Happy poems

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Blessing The Cornfields

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,
Of the happy days that followed,
In the land of the Ojibways,
In the pleasant land and peaceful!

The Song of Hiawatha: X

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"As unto the bow the cord is,
So unto the man is woman,
Though she bends him, she obeys him,
Though she draws him, yet she follows,
Useless each without the other!"

Holidays

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;--

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

Excelsior

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

When, Like A Running Grave

© Dylan Thomas

When, like a running grave, time tracks you down,
Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs,
Love in her gear is slowly through the house,
Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse,
Hauled to the dome,

A Child's Christmas In Wales

© Dylan Thomas

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound
except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember
whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve
nights when I was six.

Fern Hill

© Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb

Prisoners

© Yusef Komunyakaa

Usually at the helipad
I see them stumble-dance
across the hot asphalt
with crokersacks over their heads,

My Father's Love Letters

© Yusef Komunyakaa

On Fridays he'd open a can of Jax
After coming home from the mill,
& ask me to write a letter to my mother
Who sent postcards of desert flowers

The Sun -- just touched the Morning

© Emily Dickinson

The Sun -- just touched the Morning --
The Morning -- Happy thing --
Supposed that He had come to dwell --
And Life would all be Spring!

The Day came slow -- till Five o'clock

© Emily Dickinson

The Day came slow -- till Five o'clock --
Then sprang before the Hills
Like Hindered Rubies -- or the Light
A Sudden Musket -- spills --

Sweet -- You forgot -- but I remembered

© Emily Dickinson

Sweet -- You forgot -- but I remembered
Every time -- for Two --
So that the Sum be never hindered
Through Decay of You --

She's happy, with a new Content --

© Emily Dickinson

She's happy, with a new Content --
That feels to her -- like Sacrament --
She's busy -- with an altered Care --
As just apprenticed to the Air --

Is it dead -- Find it

Is it dead -- Find it --
Out of sound -- Out of sight --
"Happy"? Which is wiser --
You, or the Wind?
"Conscious"? Won't you ask that --
Of the low Ground?

I envy Seas, whereon He rides

I envy Seas, whereon He rides --
I envy Spokes of Wheels
Of Chariots, that Him convey --
I envy Crooked Hills

I cannot buy it -- 'tis not sold --

I cannot buy it -- 'tis not sold --
There is no other in the World --
Mine was the only one

How happy I was if I could forget

How happy I was if I could forget
To remember how sad I am
Would be an easy adversity
But the recollecting of Bloom

His Bill is clasped -- his Eye forsook --

His Bill is clasped -- his Eye forsook --
His Feathers wilted low --
The Claws that clung, like lifeless Gloves
Indifferent hanging now --

Fortitude incarnate

Fortitude incarnate
Here is laid away
In the swift Partitions
Of the awful Sea --