Life poems

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The Song of Yesterday

© James Whitcomb Riley

My head was fair
With flaxen hair,
And fragrant breezes, faint and rare,
And, warm with drouth
From out the south,
Blew all my curls across my mouth.

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A Parting Guest

© James Whitcomb Riley

What delightful hosts are they --
Life and Love!
Lingeringly I turn away,
This late hour, yet glad enough

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Knee-Deep in June

© James Whitcomb Riley

Tell you what I like the best --
'Long about knee-deep in June,
'Bout the time strawberries melts
On the vine, -- some afternoon
Like to jes' git out and rest,
And not work at nothin' else!

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A Life-Lesson

© James Whitcomb Riley

There! little girl; don't cry!
They have broken your doll, I know;
And your tea-set blue,
And your play-house, too,

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Four Quartets 3: The Dry Salvages

© Thomas Stearns Eliot

(The Dry Salvages—presumably les trois sauvages—is a small
group of rocks, with a beacon, off the N.E. coast of Cape Ann,
Massachusetts. Salvages is pronounced to rhyme with assuages.
Groaner: a whistling buoy.)

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Four Quartets 2: East Coker

© Thomas Stearns Eliot

Dawn points, and another day
Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea the dawn wind
Wrinkles and slides. I am here
Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.

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The Old Gumbie Cat

© Thomas Stearns Eliot

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

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Bustopher Jones: The Cat About Town

© Thomas Stearns Eliot

His visits are occasional to the Senior Educational
And it is against the rules
For any one Cat to belong both to that
And the Joint Superior Schools.

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Four Quartets 4: Little Gidding

© Thomas Stearns Eliot

IMidwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,

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Ash Wednesday

© Thomas Stearns Eliot

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

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The Hollow Men

© Thomas Stearns Eliot




A penny for the Old Guy

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The Garden Shukkei-en

© Carolyn Forche

It is the river she most
remembers, the living
and the dead both crying for help.

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Elegy

© Carolyn Forche

The page opens to snow on a field: boot-holed month, black hour
the bottle in your coat half voda half winter light.
To what and to whom does one say yes?
If God were the uncertain, would you cling to him?

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The Testimony Of Light

© Carolyn Forche

Outside everything visible and invisible a blazing maple.
Daybreak: a seam at the curve of the world. The trousered legs of the women
shimmered.
They held their arms in front of them like ghosts.

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The Song Of The Widow

© Rainer Maria Rilke

That was not his fault nor mine
since both of us had nothing but patience;
but death has none.
I saw him coming (how rotten he looked),
and I watched him as he took and took:
and nothing was mine.

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Duino Elegies: The Tenth Elegy

© Rainer Maria Rilke

Yet the dead youth must go on alone.
In silence the elder Lament brings him
as far as the gorge where it shimmers in the moonlight:
The Foutainhead of Joy. With reverance she names it,
saying: "In the world of mankind it is a life-bearing stream."

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The Poet

© Rainer Maria Rilke

O hour of my muse: why do you leave me,
Wounding me by the wingbeats of your flight?
Alone: what shall I use my mouth to utter?

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Duino Elegies: The Fourth Elegy

© Rainer Maria Rilke

O trees of life, oh, what when winter comes?
We are not of one mind. Are not like birds
in unison migrating. And overtaken,
overdue, we thrust ourselves into the wind

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Evening

© Rainer Maria Rilke

The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls;

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The Neighbor

© Rainer Maria Rilke

Strange violin, why do you follow me?
In how many foreign cities did you
speak of your lonely nights and those of mine.
Are you being played by hundreds? Or by one?