~  Poems  ~

(Idle tears) (Eternity in an Hour) 
(We Work in the Dark)    An Elegy 
Apollo's Speech   Oh Me, Oh Life!  SheWalks in Beauty 

 Invictus  Apollo  Salt Fever  Jabberwocky 
 The Road Less Traveled  Princess


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Some neat poems and ditties:

tears, idle tears, i know not what they mean,
tears from the depth of some divine despair
rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
in looking on the happy autumn fields,
and thinking of the days that are no more.

fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
that brings our friends up from the underworld,
sad as the last which reddens over one
that sinks with all we love below the verge;
so sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

alfred, lord tennyson.

"Too see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour...."
-William Blake

We work in the dark.
We do what we can.
We give what we have.
Our doubt is our passion,
and our passion is our task
The rest is the madness of art.

-- Henry James

An Elegy

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die.

Apollo stood on a high cliff.
"Come to the edge," he said.
"It's too high," they said.
"Come to the edge," he said.
"We'll fall," they said.
"Come to the edge," he said.
And they did.
And he pushed them. And they flew.

O Me! O Life!

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I,
and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the
struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see
around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?
That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

                                --Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

She walks in beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
     - Lord Byron (1788-1824)


   Out of the night that covers me,
   Black as the pit from pole to pole;
   I thank whatever gods may be
   For my unconquerable soul.
   In the fell clutch of circumstance,
   I have not winced, nor cried aloud.
   Under the bludgeonings of chance,
   My head is bloody, but unbowed.
   Beyond this place of wrath and tears
   Looms but the Horror of the shade;
   And yet the menace of the years
   Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
   It matters not how strait the gate,
   How charged with punishments the scroll:
   I am the master of my fate.
   I am the captain of my soul.
   -  William Ernest Henry

Salt Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
    by   John Masefield (1878-1967)
           English author and poet larueate (1930-1967)
           from Salt-Water Poems and Ballads


   Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
   Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
   All mimsy were the borogoves,
   And the mome raths outgrabe.
   Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
   The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
   Beware the JubJub bird, and shun
   The frumious Bandersnatch!
   He took his vorpal sword in hand:
   Long time the manxome foe he sought-
   So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
   And stood awhile in thought.
   And as in uffish thought he stood,
   The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
   Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
   And burbled as it came!
   One, two! One, two! And through and through
   The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
   He left it dead, and with its head
   He went galumphing back.
   And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
   Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
   O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
   He chortled in his joy.
                        --  Alice in Wonderland

The Road Not Taken
   Two roads diverged in yellow wood,
   And sorry I could not travel both
   And be one traveler, long I stood
   And looked down on as far as I could
   To where it bent in the undergrowth;
   Then too the other, as just as fair,
   And having perhaps the better claim,
   Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
   Though as for that the passing there
   Had worn them really about the same,
   And both that morning equally lay
   In leaves no step had trodden black.
   Oh, I kept the first for another day!
   Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
   I doubted if I should ever come back.
   I shall be telling this with a sigh
   Somewhere ages and ages hence:
   Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
   I took the one less traveled by,
   And that has made all the difference.
                                 - By Robert Frost

Its corny, and YET!

   A mended heart.
       A blind man sees.
       Who, holds the key to these mysteries?
       I feel your heart beat next to mine.
       A brilliant light on my soul, does shine.
       I was longing for a love that's new.
       Then I felt the warmth of your love, so true.
       Your beauty is such a vision to behold.
       With that angelic face, I so long to hold.
       Life is too short to waste even an hour,
       for love some times last, but the life of a flower.
       So follow you heart and waste not a beat,
       true love can only happen when the right people meet.
       Our love is special and so dear to my heart.
       I feel I would cease to exist, should we ever part.
       So, princess I tell you, that this I hold true.
       The one love I treasure, is the one I call you.
                                        by "Stormer"

Please note that many of these did not have the authors listed where I found them, so if there isn't one there, assume its anonymous. If you know who the author is, please email me at [email protected]

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