Happy poems
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On The Victory Obtained By Blake Over the Spaniards, In The
© Andrew Marvell
Now does Spains Fleet her spatious wings unfold,
Leaves the new World and hastens for the old:
But though the wind was fair, the slowly swoome
Frayted with acted Guilt, and Guilt to come:
Quinquagesima Sunday
© John Keble
Sweet Dove! the softest, steadiest plume,
In all the sunbright sky,
Brightening in ever-changeful bloom
As breezes change on high; -
The Song Of Honour
© Ralph Hodgson
I heard no more of bird or bell,
The mastiff in a slumber fell,
I stared into the sky,
As wondering men have always done
Since beauty and the stars were one,
Though none so hard as I.
Days
© Philip Larkin
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Nuns Fret Not at Their Convent's Narrow Room
© William Wordsworth
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
The Whitsun Weddings
© Philip Larkin
That Whitsun, I was late getting away:
Not till about
One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday
Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out,
The Rebel Scot
© John Cleveland
Yet wonder not at this their happy choice,
The serpent's fatal still to Paradise.
Sure, England hath the hemorrhoids, and these
On the north postern of the patient seize
Like leeches; thus they physically thirst
After our blood, but in the cure shall burst!
Sonnet XLV: Muses, Which Sadly Sit
© Michael Drayton
Muses, which sadly sit about my chair,
Drown'd in the tears extorted by my lines,
With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air,
Painting my passions in these sad designs,
Sonnet XXXVII: Dear, Why Should You
© Michael Drayton
Dear, why should you command me to my rest
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?
Methinks this time becometh lovers best;
Night was ordain'd, together friends to keep;
Ode to the Cambro-Britons and their Harp, His Ballad of Agi
© Michael Drayton
Fair stood the wind for France,
When we our sails advance;
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
Agincourt
© Michael Drayton
FAIR stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
Idea XXXVII
© Michael Drayton
Dear, why should you command me to my restWhen now the night doth summon all to sleep?Methinks this time becometh lovers best;Night was ordain'd together friends to keep
The Battle Of Agincourt
© Michael Drayton
Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
"As the inhastening tide doth roll"
© Alice Meynell
As the inhastening tide doth roll,
Dear and desired, along the whole
Wide shining strand, and floods the caves,
Your love comes filling with happy waves
The open sea-shore of my soul.
The ravings which my enemy uttered I heard within my heart
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
The ravings which my enemy uttered I heard within my heart;
the secret thoughts he harbored against me I also perceived.
His dog bit my foot, he showed me much injustice; I do not
bite him like a dog, I have bitten my own lip.
Last night my soul cried O exalted sphere of Heaven
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Last night my soul cried, O exalted sphere of Heaven, you hang indeed inverted, with flames in your belly.
Without sin and crime, eternally revolving upon your body in its complaining is the indigo of mourning;
Now happy, now unhappy, like Abraham in the fire; at once king and beggar like Ebrahim-e Adham.
In your form you are terrifying, yet your state is full of anguish: you turn round like a millstone and writhe like a snake.
Absolution II
© Edith Nesbit
UNBIND thine eyes, with thine own soul confer,
Look on the sins that made thy life unclean,
On The Victory Obtained By Blake Over the Spaniards, In The Bay Of Scanctacruze, In The Island Of teneriff.1657
© Andrew Marvell
Now does Spains Fleet her spatious wings unfold,
Leaves the new World and hastens for the old:
But though the wind was fair, the slowly swoome
Frayted with acted Guilt, and Guilt to come:
Wind From The East
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THE Spring, so fair in her voting incompleteness,
Of late the very type of tender sweetness;
Now, through frail leaves and misty branches brown,
Looks forth, the dreary shadow of a frown
To His Worthy Friend Doctor Witty Upon His Translation Of The Popular Errors
© Andrew Marvell
Sit further, and make room for thine own fame,
Where just desert enrolles thy honour'd Name
The good Interpreter. Some in this task
Take of the Cypress vail, but leave a mask,
