Time poems
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It's a Boy
© Edgar Albert Guest
The doctor leads a busy life, he wages war with death;
Long hours he spends to help the one who's fighting hard for breath;
He cannot call his time his own, nor share in others' fun,
His duties claim him through the night when others' work is done.
And yet the doctor seems to be God's messenger of joy,
Appointed to announce this news of gladness: "It's a boy!"
I Found A Few Old Letters
© Rabindranath Tagore
XIV
I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in thy boxa few small toys for thy memory to play with. With a timorous heart thou didst try to steal these trifles from the turbulent stream of time which washes away planets and stars, and didst say, These are only mine! Alas, there is no one now who can claim themwho is able to pay their price; yet they are still here. Is there no love in this world to rescue thee from utter loss, even like this love of thine that saved these letters with such fond care?
O woman, thou camest for a moment to my side and touched me with the great mystery of the woman that there is in the heart of creationshe who ever gives back to God his own outflow of sweetness; who is the eternal love and beauty and youth; who dances in bubbling streams and sings in the morning light; who with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth and whose mercy melts in rain; in whom the eternal one breaks in two in joy that can contain itself no more and overflows in the pain of love.
Then And Now
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A little time agone, a few brief years,
And there was peace within our beauteous borders;
Peace, and a prosperous people, and no fears
Of war and its disorders.
Pleasure was ruling goddess of our land; with her attendant Mirth
She led a jubilant, joy-seeking band about the riant earth.
A Boy And Watchmaker
© John Bunyan
This watch my father did on me bestow,
A golden one it is, but 'twill not go,
Winter Song
© Robert Bloomfield
Dear Boy, throw that Icicle down,
And sweep this deep Snow from the door:
The Pariah - Legend
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WATER-FETCHING goes the noble
Brahmin's wife, so pure and lovely;
Christmas
© Henry Timrod
How grace this hallowed day?
Shall happy bells, from yonder ancient spire,
Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire
Round which the children play?
Since I First Met You
© George Ade
Since I first met you,
Since I first met you,
The open sky above me seems a deeper blue;
Golden, rippling sunshine warms me through and through,
Each flower has a new perfume,
Since I met you!
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude VII.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Touched by the pathos of these rhymes,
The Theologian said: "All praise
Welcome To Frost
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O SPIRIT! at whose wafts of chilling breath
Autumn unbinds her zone, to rest in death;
Touched by whose blight the light of cordial days
Is lost in sombre browns and sullen grays;
I live with HimI see His face
© Emily Dickinson
I live with HimI see His face
I go no more away
For Visitoror Sundown
Death's single privacy
My Soul And I
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark
I would question thee,
Alone in the shadow drear and stark
With God and me!
On The Progress Of The Soul...
© John Donne
Forget this rotten world, and unto thee
Let thine own times as an old story be.
Hudibras: Part 1 - Canto I
© Samuel Butler
His doublet was of sturdy buff,
And tho' not sword, yet cudgel-proof;
Whereby 'twas fitter for his use,
Who fear'd no blows, but such as bruise.
"Flowers Of France" Decoration Poem For Soldiers' Graves, Tours, France, May 30, 1918
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Flowers of France in the Spring,
Your growth is a beautiful thing;
Dedication
© Caroline Norton
ONCE more, my harp! once more, although I thought
Never to wake thy silent strings again,
A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought,
And my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in pain,
Soars, like a wild bird from a cypress bough,
Into the poet's Heaven, and leaves dull grief below!
At The Saturday Club
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I start; I wake; the vision is withdrawn;
Its figures fading like the stars at dawn;
Crossed from the roll of life their cherished names,
And memory's pictures fading in their frames;
Yet life is lovelier for these transient gleams
Of buried friendships; blest is he who dreams!
Rappelle-Toi
© Henry Van Dyke
Remember, when the timid light
Through the enchanted hall of dawn is gleaming;
The Unchanged
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
IF we could salvage Babylon
From times's grim heap of dust and bones;
At The Close Of The Canvass
© Ambrose Bierce
'Twas a Venerable Person, whom I met one Sunday morning,
All appareled as a prophet of a melancholy sect;
And in a Jeremiad of objurgatory warning
He lifted up his jodel to the following effect:
