Happy poems

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The Shepheardes Calender: June

© Edmund Spenser

June: AEgloga Sexta. HOBBINOL & COLIN Cloute.
HOBBINOL.
LO! Collin, here the place, whose pleasaunt syte
From other shades hath weand my wandring mynde.

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Sonnet 57: "Being your slave what should I do but tend..."

© William Shakespeare

Being your slave what should I do but tend,

 Upon the hours, and times of your desire?

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"Sed Nos Qui Vivimus"

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

How beautiful is life--the physical joy of sense and breathing;
The glory of the world which has found speech and speaks to us;
The robe which summer throws in June round the white bones of winter;
The new birth of each day, itself a life, a world, a sun!

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Psychological Warfare

© Henry Reed

Be that as it may, some time in the very near future,
We are to expect Invasion… and invasion not from the sea.
Vast numbers of troops will be dropped, probably from above,
Superbly equipped, determined and capable; and this above all,
Remember: they will be very brave men, and chosen as such.

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Husbands Overseas

© Lloyd Roberts

Each  morning they sit down to their little bites of bread,
 To six warm bowls of porridge and a broken mug or two.
And each simple soul is happy and each hungry mouth is fed–
 Then why should she be smiling as the weary-hearted do?

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The Root

© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

Deep, Love, yea, very deep.
And in the dark exiled,
I have no sense of light but still to creep
And know the breast, but not the eyes. Thy child
Saw ne'er his mother near, nor if she smiled;
But only feels her weep.

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Marjory

© Augusta Davies Webster

Spring Stornelli.

THE RIVULET.

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Ruth

© William Wordsworth

WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
Her Father took another Mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

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In Vain

© Rose Terry Cooke

PUT every tiny robe away!
The stitches all were set with tears,
Slow, tender drops of joys; to-day
Their rain would wither hopes or fears:
Bitter enough to daunt the moth  
That longs to fret this dainty cloth.

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The Young Letter Writer

© Charles Lamb

Dear Sir, Dear Madam, or Dear Friend,
 With ease are written at the top;
When those two happy words are penned,
 A youthful writer oft will stop,

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Eclogue 6: To Varus

© Publius Vergilius Maro

First my Thalia stooped in sportive mood

To Syracusan strains, nor blushed within

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David

© Thomas Parnell

When e'er his flocks the lovely shepherd drove
To neighb'ring waters, to the neighb'ring grove;
To Jordan's flood refresh'd by cooling wind,
Or Cedron's brook to mossy banks confin'd,
In easy notes and guise of lowly swain,
'Twas thus he charm'd and taught the listning train.

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Geraldine

© Henry Kendall

I think we lived a loftier life through hours of Long Ago,
For in the largened evening earth our spirits seemed to grow.
Well, that has passed, and here I stand, upon a lonely place,
While Night is stealing round the land, like Time across my face;
But I can calmly recollect our shadowy parting scene,
And swooning thoughts that had no voice — no utterance, Geraldine.

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George Edmunds' Song

© Charles Dickens

  Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around he here;

  Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!

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The Columbiad: Book I

© Joel Barlow

Ah, lend thy friendly shroud to veil my sight,
That these pain'd eyes may dread no more the light;
These welcome shades shall close my instant doom,
And this drear mansion moulder to a tornb.

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The Angel of Life

© Richard Rowe

LIFE’S Angel watched a happy child at play,  


Wreathing the riches of the blushing May:  

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Suffer Little Children, And Forbid Them Not, To Come Unto Me

© Charles Lamb

To Jesus our Saviour some parents presented
 Their children-what fears and what hopes they must feel!
When this the disciples would fain have prevented,
 Our Saviour reproved their unseasonable zeal.

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The Legend Of St. Sophia Of Kioff

© William Makepeace Thackeray

A worthy priest he was and a stout—
 You've seldom looked on such a one;
For, though he fasted thrice in a week,
Yet nevertheless his skin was sleek;
His waist it spanned two yards about
 And he weighed a score of stone.

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The Sleepers

© Walt Whitman

I WANDER all night in my vision,
Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and
  stopping,
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,
Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory,
Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.

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The Welcome,

© Nettie Palmer

DID you know, little child,  


Ere you left the outer wild,