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Question
Why did the python help Golu?
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Solution
Golu had helped the python to coil around the branch of a tree. The python felt grateful to him and quietly followed him. The python helped Golu when the crocodile caught him by the nose. He did not repay Golu for his goodness.
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About the Poet
Robert Frost (1874-1963) was born in San Franscisco, Frost spent most of his adult
life in rural New England and his laconic language and emphasis on individualism in
his poetry reflect this region. He attended Dartmouth and Harvard but never earned a
degree. As a young man with a growing family he attempted to write poetry while
working on a farm and teaching in a school. American editors rejected his submitted
poems. With considerable pluck Frost moved his family to England in 1912 and the
following year, a London publisher brought out his first book. After publishing a
second book, Frost returned to America determined to win a reputation in his own
country, which he gradually achieved. He became one of the country's best-loved
poets. Unlike his contemporaries, Frost chose not to experiment with the new verse
forms but to employ traditional patterns, or as he said, he chose "the old-fashioned
way to be new." Despite the surface cheerfulness and descriptive accuracy of his
poems, he often presents a dark, sober vision of life, and there is a defined thoughtful
quality to his work which makes it unique.
Some are like fields of sunlit corn,
Meet for a bride on her bridal morn,
Some, like the flame of her marriage fire,
Or, rich with the hue of her heart's desire,
Tinkling,luminous,tender, and clear,
Like her bridal laughter and bridal tear.
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"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin, he cries;
And little wilhelmine looks up
with wonder-waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for."
"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
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I could not well make out;
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(It smells so good , what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
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With Mr.Tod,the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin,Pigling Bland,
And Mrs.Tiggy-Winkle and-
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It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days. They will not be many. The Indian’s night promises to be dark. Not a single star of hope hovers above his horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man’s trail, and wherever he will hear the approaching footsteps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter.
A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should I mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see.
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From the day, perhaps a hundred years ago when he sun had hatched him in a sandbank, and he had broken his shell, and got his head out and looked around, ready to snap at anything, before he was even fully hatched-from that day, when he had at once made for the water, ready to fend for himself immediately, he had lived by his brainless craft and ferocity. Escaping the birds of prey and the great carnivorous fishes that eat baby crocodiles, he has prospered, catching all the food he needed, and storing it till putrid in holes in the bank. Tepid water to live in and plenty of rotted food grew him to his great length. Now nothing could pierce the inch-?thick armoured hide. Not even rifle bullets,
which would bounce off. Only the eyes and the soft underarms offered a place. He lived well in the river, sunning himself sometimes with other crocodiles-muggers, as well as the long-? snouted fish-?eating gharials-on warm rocks and sandbanks where the sun dried the clay on them quite white, and where they could plop off into the water in a moment if alarmed. The big crocodile fed mostly on fish, but also on deer and monkeys come to drink, perhaps a duck or two.
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