Smile poems
/ page 195 of 369 /
i go to this window
© Edward Estlin Cummings
just as day dissolves
when it is twilight(and
looking up in fear
it is at moments after I have dreamed
© Edward Estlin Cummings
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed
in a middle of a room
© Edward Estlin Cummings
in a middle of a room
stands a suicide
sniffing a Paper rose
smiling to a self
all which isn't singing is mere talking
© Edward Estlin Cummings
all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)
may my heart always be open to little... (19)
© Edward Estlin Cummings
may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
i shall imagine life
© Edward Estlin Cummings
i shall imagine life
is not worth dying,if
(and when)roses complain
their beauties are in vain
you being in love... (XII)
© Edward Estlin Cummings
solemnly
myselves
ask "life, the question how do i drink dream smile
my sweet old etcetera... (X)
© Edward Estlin Cummings
war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting
because i love you)last night
© Edward Estlin Cummings
clothed in sealace
appeared to me
your mind drifting
with chuckling rubbish
of pearl weed coral and stones;
Javanese Dancers
© Arthur Symons
Twitched strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums,
Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting:
And now the stealthy dancer comes
Undulantly with cat-like steps that cling;
Destiny
© Emma Lazarus
1856 Paris, from throats of iron, silver, brass,
Joy-thundering cannon, blent with chiming bells,
And martial strains, the full-voiced pæan swells.
The air is starred with flags, the chanted mass
Shoveling Snow With Buddha
© Billy Collins
In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a knot,
a model of concentration.
Ode On The Pleasure Arising From Vicissitude
© Thomas Gray
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring:
The Curse Upon Edward
© Thomas Gray
Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun)
Half of thy heart we consecrate.
(The web is wove. The work is done.)
The Progress of Poesy
© Thomas Gray
A Pindaric OdeAwake, Aeolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
Sonnet On The Death Of Mr Richard West
© Thomas Gray
In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
And redd'ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire:
The birds in vain their amorous descant join;
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire:
On The Death Of A Favourite Cat, Drowned In A Tub Of Gold Fishes
© Thomas Gray
'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
The Reeve's Tale
© Geoffrey Chaucer
1. "With blearing of a proude miller's eye": dimming his eye;
playing off a joke on him.
The Friar's Tale
© Geoffrey Chaucer
"Peace, with mischance and with misaventure,"
Our Hoste said, "and let him tell his tale.
Now telle forth, and let the Sompnour gale,* *whistle; bawl
Nor spare not, mine owen master dear."
