Life poems
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My Mind to me a Kingdom Is
© Sir Edward Dyer
My mind to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I findThat it excels all other bliss Which God or nature hath assign'd.Though much I want that most would have,Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
The Young Captive
© Toru Dutt
The budding shoot ripens unharmed by the scythe,Without fear of the press, on vine branches lithe, Through spring-tide the green clusters bloom
Ten Precepts from Dhammapada
© Romesh Chunder Dutt
Return Love for Hatred.1.2 Hatred lives and mortal strife;1.3Love return for bitter hatred,1.4 Hatred dies, and sweet is life! (5)
An Evening Contemplation in a College
© Duncombe John
The Curfew tolls the hour of closing gates,With jarring sound the porter turns the key,Then in his dreary mansion slumb'ring waits,And slowly, sternly quits it -- tho' for me.
To my Honor'd Friend, Dr. Charleton
© John Dryden
The longest tyranny that ever sway'dWas that wherein our ancestors betray'dTheir free-born reason to the Stagirite,And made his torch their universal light
The Hind and the Panther: Part I
© John Dryden
A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchang'd,Fed on the lawns, and in the forest rang'd;Without unspotted, innocent within,She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin
Song: Phoebus Arise
© William Drummond (of Hawthornden)
Phœbus, arise,And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bedThat she thy career may with roses spread;The nightingales thy coming each where sing;Make an eternal spring;Give life to this dark world which lieth dead
Madrigal: My Thoughts Hold Mortal Strife
© William Drummond (of Hawthornden)
My thoughts hold mortal strife,I do detest my life,And with lamenting cries,Peace to my soul to bring,Oft calls that prince which here doth monarchize;But he, grim-grinning king,Who caitiffs scorns and doth the blest surprise, Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come
Noah's Flood
© Michael Drayton
Eternal and all-working God, which wastBefore the world, whose frame by Thee was cast,And beautified with beamful lamps above,By thy great wisdom set how they should moveTo guide the seasons, equally to all,Which come and go as they do rise and fall
Retrospect
© Doyle Arthur Conan
There is a better thing, dear heart, Than youthful flush or girlish grace
[Tutelage]
© John Donne
Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love,And in that sophistry, O, thou dost proveToo subtle; fool, thou didst not understandThe mystic language of the eye nor hand;Nor couldst thou judge the difference of the airOf sighs, and say, "This lies, this sounds despair";Nor by th' eye's water cast a maladyDesperately hot, or changing feverously
To the Countess of Bedford [Madam, Reason is our soul's left hand, faith her right...]
© John Donne
Madam,Reason is our soul's left hand, faith her right, By these we reach divinity, that's you;Their loves, who have the blessing of your sight, Grew from their reason, mine from fair faith grew.
To Sir Henry Wotton [Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls...]
© John Donne
Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls;For thus, friends absent speak
[Image and Dream]
© John Donne
Image of her whom I love, more than she, Whose fair impression in my faithful heart,Makes me her medal, and makes her love me, As kings do coins, to which their stamps impartThe value: go, and take my heart from hence, Which now is grown too great and good for me:Honours oppress weak spirits, and our sense Strong objects dull; the more, the less we see
The Bracelet
© John Donne
Not that in colour it was like thy hair,For armlets of that thou mayst let me wear;Nor that thy hand is oft embrac'd and kiss'd,For so it had that good which oft I miss'd;Not for that seely old morality,That as those links are tied our love should be;Nor for the luck sake; but the bitter cost
