is “The Listeners” by Walter de la Mare. Many of his poems had a kind of mystical, mysterious quality to them, and this is one of the best. Another one we memorized in high school. I’ve included an image of a drawing of the author below.
The Listeners
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller, 
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Do you have a favorite poem? The words in poetry form can be so impactful and meaningful, not just in “regular” poetry, but also in beautiful harmony with music. Ballads, story-poems, hymns—so many ways of expression!
What is a favorite poem of yours? Leave me a comment about your favorite poem and why you love it so much for a chance to win a digital copy of my latest book, LOVE UNDER FIRE, the third book in the PINK PISTOL SISTERHOOD SERIES! Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting and taking a trip down memory lane with me and some of my favorite poems!
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“Once upon a midnight dreary, While I pondered weak and weary…” “It was many and many a year ago in a kingdom by the sea…” The Shooting of Dan McGrew. The Children’s Hour. My friends expect me to speak in quotes from things.
Hi David, if you ever watch BLUE BLOODS, Tom Selleck’s character seems to have a quote for everything–not necessarily poetry, but philosophers, historical figures, etc. And he always knows who said what he’s quoting. LOL My friends expect me to speak in song lyrics. LOL Seriously, I love all the poetry you mentioned, but especially Robert Service’s poems–they had such a definite rhythm to them that set him apart with his story poems. My dad loved him, and that’s probably why I do, too. Dad used to read “The Cremation of Sam McGee” aloud and just send shivers up my spine when I was a little kid. And of course, I’d always ask for that one at bedtime. LOL Go figure. My mom would come to the door and say, “Fred, that’s probably not a good idea.” LOL
Ah, Sam McGee, another favorite. My favorite line is, “There are strange things done in the midnight Sun, By the men who Mail gor gold…” through that first stanza. Also, A promise made is a debt unpaid and the trail has its own stern code.”
An Old Woman Sings to the Moon by Frederika James with its thoughts on life is good as well.
You might like the Hermet of Sharktooth shoal as it sounds like a Service poem.
David.
David, thanks for the recommendations! I love that type of poetry. Yes, that line in Sam McGee I always loved was at the end: “The Northern Lights have seen queer sights but the queerest they ever did see/Was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge I cremated Sam McGee.”
Brown Penny by W.B. Yeats
I whispered, “I am too young,”
And then, “I am old enough”;
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
“Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair,”
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
Oh, love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away,
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.
Oh, how beautiful! I have not read this one, but the one of Yeats’ poems that I treasure is “When You Are Old”–here it is:
When You Are Old
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
Beautiful
I love the poetry of Ogden Nash, but right now my favorite one is by Emily Dickinson:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
Oh, yes! I love this one by Emily Dickinson. Makes me think of all the people and animals in the world that we can do even small things for that bring good to the world. She wrote some truly beautiful poetry, didn’t she?
“If I can stop one heart from breaking”
By: Emily Dickinson
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Emily Dickinson
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth.
I love daffodils. I’d say they are my favorite flower. Thankfully they are in bloom on my birthday and unknown to me when we bought our house it had bunches.
I recited this poem to a bunch of people when I was in 6th grade. My 6th grade teacher, Mr. Benanti, was an incredible teacher and we studied A LOT of poetry and had to memorize it too.
Oh, Kim I love that one, too. My mom loved daffodils, as well. It reminds me of her. It’s really hard for most kids to recite poetry before an audience–even if it’s just classmates, but especially to adults! So glad you had such a great teacher–I don’t think kids memorize poetry much anymore.
I love a poem my grandmother wrote. Will I answer the call.
Sharon, if you feel like posting it, I would love to read it. I used to write poetry when I was a young teenager–usually ballads or story poems. As I got older I tried my hand at songwriting. I believe writing a song is the most difficult kind of writing there is–cramming something meaningful into 3 minutes that has a tune that people will remember as well…poetry is tough to write and I admire anyone who does so!
no fav
Sometimes it’s hard to choose, there are so many poems and songs for us to enjoy in this time we live in!
I have an old notebook filled with poems! One of my favorites is this one:
Toy Cannon by Ron MacLean
When he was five, his mother bought him a toy cannon,
And he played war with his friends.
His father was proud of his war efforts.
When he was six, he broke the toy cannon,
And cried in his room all day.
His father told him big boys don’t cry,
So he choked back the tears and went on with life.
When he was ten, his mother bought him a machine gun
That sounded just like the real ones.
All his friends had guns, and they played war in the back yard,
Under the watchful eyes of their proud parents.
When he was thirteen, his father told him
To throw away the machine gun,
Because big boys don’t play with guns.
He wanted to cry, but remembered
What his father told him when he was young.
When he was eighteen, Uncle Sam bought him a rifle,
And sent him off to war.
So he went to the war, wondering about
What his father had told him when he was young.
When his parents got the letter,
his father cried.
Oh, Trudy. That is so well-put and impactful. I’m glad you mentioned that notebook of yours because I had forgotten but I had one that was probably much the same as what you have–just chock full of favorite poems and song lyrics. I wonder whatever happened to that? Thanks for sharing this!
The Lane I Live Down
I love the lane I live down named Upper Cullen Road.
God has blessed me with “treasures” so many to behold.
For instance, the gift of nature, a person just can’t miss!
Lakes, trees, and wildlife simply cause shear bliss!
Did I mention the tall Norway trees so magnificent to view?
The oak, birch, and maple trees that bloom right on cue!
My lane invites tourists to visit Upper Cullen Resort.
Many return each year to enjoy our surroundings once more.
My mother lived next door to me for many, many years.
Her absence I still miss having shed many tears.
Neighbors too are dear to me, many I’ve known for quite some time.
Friendships have been cultivated and I find them mighty fine.
My gardens have inspired me to plant even more!
Elaine, my sis, encouraged me to open the “floral” door!
So I do not dilly-dally when flowers come to mind.
I will have a storehouse to plant as God gives me time.
Age has impressed me with how precious time can be.
It reflects God’s wonder and goodness expressed to me!
I am mindful of all the beauty a day can unfold.
And will store it in my memory bank to dwell on when I’m old.
I have a heart of thanksgiving for the blessings He has given me.
Age 63 is nothing when I think of God’s eternity.
I will see my loving Mom and Dad on Heaven’s grand shore.
Because I know what waits for me will boast of grandeur.
Life is exciting as I celebrate my age.
Because the love of God, family, and friends takes center stage.
As I live with joy and wonder at what my God has given.
I am thankful for the years spent at “Upper Cullen” livin!
CHERYL – I didn’t read poetry too much growing up. But I wrote poetry. Isn’t that crazy! I wrote this poem 9 years ago. It even means more to me now. I loved your blog today. Thank you for putting so much history together. I’ll come back to it throughout the day.
Kathy…this is just beautiful. SO lovely. Thank you for sharing this with us! I read a ton of poetry all my life and like I said, I tried to write some but never thought it was very good. This one of yours is really wonderful. Thanks again so much for sharing it and for stopping by today!
My nephew wrote this one and dedicated to his grandfather who was my dad and I have always loved it.
The Staircase
Last night I had myself a dream
I still can see it now
A staircase stood before me
Spiraling up into the clouds
Its wood was worn and weathered
But had stood the tests of time
And I came upon a young man there
As I began to climb
His uniform colonial
His tri cornered hat pulled down
He said I fell by bayonet
Defending Charlestown
A few more steps into my climb
There stood another Lad
He said we gave’um hell in 1812
With everything we had
As my journey went on upward
I came upon a pair
One dressed in blue and one in grey
I couldnt help but stare
They had a sadness in their eyes
But their pride still brightly shown
Both rose to honor in defense
Of lands that they’d called home
They said they’d met at Vicksburg
And both had fell that day
But looking back they wished they’d found
A different better way
And as I ascended onward up
What I was being shown
Were those who’d answered freedoms call
And never made it home
One fell upon a German front
One in Korea’s hills
One in a jungle outside Saigon
His stories gave me chills
The next it seemed was just a kid
I scarcely could believe
He’d lost his life so long ago
On a beach called Normandy
And just before I reached the top
I met one last young man
Who served 3 tours but lost his life
Back in Afghanistan
And once my climb had ended
My feet touched every stair
As I looked up my eyes beheld
An angel standing there
He said this is the staircase
T’was built by Christ’s own hand
Reserved and blessed for only those
Who fell on hallowed land
With the wisdom of the ages
He spoke these words to me
Now I hope you understand
The cost of living free
~Big Mike
This is so beautiful! It brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for sharing!
Barbara, it left me teary, too!
This poem is compelling and so heartfelt. Our land has fought many battles with the loss of lives on both sides. Freedom is the most costly thing our men and women can fight for. I also had tears when I finished reading it. You have a great talent. I also deeply appreciate the time everyone spent defending our country. May GOD bless all.
Judy, isn’t this wonderful? I hope Quilt Lady’s nephew will look into getting this poem published. So many people of all ages can relate to this!
This one just left me breathless. Your nephew has a LOT of talent to be able to encapsulate these feelings and the emotion he did with his words. This is one I think so many people would love to read. Maybe he needs to look for a publisher–I think it is really that good! Thank you for sharing this.
I am sorry to say my nephew passed away a couple of years ago but his sister still post this poem every year on Memorial day. I will quote what she said this last year in May.
“I promised to repost this every year..the heart and respect my brother had for history and the military is unmatched. The gift he had with words, even more so. If anyone could put their heart on paper…it was him.”
Quilt Lady, I’m so sorry for the loss of your nephew. I totally agree with your niece in what she said, and the way she described her brother. He really had a true gift.
Oh my goodness – what a touching poem. Thank you for sharing! God Bless America.
I already have the book. But thank you. I read a poem in 4th grade. I dont remember the words or the name. But at the time I said it all the time. It had to do with the men in the army in the mist on a hill
Hi Lori! If I draw your name I’ll give you your choice of any of my other digital books. Don’t ever want anyone to be left out! Oh, there are a lot of good poems that description might fit. I’ll go on a hunt. Of course, the first one that came to mind would be too contemporary (Brothers in Arms by Mark Knopfler–“These mist covered mountains, are a home now to me…”) But there are others! I’m so glad you stopped by and commented–now it’s time for research!
One of my favorites would be “Go Down Death”. I know the title sounds a little dark but there is a lot light and hope in it. It came to mean more to me after my grandmother’s passing.
Oh, Ann! I had to look that one up and read it–it is sooo beautiful. Yes you are right–so much light and hope there. This is one I had never heard of or read.
I have 2 favorites that I thought of – Little Orphant Annie by James Whitcomb Riley and Trees by Joyce Kilmer.
Karijean, I almost included the first couple of verses of Little Orphant Annie! I have a set of books called “THE BOOKHOUSE BOOKS” that my parents bought for my older sisters when they were very little. Each book has “the next step up” from the book before it in reading level and the illustrations are just so rich and fabulous! I remember that poem in there because of the illustrations, and the odd language (to me, as a youngster!) and oh, how much I loved it! I do love Trees, too. That is such a nice one!
The only poem I remember is titled “Hope” and the verse “The tomb was empty.” I don’t know who wrote it but I read it somewhere several years ago.
Isn’t it odd the way our minds work–letting us remember bits and pieces? It’s a good thing anymore that I can remember THOSE! LOL I will try to find it online–I’d love to read that one!
one of my favorite poems is “Something Told The Wild Geese by Rachel Field:
Something told the Wild Geese
It was time to go
Though the field lay golden
Something whispered, —‘Snow.’
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned, — ‘Frost.’
All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,—
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.
Crystal, this is one of my favorite ones, too. I love poems about nature, and this one lets us remember that even wild geese have a plan in their world. There’s another one that kind of reminds me of this one by Wendell Berry–it’s called The Peace of Wild Things:
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
My father gave me the love of Rudyard Kipling. My father was in the RAF and spent some of the time during WWII in India. Kipling’s Gunga Din, which is very famous and was made into a movie. One of his not known poems is The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God.
There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There’s a little marble cross below the town;
There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
He was known as “Mad Carew” by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel’s daughter smiled on him as well.
He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.
He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.
On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars:
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.
He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel’s daughter watched beside his bed.
He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying “That’s from Mad Carew,”
And she found the little green eye of the god.
She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn’t take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he’d chanced his life to get.
When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hurried to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro’ the gloom.
His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp’ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
‘Twas the “Vengeance of the Little Yellow God.”
There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There’s a little marble cross below the town;
There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
My father was a huge Rudyard Kipling fan, too! I think his favorite was Gunga Din. I have not ever read this one you posted, Kathleen–WHAT A TREASURE! Thanks for sharing this!
My taste is more…odd. The first poem I loved enough to memorize was Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky”, and the only reason I’m not going to record it below is that I’ve forgotten how to spell the nonsense words—of which there are many!
Pam, I loved Jabberwocky, too! When my kids were little I bought a story book that had that poem illustrated. That’s the entire book–just beautiful illustrations of that poem. I think I kept that book just for the illustrations even after they’d outgrown it. I had not thought of that in years!
I love “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” too. But a poem I loved at an even younger age was “The Village Blacksmith” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.” Like Frost, he painted such a visual image with his words. I could see it all and loved the flow and rhythm of the language.
That’s one my hubby and my mom both had to memorize during their respective school years. My mom was born in 1922 and my hubby in 1951–of course Longfellow stood the test of time! I never had to memorize that one, but this is probably my favorite one of his:
“The Cross of Snow” (1879)
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face—the face of one long dead—
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died; and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.
I have never had a favorite but enjoyed reading all of those posted!
Barbara, there are even more now that I’ve responded to earlier comments! LOL You’ll have to go back and read some of the new additions! I’m so glad you stopped by today!
Love Loreena Mckennitt’s version of The Highwayman! It is one of my favorite songs on her albums. It always makes me tear up..
Colleen, isn’t her voice gorgeous? Oh my goodness! I love to listen to her. Yes, I get teary listening to that one, too. She has a great way of expressing herself in her music.
I’ve never really been into poetry but I have enjoyed some of Rudyard Kipling’s poems.
I like his poetry too, Megan. My dad really loved him and would read poetry to me sometimes when I was little at bedtime. I like is poem “If”–lots of wisdom in his words in that one!
I love the Footprints poem. Thank you so much for sharing. God bless you.
Debra, I do, too. I made my sister a beautiful cross-stitch wall hanging with that on it many years ago! So glad you stopped by!