Happy poems
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The Merry Guide
© Alfred Edward Housman
Once in the wind of morning
I ranged the thymy wold;
The world-wide air was azure
And all the brooks ran gold.
Into My Heart an Air that Kills
© Alfred Edward Housman
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
Is My Team Ploughing
© Alfred Edward Housman
"Is my team ploughing,
That I was used to drive
And hear the harness jingle
When I was man alive?"
Terence, This is Stupid Stuff
© Alfred Edward Housman
TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There cant be much amiss, tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
The Fledgling
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
So, art thou feahered, art thou flown,
Thou naked thing?and canst alone
Upon the unsolid summer air
Sustain thyself, and prosper there?
Whereas At Morning In A Jeweled Crown
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Whereas at morning in a Jeweled Crown
I bit my fingers and was hard to please,
Having shook disaster till the fruit fell down
I feel tonight more happy and at ease:
The Betrothal
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Oh, come, my lad, or go, my lad,
And love me if you like.
I shall not hear the door shut
Nor the knocker strike.
Invocation To The Muses
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Archaic, or obsolescent at the least,
Be thy grave speaking and the careful words of thy clear song,
For the time wrongs us, and the words most common to our speech today
Salute and welcome to the feast
Conspicuous Evil or against him all day long
Cry out, telling of ugly deeds and most uncommon wrong.
Exiled
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people,
Sick of the city, wanting the sea;
To A Poet That Died Young
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Still, though none should hark again,
Drones the blue-fly in the pane,
Thickly crusts the blackest moss,
Blows the rose its musk across,
Floats the boat that is forgot
None the less to Camelot.
Epitaph
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Heap not on this mound
Roses that she loved so well:
Why bewilder her with roses,
That she cannot see or smell?
Sweet Love, Sweet Thorn, When Lightly To My Heart
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart
I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain,
And lie disheveled in the grass apart,
A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain,
The Ballad Of The Harp-Weaver
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
"Son," said my mother,
When I was knee-high,
"you've need of clothes to cover you,
and not a rag have I.
Renascence
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Over these things I could not see;
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
To The Spring
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Welcome, gentle Stripling,
Nature's darling thou!
With thy basket full of blossoms,
A happy welcome now!
The Youth By The Brook
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Beside the brook the boy reclined
And wove his flowery wreath,
And to the waves the wreath consigned--
The waves that danced beneath.
The Walk
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Hail to thee, mountain beloved, with thy glittering purple-dyed summit!
Hail to thee also, fair sun, looking so lovingly on!
Thee, too, I hail, thou smiling plain, and ye murmuring lindens,
Ay, and the chorus so glad, cradled on yonder high boughs;
The Two Paths Of Virtue
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Two are the pathways by which mankind can to virtue mount upward;
If thou should find the one barred, open the other will lie.
'Tis by exertion the happy obtain her, the suffering by patience.
Blest is the man whose kind fate guides him along upon both!
The Two Guides Of Life - The Sublime And The Beautiful
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
Two genii are there, from thy birth through weary life to guide thee;
Ah, happy when, united both, they stand to aid beside thee?
With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty,
And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty.
The Triumph Of Love
© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller
By love are blest the gods on high,
Frail man becomes a deity
When love to him is given;
'Tis love that makes the heavens shine
With hues more radiant, more divine,
And turns dull earth to heaven!
