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Lines On The Tomb Of A Favorite Dog
© Helen Maria Williams
HERE rests the image of a friend,--
Thine, cherish'd BIBI , thine!
Oft to this spot our steps we'll bend,
And call it Friendship's shrine.
Chorus Of Fire
© Robert Wadsworth Lowry
O! golden Hereafter, thine every bright rafter
Will shake in the thunder of sanctified song;
And every swift angel proclaim an evangel,
To summon Gods saints to the glorified throng.
Little Boatie
© Henry Van Dyke
A Slumber Song For The Fishermans Child
Furl your sail, my little boatie;
To The Returned Girls
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Will you read my little pome,
O you girls returnéd home
From a summertime of sport
At the Jolliest Resort,
From a Heated Term of joys
Far from urban dust and noise?
Weighing The Baby
© Ethel Lynn Eliot Beers
"How many pounds does the baby weigh -
Baby who came but a month ago?
How many pounds from the crowning curl
To the rosy point of the restless toe?"
The Tent On The Beach
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I would not sin, in this half-playful strain,--
Too light perhaps for serious years, though born
Inspiration
© Samuel Johnson
LIFE of Ages, richly poured,
Love of God, unspent and free,
Flowing in the Prophets word
And the Peoples liberty!
To The Head-Ach
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
THOU tyrant of the ling'ring hour!
Ah, why with me delight to rest?
Hence far away, tormenting pow'r
Unwelcome guest!
The Moon Flower
© Lala Fisher
I know a valley- through its solitude
A brown road winds towards a mountain crest;
In Memoriam
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Yet not of these I muse
In this ancestral place,
But of a kindred face
That never joy or hope shall here diffuse.
Rare --- English Translation
© Rabindranath Tagore
One day I shall see this world no more
Forever my eyelids will close.
The Bread Of Angels
© Edith Wharton
At last, upon my wonder drawn, I followed
The secret wanderers till I saw them pause
Before the dying glare of those tall panes
Where greed and surfeit nodded face to face
O'er the picked bones of pleasure . . .
And the door opened and the nuns went in.
Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 03 - Pre Autumn
© Kalidasa
"On the departure of rainy season bechanced is autumn with a heart-pleasingly bloomed lotus as her face, betokening the heart-pleasing face of a new bride, and the autumnal fields of white grass with whitish flowers as her apparel, which betoken the whitish bridal apparel of a new bride, and the amorously clucking clucks of swans that have just returned from Lake Maanasa as rains have gone, are the jingling anklets of autumn, which betoken the delightful jingles of anklets of new bride, and now the rice is ready to ripe and thus the tenuous stalks of rice, which have their necks a little bent down, betoken the obeisant face of a new docile bride…
"Blanched is the earth with whitish grass and the nights with silvery and coolant moonbeams of the moon, and the rivers with white swans, lakes with white-lotuses, and that forest up to its fringes with whitish jasmine flowers and with somewhat whitish seven-leaved banana plants that are swagging under the weight of their flowers…
The Bold Buccaneer
© John Le Gay Brereton
One very rough day on the Pride of the Fray
In the scuppers a poor little cabin-boy lay,
When the Bosun drew nigh with wrath in his eye
And gave him a kick to remember him by,
As he cried with a sneer: What good are you here?
Go home to your mammy, my bold buccaneer.
"Thus Saith The Lord, I Offer Thee Three Kings."
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
IN poisonous dens, where traitors hide
Like bats that fear the day,
While all the land our charters claim
Is sweating blood and breathing flame,
Dead to their country's woe and shame,
The recreants whisper STAY!
The Great Sorrow
© Katharine Tynan
Voice of a great wind, of wild ocean surges,
Storming the gates of Heaven,
The people of God singing under the scourges
Wherewith they are healed and shriven.
The Virtues Of Sid Hamet The Magicians Rod
© Jonathan Swift
The rod was but a harmless wand,
While Moses held it in his hand;
But, soon as e'er he laid it down,
Twas a devouring serpent grown.
Tinkerin' At Home
© Edgar Albert Guest
Some folks there be who seem to need excitement fast and furious,
An' reckon all the joys that have no thrill in 'em are spurious.
Some think that pleasure's only found down where the lights are shining,
An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks are dining.
Still others seek it at their play, while some there are who roam,
But I am happiest when I am tinkerin' 'round the home.
