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Forever Is My Destination
Marriage is a union of family a union of love
Different people become one to celebrate
To celebrate a new union of blessing
Love is such a gift to human kind
Wouldst thou be taught, when sleep has taken flight,
By a sure voice that can most sweetly tell,
How far off yet a glimpse of morning light,
And if to lure the truant back be well,
Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night,
Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth.
I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled
Night frawns on our hope and belongings,
And left us hopeless and stranded.
New dawn renews our hope,
And makes all new and beautiful.
"Hign bliss is only for a higher state,"
But, surely, if severe afflictions borne
With patience merit the reward of peace,
Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good,
Out of the noise of tired people working,
Harried with thoughts of war and lists of dead,
His beauty met me like a fresh wind blowing,
Clean boyish beauty and high-held head.
Oh, why do they hunt so hard, so hard, who have
no need of food?
Do they hunt for sport, do they hunt for hate, do
they hunt for the lust of blood?
The Little Hurts
Every night she runs to me
With a bandaged arm or a bandaged knee,
A stone-bruised heel or a swollen brow,
And in sorrowful tones she tells me how
Edgar Albert Guest
The Old Huntsman
I've never ceased to curse the day I signed
A seven years' bargain for the Golden Fleece.
'Twas a bad deal all round; and dear enough
It cost me, what with my daft management,
Venus And Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
A Short Poem or Else Not Say I
True pleasure breathes not city air,
Nor in Art's temples dwells,
Body And Soul
Half-numb, guzzling bourbon and Coke from coffee mugs,
our fathers fall in love with their own stories, nuzzling
the facts but mauling the truth, and my friend's father begins
to lay out with the slow ease of a blues ballad a story
B H Fairchild
An Olive Fire
An olive fire's a lovely thing;
Somehow it makes me think of Spring
As in my grate it over-spills
With dancing flames like daffodils.
With quiet heart, I climbed the hill,
from which one can see, the city, complete,
hospitals, brothels, purgatory, hell,
prison, where every sin flowers, at our feet.
Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! oh, weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
A True Love
What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me!
As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed-
As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening's weed-
Fair Eve, as fair and still
As fairest thought, climbs the high sheltering hill;
As still and fair
As the white cloud asleep in the deep air.
To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses
As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert;-when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields;
The Odyssey: Book 09
And Ulysses answered, “King Alcinous, it is a good thing to hear a
bard with such a divine voice as this man has. There is nothing better
or more delightful than when a whole people make merry together,
with the guests sitting orderly to listen, while the table is loaded
Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread
Every day and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayre
Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay
Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre;
Absalom And Achitophel
In pious times, ere priest-craft did begin,
Before polygamy was made a sin;
When man, on many, multipli'd his kind,
Ere one to one was cursedly confin'd:
Paradise Lost: Book 01
Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Side by side through the streets at midnight,
Through the tumultuous night of London,
In the miraculous April weather.
In anguish we uplift
A new unhallowed song:
The race is to the swift;
The battle to the strong.
The three stood listening to a fresh access
Of wind that caught against the house a moment,
Gulped snow, and then blew free again-the Coles
Dressed, but dishevelled from some hours of sleep,
(In Memory of a Commission)
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt!
On Being Asked, Whence Is The Flower?
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Ralph Waldo Emerson