Mom poems
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Early Affeection
© George Moses Horton
I loved thee from the earliest dawn,
When first I saw thy beauty's ray;
And will until life's eve comes on,
And beauty's blossom fades away;
And when all things go well with thee,
With smiles or tears remember me.
"O all my labours scattered uselessly"
© Gaspara Stampa
All, all, in a moment, gathered by the breeze,
Since I have heard my impious lord
With my own ears, himself speak free,
Saying when near that he thinks of me,
And yet in leaving, in an instant leaves,
Of all my love, his every memory.
The Lady Of Rathmore Hall
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Throughout the country for many a mile
There is not a nobler, statelier pile
Than ivy crowned Rathmore Hall;
And the giant oaks that shadow the wold,
Though hollowed by time, are not as old
As its Norman turrets tall.
The Street-Children's Dance
© Mathilde Blind
NOW the earth in fields and hills
Stirs with pulses of the Spring,
Next-embowering hedges ring
With interminable trills;
Sunlight runs a race with rain,
All the world grows young again.
Storm, Momentary, Forever
© Boris Pasternak
Then summer said goodbye
to the station. Lifting its cap,
Seus olhos
© Antônio Gonçalves Dias
Seus olhos tão negros, tão belos, tão puros,
De vivo luzir,
Estrelas incertas, que as águas dormentes
Do mar vão ferir;
The Cloud Messenger - Part 04
© Kalidasa
The slender young woman who is there would be the premier creation by the
Creator in the sphere of women, with fine teeth, lips like a ripe bimba fruit, a
slim waist, eyes like a startled gazelles, a deep navel, a gait slow on account
of the weight of her hips, and who is somewhat bowed down by her breasts.
Coplas De Manrique (From The Spanish)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O let the soul her slumbers break,
Let thought be quickened, and awake;
Awake to see
How soon this life is past and gone,
And death comes softly stealing on,
How silently!
The Godhead
© Sri Aurobindo
I sat behind the dance of Danger's hooves
In the shouting street that seemed a futurist's whim,
And suddenly felt, exceeding Nature's grooves,
In me, enveloping me the body of Him.
The Secret Of The Stars
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Is man's the only throbbing heart that hides
The silent spring that feeds its whispering tides?
Speak from thy caverns, mystery-breeding Earth,
Tell the half-hinted story of thy birth,
And calm the noisy champions who have thrown
The book of types against the book of stone!
The Lily of Yorrow
© Henry Van Dyke
DEEP in the heart of the forest the lily of Yorrow is growing;
Blue is its cup as the sky, and with mystical odor oerflowing;
Faintly it falls through the shadowy glades when the south wind is blowing;
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - May
© George MacDonald
1.
WHAT though my words glance sideways from the thing
The Foray Of Con ODonnell. A.D. 1495
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
The evening shadows sweetly fall
Along the hills of Donegal,
The Bumboat Woman's Story
© William Schwenck Gilbert
I'm old, my dears, and shrivelled with age, and work, and grief,
My eyes are gone, and my teeth have been drawn by Time, the Thief!
For terrible sights I've seen, and dangers great I've run -
I'm nearly seventy now, and my work is almost done!
The Day Of The Daughter Of Hades
© George Meredith
He tells it, who knew the law
Upon mortals: he stood alive
Declaring that this he saw:
He could see, and survive.
In 1969
© Larry Levis
Some called it the Summer of Love, & although the clustered,
Motionless leaves that overhung the streets looked the same
As ever, the same as they did every summer, in 1967,
Anybody with three dollars could have a vision.
A Christmas Memory
© James Whitcomb Riley
Pa he bringed me here to stay
'Til my Ma she's well.--An' nen
He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day,
An' come take me back again
Wher' my Ma's at! Won't I be
Tickled when he comes fer me!
A Poem Dedicated To The Memory Of The Late Learned And Eminent Mr. William Law, Professor Of Philoso
© Robert Blair
In silence to suppress my griefs I've tried,
And kept within its banks the swelling tide!
But all in vain: unbidden numbers flow;
Spite of myself my sorrows vocal grow.
A Redeemer
© Robinson Jeffers
But when I am dead and all you with whole
hands think of nothing but happiness,
Will you go mad and kill each other? Or horror come over
the ocean on wings and cover your sun?
I wish," he said trembling, "I had never been born."
