Life poems

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My Wife

© Robert Louis Stevenson

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The great artificer
Made my mate.

Woman To Man

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

You do but jest, sir, and you jest not well,
How could the hand be enemy of the arm,
Or seed and sod be rivals! How could light
Feel jealousy of heat, plant of the leaf

In Memory Of The Late G. C. Of Montreal

The earth was flooded in the amber haze
That renders so lovely our autumn days,
The dying leaves softly fluttered down,
Bright crimson and orange and golden brown,
And the hush of autumn, solemn and still,
Brooded oer valley, plain and hill.

Sonnet Of Motherhood XXVII

© Zora Bernice May Cross

Dearest, as much as I, you breathe in pain,
Breeding yourselfyour very soul from me
By look and sign, soft word and action strong,
And all you longed for in its form regain.
I am a humble haven where we three,
Father and child and mother, make a song.

To Laura At The Harpsichord

© Johann Christoph Friedrich Von Schiller

When o'er the chords thy fingers stray,
My spirit leaves its mortal clay,
A statue there I stand;
Thy spell controls e'en life and death,
As when the nerves a living breath
Receive by Love's command! [1]

The Wife Of Asdrubal

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Bright in her hand the lifted dagger gleams,
Swift from her children's hearts the life-blood streams;
With frantic laugh she clasps them to the breast
Whose woes and passions soon shall be at rest;
Lifts one appealing, frenzied glance on high,
Then deep 'midst rolling flames is lost to mortal eye.

"I read a statement in a newspaper"

© Lesbia Harford

I read a statement in a newspaper
That Twentyman, the manufacturer,
Found it was cheaper to deliver goods
By horse and lorry than by motor-truck

Amnesiac

© Sylvia Plath

No use, no use, now, begging Recognize!
There is nothing to do with such a beautiful blank but smooth it.
Name, house, car keys,

In the End

© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

In the end, the mountains of imagination were nothing
but a house.
And this grand life of mine was nothing but an excuse.
You've been hearing my story so patiently for a lifetime
Now hear this: it was nothing but a fairy tale.

Mountain Pictures

© John Greenleaf Whittier

I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET

Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil

First Sunday After Christmas

© John Keble

'Tis true, of old the unchanging sun
His daily course refused to run,
The pale moon hurrying to the west
Paused at a mortal's call, to aid
The avenging storm of war, that laid
Seven guilty realms at once on earth's defiled breast.