FAME, to thy breaking heart
No comfort could impart,
In vain thy brow the laurel wreath was wearing;
One grief and one alone
Could bow thy bright head down--
Thou wert a WOMAN, and wert left despairing!

Bon Voyage - And Vice Versa

© Franklin Pierce Adams

Ah, canst thou bear the surging deep?
Canst thou endure the hard ship's-mattress?
For scant will be thy hours of sleep
From Staten Island to Cape Hatt'ras;
And won't thy fairy feet be froze
With treading on the foreign snows?

I Have Been Pierced By The Arrow Of Love

© Bulleh Shah

I have been pierced by the arrow of love,

what shall I do ?

God of Mercy, God of Grace

© Henry Francis Lyte

God of mercy, God of grace,
Show the brightness of Thy face:
Shine upon us, Saviour, shine,
Fill Thy church with light Divine;
And Thy saving health extend,
Unto earth's remotest end.

One Day And Another: A Lyrical Eclogue - Inscription

© Madison Julius Cawein

TO
G. F. M.
THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED IN MEMORY
OF MANY DAYS.

Sonnet 48: Soul's Joy, Bend Not

© Sir Philip Sidney

Soul's joy, bend not those morning stars from me,
Where Virtue is made strong by Beauty's might,
Where Love is chasteness, Pain doth learn delight,
And Humbleness grows one with Majesty.

O sleep, my babe

O sleep, my babe, hear not the rippling wave,

Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling'ring strays

Egypt Unvisited. Suggested by Mr. Roberts' Egyptian Sketches

The poetry of earth is fading fast;

It hath no region it can call its own;

An Anemone

"Teach me the wisdom of thy beauty, pray,
That, being thus wise, I may aspire to see
What beauty is, whence, why, and in what way
Immortal, yet how mortal utterly:
For, shrinking loveliness, thy brow of day
Pleads plaintive as a prayer, anemone.

What My Father Left Behind by Chris Forhan: American Life in Poetry #200 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laure

© Ted Kooser

Here's a fine poem by Chris Forhan of Indiana, about surviving the loss of a parent, and which celebrates the lives that survive it, that go on. I especially like the parachute floating up and away, just as the lost father has gone up and away.
What My Father Left Behind

Jam jar of cigarette ends and ashes on his workbench,
hammer he nailed our address to a stump with,
balsa wood steamship, half-finishedâ

Warbrides

© Nina Murdoch

There has been wrong done since the world began.
That young men should go out and die in war,
And lie face down in the dust for a brief span,
And be not good to look at anymore.