January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were...
thou Hill! where early joy
Spread roses o'er my brow;
Where Science seeks each loitering boy
With knowledge to endow.
Adieu, my youthful friends or foes,
Partners of former bliss or woes;
No more through Ida's paths we stray;
Soon must I share the gloomy cell,
When my 47 year old daughter died two years ago, a friend sent me this poem, it was a great comfort to me and I thought I would share it.
If tomorrow starts without me,
And I'm not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
All filled with tears for me;
this to a deeper roar?
What would it take my standing there for,
Holding open a restive door,
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?
Summer was past and the day was past.
Sombre clouds in the west were massed.
Out on the porch's sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed...
To you whom history would never honour
To you whom the statistics never mention
To you whom no song would ever be sung
To you whom the books have all shun
To you who work and toil under the radar
To you who have loved and cared
To you who have been many girls dream
To you who...
Comes the Dawn
After awhile you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security.
And you begin to understand that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises...
would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
Close your eyes my little one
Close your eyes and dream
You can be anyone,
Anyone you dream
You can go anywhere,
Just close your eyes and dream your dreams
Let your imagination take control
Take you on adventures never told
and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive...
B. "Banjo" PatersonIt was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop,Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop."'Ere! shave my beard and...
cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white...
'Tis reported of him,
And must be to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face. . . .
His friends were much hurt
To see so much dirt,
And often they made him quite clean;
But all was in vain,
When I am dying, let me know
That I loved the blowing snow
Although it stung like whips;
That I loved all lovely things
And I tried to take their stings
With gay unembittered lips;
That I loved with all my strength,
To my soul's full depth and length,
Careless if my heart...
(One of my fav. poems, its divided into five sections but i love the first and the last section the most..)
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
With every Good-bye
After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand, and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn.t mean leaning
And company does not mean security
And you begin to learn that kisses aren.t contracts,
And presents aren.t promises...
For some reason Inkubus's Blue people story and Puff's Snuggy story has made me all nostalgic. This is a poem my kids use to get me to read and read again and again....
They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their...
April 1770 – 23 April 1850)
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural...
severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.
How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood --
Then it will be -- good night.
To hearts which near each other move
...to anyone who reads it today. It is an Indian poem.
This day is a special day,
It is yours.
Yesterday slipped away
It cannot be filled with more meaning.
About tomorrow nothing is known.
but this day, today is yours,
Make use of it.
Today you can make someone...
who walked a crooked mile.He found a crooked sixpence,upon a crooked stile.He bought a crooked cat,who caught a crooked mouse,and they all lived together,in a little crooked house...But the Crooked Man was sad...and once he had a thought.Why should he be crooked,when others; they...
tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished, marbled stone.
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in...
begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice...
and it never left me. Sometimes things, whether it's a poem, a lyric, a painting, a piece of music, just speak to you like that. This is one of those things.
Will you be my friend?
There are so many reasons why you never should:
I'm sometimes sullen, often shy, acutely...
THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 - 1894)
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.
And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms...
we will sail away on oceans
and in a haze of chenillens and juniper spines from the great valley of humming gongs, on ships that sail away forever
In unexplained light reflected from the spine of a metallic viper, I'll seal your radiant kiss, my lover
The Owl and the *****-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely *****! O *****, my love,
He smiled -- so did I.
He crumpled the skin on his forehead, frowning -- so did I.
Everything I did he did.
I said, "Hello, I know you."
I was a liar to say so.
Ah, this looking-glass man!
Liar, fool, dreamer, play-actor,
Solider, dusty drinker of dust--
You are to blame that I'm lonely
that I'm always wandering alone and sadly
You are to blame that in this big world
Nobody's love touches my heart
You are to blame that with tears in my eyes
Day and night
Awake and asleep
I'm praying for God to give me another love like...
1874 – January 29, 1963)
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better...
This is by Neil Gaiman.
The Faery Reel
If I was young, as once I was, and death and dreams more distant,
I would tear my soul in two, and leave half in the world of men
So half of me would stay at home, and long for faery invain
While all the while my soul would roam...
I love ee cummings and his words and weird punctuation touch me to the core. I think my favorite poem by this magnificent man is "I Carry Your Heart With Me."i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere...
This has been one of my favorites since I first read the fourth stanza, which was published by itself at the bottom of a page as a Point to Ponder in the Reader’s Digest. It took me years to track down the entire poem, published many years earlier than that. I am...
So lost deep inside,
Is all that makes me.
My true identity,
Is hard to see.
To my friends and family,
I’m a different me.
I have a secret identity,
Wonder if you’ll ever see.
My thoughts and actions,
Are all that makes me,
But some things I may do,
Lately, I've been feeling depressed because life hasn't given me what I've hoped to receive. I've been depressed because I did what I could to prevent where I am now but it didn't seem to work out as I'd planned. I blogged about what I felt and a friend wrote this for me and...
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...
1795 – 23 February 1821)
You say you love ; but with a voice
Chaster than a nun's, who singeth
The soft Vespers to herself
While the chime-bell ringeth-
O love me truly!
You say you love; but with a smile
Cold as sunrise in September,
As you were Saint Cupid 's nun...
Lying is an occupation,
Used by all who mean to rise;
Politicians owe their station,
But to well concerted lies.
These to lovers give assistance,
To ensnare the fair-one's heart;
And the virgin's best resistance
Yields to this commanding art...
I never knew there would be a better tomorrow
But you've come into my life and taken away all my sorrow
My days of sadness are a thing of the past
Because I have found...
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one ;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
~ Francis William Bourdillon
..And it is told that he made his way through their streets at night,
crawling through their many windows and crouching in their gardens,
moving through the sewers beneath their cobbled roads and
slipping over their railings.
Watched by their cats and the roosting pigeons of...