Life poems

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To the Temple I Repair

© James Montgomery

To Thy temple I repair;
Lord, I love to worship there
When within the veil I meet
Christ before the mercy seat.

The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto VII.

© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore

Preludes.

I Joy and Use

The Barcoo

© Henry Kendall

From the runs of the Narran, wide-dotted with sheep,

And loud with the lowing of cattle,

The Ideal

© Frances Anne Kemble

Thou shalt behold it once, and once believe

Thou may'st possess itLove shall make the dream,

At a Certain Age by Deborah Cummins: American Life in Poetry #138 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 200

You've surely heard it said that the old ought to move over to make room for the young. But in the best of all possible worlds, people who love their work should be able to do it as long as they wish. Those forced to retire, well, they're a sorry lot. Here the Chicago poet, Deborah Cummins, shows a man trying to adjust to life after work.

At a Certain Age

Somebody Else

© Edgar Albert Guest

Somebody wants a new bonnet to wear;

Somebody wants a new dress;

"Where Is Thy Brother?"

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Oh! when I think in what a thorny way
The feet of men must ever walk and stray,
I do not wonder that so many fall,
But wonder more that any stand at all.

Onward

© Charles Harpur

Have the blasts of sorrow worn thee,

Have the rocks of danger torn thee,

High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending

© Emily Jane Brontë

High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending,
Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars,
Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending,
Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending,
Man's spirit away from its drear dungeon sending,
Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars.

Mutation.

© Robert Crawford

The peaceful years, and then the stormy time
When the perturbed Earth moans, and Death himself
Seems ready to seize all his prey, "to smite
Once and to smite no more." Not yet the end,

The Furnace Door

© Edgar Albert Guest

My father is a peaceful man;

He tries in every way he can

Addressed To Miss Macartney, Afterwards Mrs. Greville, On Reading The Prayer For Indifference

© William Cowper

And dwells there in a female heart,
By bounteous heaven design'd
The choicest raptures to impact,
To feel the most refined;

Bahut Kathin Hai

© Amir Khusro

Bahut Kathin hai dagar panghat ki,
Kaisay main bhar laaun madhva say matki?
Paniya bharan ko main jo gayi thi,
Daud jhapat mori matki patki.

Thoughts Of Li Po From The World's End

© Du Fu

Here at the world's end the cold winds are beginning to blow. What messages
have you for me, my master? When will the poor wandering goose arrive? The
rivers and lakes are swollen with autumn's waters. Art detests a too successful
life; and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws. You had better have
a word with the ghost of that other wronged poet. Drop some verses into the
Mi-lo as an offering to him!

Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Conclusion

The real Epic ends with the war and with the funerals of the deceased
warriors, as we have stated before, and Yudhishthir's Horse-Sacrifice
is rather a crowning ornament than a part of the solid edifice. What
follows the sacrifice is in no sense a part of the real Epic; it
consists merely of concluding personal narratives of the heroes who
have figured in the poem.

Sonnet XLII. To G. W. C. August 1, 1846.

THE day so long remembered comes again.
The years have vanished. On the vessel's deck
We stand and wave adieux, until a speck
Our bark appears to friends whose eyes would fain