Smile poems
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The Widow Of Crescentius : Part I.
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
'Midst Tivoli's luxuriant glades,
Bright-foaming falls, and olive shades,
The Sleepers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
As a swallow that sits on the roof,
I gaze on the world aloof;
In the silence, when men lie sleeping,
I hear the noise of weeping:
At The Gate
© Edith Nesbit
THE monastery towers, as pure and fair
As virgin vows, reached up white hands to Heaven;
To Mrs. M. B. On Her Birthday
© Alexander Pope
Oh be thou blest with all that Heav'n can send,
Long Health, long Youth, long Pleasure, and a Friend:
The Season of the Northers
© Jose Maria de Heredia y Campuzano
The weary summer's all-consuming heat
Is tempered now; for from the frozen pole,
The freed north winds come fiercely rushing forth,
Wrapt in their mantles, misty, dim, and frore,
While the foul fever flies from Cuba's shore.
The Widow and Her Son XXI
© Khalil Gibran
Night fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds
The Poet VIII
© Khalil Gibran
He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.
Song of the Wave XVII
© Khalil Gibran
I steal swiftly from behind the
Blue horizon to cast the silver of
My foam upon the gold of his sand, and
We blend in melted brilliance.
Song of Love XXIV
© Khalil Gibran
I am the lover's eyes, and the spirit's
Wine, and the heart's nourishment.
I am a rose. My heart opens at dawn and
The virgin kisses me and places me
Upon her breast.
Song of Fortune VI
© Khalil Gibran
I call for him with the voice of
Knowledge and the song of Wisdom.
He does not hearken, for Substance
Has enticed him into the dungeon
Of selfishness, where avarice dwells.
Peace XVIII
© Khalil Gibran
The tempest calmed after bending the branches of the trees and leaning heavily upon the grain in the field
The Burial: In Memory of W.L.E.
© Leon Gellert
What task is this that so unnerves me now?
When pity should be dead, and has been dead.
A Poet's Death is His Life IV
© Khalil Gibran
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens
A Lover's Call XXVII
© Khalil Gibran
Where are you, my beloved? Are you in that little
Paradise, watering the flowers who look upon you
As infants look upon the breast of their mothers?
The Abbey Mason
© Thomas Hardy
(The church which, at an after date,
Acquired cathedral rank and state.)
