Life poems
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Two Sunsets
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
In the fair morning of his life,
When his pure heart lay in his breast,
Panting, with all that wild unrest
To plunge into the great world's strife
The Exchange.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
That lovingly hastens to fall on my breast.
Then fickleness soon bids it onwards be flowing;
A second draws nigh, its caresses bestowing,--
My Sweetest Lesbia
© Thomas Campion
My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love,
And though the sager sort our deeds reprove,
Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive
Into their west, and straight again revive,
But soon as once set is our little light,
Then must we sleep one ever-during night.
The Maid Of The Mill's Repentance.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Expel thee!
What's this thou singest so falsely, forsooth,
Of love and a maiden's silent truth?
Too Late
© Edith Nesbit
WHEN Love, sweet Love, was tangled in my snare
I clipped his wings, and dressed his cage with flowers,
The Spectral Attitudes
© André Breton
I attach no importance to life
I pin not the least of life's butterflies to importance
Response
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Beside that milestone where the level sun,
Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays
Rinaldo.*
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[This Cantata was written for Prince Frederick
of Gotha, and set to music by Winter, the Prince singing the part
of Rinaldo.--See the Annalen.]
How A Fair One No Hope To His Highness Accorded
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
The Moral: The people across the brine
Are exceedingly strong on Auld Lang Syne,
But they're lost in the push when they strike a gang
That is strong on American new line slang!
The German Parnassus.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
With her modest pinions, see,
Philomel encircles me!
In these bushes, in yon grove,
The Bride of a Year
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
She stands in front of her mirror
With bright and joyous air,
The Death Of The Fly
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WITH eagerness he drinks the treach'rous potion,Nor stops to rest, by the first taste misled;
Sweet is the draught, but soon all power of motionHe finds has from his tender members fled;
No longer has he strength to plume his wing,
No longer strength to raise his head, poor thing!
The Treasure-digger
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
ALL my weary days I pass'dSick at heart and poor in purse.Poverty's the greatest curse,Riches are the highest good!
And to end my woes at last,Treasure-seeking forth I sped."Thou shalt have my soul instead!"Thus I wrote, and with my blood.Ring round ring I forthwith drew,Wondrous flames collected there,Herbs and bones in order fair,Till the charm had work'd aright.
Then, to learned precepts true,Dug to find some treasure old,In the place my art foretoldBlack and stormy was the night.Coming o'er the distant plain,With the glimmer of a star,Soon I saw a light afar,As the hour of midnight knell'd.
Preparation was in vain.Sudden all was lighted upWith the lustre of a cupThat a beauteous boy upheld.Sweetly seem'd his eves to laughNeath his flow'ry chaplet's load;With the drink that brightly glow'd,He the circle enter'd in.
Occasion'd By Reading The Memoirs Of Anne Of Austria
© Mary Barber
Ye heedless Fair, who pass the live--long Day,
In Dress and Scandal, Gallantry and Play;
Who thro' new Scenes of Pleasure hourly run,
Whilst Life's important Business is undone;
Look here, when guilty Conquests make you vain,
And see, how sad Remorse shuts up the Scene.
Trilogy of Passion: II. ELEGY.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WHAT hope of once more meeting is there now
In the still-closed blossoms of this day?
Both heaven and hell thrown open seest thou;
What wav'ring thoughts within the bosom play
No longer doubt! Descending from the sky,
She lifts thee in her arms to realms on high.
On The New Year
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
------
What we sing in company
Soon from heart to heart will fly.
-----
Hans Sachs' Poetical Mission.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Soon as the spring-sun meets his view,
Repose begets him labour anew;
He feels that he holds within his brain
A little world, that broods there amain,
And that begins to act and to live,
Which he to others would gladly give.
What Matters It?
© George Frederick Cameron
What matters it the spot we fill
On Earth's green sod when all is said?
When feet and hands and heart are still
And all our pulses quieted?
When hate or love can kill nor thrill,
When we are done with life and dead?
The Rule Of Life.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
IF thou wouldst live unruffled by care,
Let not the past torment thee e'er;
As little as possible be thou annoy'd,
And let the present be ever enjoy'd;
Ne'er let thy breast with hate be supplied,
And to God the future confide.
