Life poems
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A Word To Philosophers
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
COLD philosophers, so apt
With your formulas exacting,
In your problems so enwrapt,
And your theories distracting;
Sunday Next Before Advent
© John Keble
Will God indeed with fragments bear,
Snatched late from the decaying year?
I wantit pleadedAll its life
© Emily Dickinson
"I want"it pleadedAll its life
I wantwas chief it said
When Skill entreated itthe last
And when so newly dead
Prevision
© Aline Murray Kilmer
I know you are too dear to stay;
You are so exquisitely sweet:
My lonely house will thrill some day
To echoes of your eager feet.
On A Cattle Track
© Henry Kendall
Where the strength of dry thunder splits hill-rocks asunder,
And the shouts of the desert-wind break,
Night-Scene in Genoa
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
He pauses - from the partiarch's brow
There beams more lofty grandeur now;
His reverend form, his aged hand,
Assume a gesture of command,
His voice is awful, and his eye
Fill's with prophetic majesty.
Kiama Revisited
© Henry Kendall
WE STOOD by the window and hearkened
To the voice of the runnels sea-driven,
Three Songs
© Duncan Campbell Scott
Nothing came here but sunlight,
Nothing fell here but rain,
Nothing blew but the mellow wind,
Here are the flowers again!
The Time Before Death
© Kabir
Friend? hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think... and think... while you are alive.
What you call "salvation" belongs to the time
before death.
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - October
© George MacDonald
1.
REMEMBER, Lord, thou hast not made me good.
This Is The Night
© Sugawara Takesue no Musume
This is the night when in the ancient Past,
The Herder Star embarked to meet the Weaving One;
In its sweet remembrance the wave rises high in the River of Heaven. [39]
Even so swells my heart to see the famous book.
To the Memory of My Beloved Author, Mr. William Shakespeare
© Benjamin Jonson
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;
Unchangeable Mother
© Edgar Albert Guest
Mothers never change, I guess,
In their tender thoughtfulness.
Songs For The Soldiers
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
IF songs be sung let minstrels strike their harps
To large and joyous strains, all thunder-winged
To beat along vast shores. Ay, let their notes
Wild into eagles soaring toward the sun,
At Castle Wood
© Emily Jane Brontë
The day is done, the winter sun
Is setting in its sullen sky;
And drear the course that has been run,
And dim the hearts that slowly die.
The Song Of Hiawatha XIII: Blessing The Cornfields
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,
Of the happy days that followed,
Application For A Grant
© Anthony Evan Hecht
Noble executors of the munificent testament
Of the late John Simon Guggenheim, distinguished bunch
The Grate Fire
© Edgar Albert Guest
I'm sorry for a fellow if he cannot look and see
In a grate fire's friendly flaming all the joys which used to be.
