Happy poems
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The Future.
© Caroline Norton
I WAS a laughing child, and gaily dwelt
Where murmuring brooks, and dark blue rivers roll'd,
The Triumph Of Melancholy
© James Beattie
Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye?
Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught,
To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye?
Come, Gentle God
© James Thomson
Come, gentle God of soft desire,
Come and possess my happy breast,
Not fury-like in flames and fire,
Or frantic folly's wildness dressed;
Le Vieux Temps
© William Henry Drummond
Venez ici, mon cher ami, an' sit down by me-so
An' I will tole you story of old tam long ago-
When An Old Man Gets To Thinking
© Edgar Albert Guest
When an old man gets to thinking of the years he's traveled through,
He hears again the laughter of the little ones he knew.
He isn't counting money, and he isn't planning schemes;
He's at home with friendly people in the shadow of his dreams.
Myrtilla
© Washington Allston
"Ah me! how sad," Myrtilla cried,
"To waste alone my years!"
While o'er a streamlet's flow'ry side
She pensive hung, and watch'd the tide
That dimpled with her tears.
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto X.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
I
At Church, in twelve hours more, we meet!
This, Dearest, is our last farewell.
Oh, Felix, do you love me? Sweet,
Why do you ask? I cannot tell.
Eva
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Dry the tears for holy Eva,
With the blessed angels leave her;
Of the form so soft and fair
Give to earth the tender care.
Peace-Hymn Of The Republic
© Henry Van Dyke
O Lord our God, Thy mighty hand
Hath made our country free;
Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
© Walt Whitman
Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great sun!
While we bask, we two together.
Bid Adieu
© James Joyce
Bid adieu, adieu, adieu,
Bid adieu to girlish days,
Happy Love is come to woo
Thee and woo thy girlish ways
The zone that doth become thee fair,
The snood upon thy yellow hair,
The Hard Times In Elfland [A Story of Christmas Eve]
© Sidney Lanier
Strange that the termagant winds should scold
The Christmas Eve so bitterly!
But Wife, and Harry the four-year-old,
Big Charley, Nimblewits, and I,
Vision of Columbus Book 3
© Joel Barlow
Now, twice twelve years, the children of the skies
Beheld in peace their growing empire rise;
Hymn To The Naiads
© Mark Akenside
ARGUMENT. The Nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, are addressed at day-break, in honor of their several functions, and of the relations which they bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, or powers of nature; according to the doctrine of the old mythological poets, concerning the generation of the gods and the rise of things. They are then successively considered, as giving motion to the air and exciting summer-breezes; as nourishing and beautifying the vegetable creation; as contributing to the fullness of navigable rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of commerce; and by that means, to the maritime part of military power. Next is represented their favourable influence upon health, when assisted by rural exercise: which introduces their connection with the art of physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal springs. Lastly, they are celebrated for the friendship which the Muses bear them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can receive: in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets.
--
The World In The House
© Jane Taylor
Regions of intellect ! serenely fair,
Hence let us rise, and breathe your purer air.
--There shine the stars ! one intellectual glance
At that bright host,--on yon sublime expanse,
Might prove a cure ;--well, say they, let them shine
With all our hearts,--but let us dress and dine.
Remembering An Account Executive
© Alan Dugan
He had a back office in his older brothers
advertising agency and understood the human asshole.
The Princess (part 7)
© Alfred Tennyson
'If you be, what I think you, some sweet dream,
I would but ask you to fulfil yourself:
But if you be that Ida whom I knew,
I ask you nothing: only, if a dream,
Sweet dream, be perfect. I shall die tonight.
Stoop down and seem to kiss me ere I die.'
The Power of Art
© George Santayana
Not human art, but living gods alone
Can fashion beauties that by changing live,-
