God poems
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The Boundaries Of Humanity.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Small is the ring
Enclosing our life,
And whole generations
Link themselves firmly
On to existence's
Chain never-ending.
The Metamorphosis Of Plants.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Happily teach thee the word, which may the mystery
solve!
Closely observe how the plant, by little and little progressing,
Prometheus.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Didst thou e'er fancy
That life I should learn to hate,
And fly to deserts,
Because not all
My blossoming dreams grew ripe?
Patience
© Thomas Dekker
Patience! why, 'tis the soul of peace:
OF all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven:
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e'er wore earth about Him was a sufferer;
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit;
The first true gentleman that ever breathed.
Blow, Northern Wind
© Anonymous
Blow, northerne wynd,
Send thou me my suetyng!
Blow, northerne wynd,
Blou, blou, blou!
The Sense Of The Sleight-Of-Hand Man
© Wallace Stevens
One's grand flights, one's Sunday baths,
One's tootings at the weddings of the soul
Occur as they occur. So bluish clouds
Occurred above the empty house and the leaves
Thorkilds Song
© Rudyard Kipling
There´s no wind along these seas,
Out oars for Stavanger!
Forward all for Stavanger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze.
Let fall for Stavanger!
A long pull for Stavanger!
Looking Across The Fields And Watching The Birds Fly
© Wallace Stevens
Among the more irritating minor ideas
Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home
To Concord, at the edge of things, was this:
Transit of the Gods
© Kathleen Raine
Strange that the selfs continuum should outlast
The Virgin, Aphrodite, and the Mourning Mother,
All loves and griefs, successive deities
That hold their kingdom in the human breast.
Homer's Hymn To The Moon
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The Son of Saturn with this glorious Power
Mingled in love and sleep--to whom she bore
Pandeia, a bright maid of beauty rare
Among the Gods, whose lives eternal are.
The Perfect High
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "its always the same, old men or brighteyed youth,
Its always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 12
© William Langland
The glose graunteth upon that vers a greet mede to truthe.
And wit and wisdom,' quod that wye, " was som tyme tresor
To kepe with a commune - no catel was holde bettre -
And muche murthe and manhod' - and right with that he vanysshed.
The Youth of England To Garibaldi's Legend
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
O ye who by the gaping earth
Where, faint with resurrection, lay
An empire struggling into birth,
Her storm-strown beauty cold with clay,
The free winds round her flowery head,
Her feet still rooted with the dead,
Gods of the East
© Rudyard Kipling
Because I sought it far from men,
In deserts and alone,
I found it burning overhead,
The jewel of a Throne.
Reynard the Fox - Part 1
© John Masefield
Poor Polly's dying struck him queer,
He was a darkened man thereafter,
Cowed, silent, he would wince at laughter
And be so gentle it was strange
Even to see. Life loves to change.
In The Days When The World Was Wide
© Henry Lawson
The world is narrow and ways are short, and our lives are dull and slow,
For little is new where the crowds resort, and less where the wanderers go;
Greater, or smaller, the same old things we see by the dull road-side --
And tired of all is the spirit that sings
of the days when the world was wide.
Shadows Before
© Henry Lawson
"Like clouds o'er the South are the nations who reign
On fair islands that we would command;
But clouds that are darker and denser than these
Have sailed from an Isle in the Northern Seas
And rest on our Southern Land.
The City Bushman
© Henry Lawson
It was pleasant up the country, City Bushman, where you went,
For you sought the greener patches and you travelled like a gent;
And you curse the trams and buses and the turmoil and the push,
Though you know the squalid city needn't keep you from the bush;
But we lately heard you singing of the `plains where shade is not',
And you mentioned it was dusty -- `all was dry and all was hot'.
