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It maybe just one word to hear
But so effective like a medicine
Imagine if a person is sad, a smile
could turn his whole day around
Ma. Cristina Colima
A friend is one who stands to share
Your every touch of grief and care.
He comes by chance, but stays by choice;
Your praises he is quick to voice.
Edgar Albert Guest
Seasons Of Life
Gazing at the breezy night
Empty or lack of immense sunlight
And the onset of Winters shined
Though reflecting warmth of mankind
The room is full of you!-As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!-
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I also took grief and suffering in love.
Ask me, what types of streets that I have passed.
What type of fire on my chest
Life is a jest;
Take the delight of it.
Laughter is best;
Sing through the night of it.
Edgar Albert Guest
The Man To Be
Some day the world will need a man of courage in a time of doubt,
And somewhere, as a little boy, that future hero plays about.
Within some humble home, no doubt, that instrument of greater things
Now climbs upon his father's knee or to his mother's garments clings.
Edgar Albert Guest
Clown In The Moon
My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.
Mon Reve Familier [english]
Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream:
An unknown woman, whom I love, who loves me well,
Who does not every time quite change, nor yet quite dwell
The same,-and loves me well, and knows me as I am.
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
“While I sit at the door
Sick to gaze within
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin:
I Am A Killer
My name is depression and I am a killer,
I am everywhere, I am the darkness, the grief, the sadness.
Once I enter your head, it would be hard for you to get me off of your system.
If We But Knew
If we but knew the weary way,
The poisoned paths of hostile hate,
The roughened roads of fiercest fate,
Through which our brother's journey lay,
Freeman E. Miller
We stood among the boats and nets;
We saw the swift clouds fall,
We watched the schooners scamper in
Before the sudden squall;-
Auguries Of Innocence
To 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.
For failure I was well equipped
And should have come to grief,
By atavism grimly gripped,
A fool beyond belief.
In the evening the sky was overcast.
And through the grove full of silence and grief
Small, shapeless drifts of cloud
Sail slowly northward in the soft-hued sky,
With blur half-tints and rolling summits bright,
By the late sun caressed; slight hazes shroud
Addressed to Francis Greenleaf Allison of Burlington, New Jersey.
You scarcely need my tardy thanks,
Who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend--
John Greenleaf Whittier
Nothing But Stones
I think I never passed so sad an hour,
Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night.
The edifice from basement to the tower
Was one resplendent blaze of coloured light.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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.
The Female Exile
Written at Brighthelmstone in Nov. 1792.
NOVEMBER'S chill blast on the rough beach is howling,
The surge breaks afar, and then foams to the shore,
Dark clouds o'er the sea gather heavy and scowling,
The Fraternal Duel
‘Oh! hide me from the sun! I loath the sight!
I cannot bear his bright, obtrusive ray:
Nought is so dreadful to my gloom as light!
Nothing so dismal as the blaze of day!
I don't get tired of you. Don't grow weary
of being compassionate toward me!
All this thirst equipment
must surely be tired of me,
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
The Diary Of A Good Mother
The beautiful heart of a woman is been questioned by her strength,
Just as Fearless as she was , she stood firm like a warrior ,
Her nights became her day as she watches over her dear Child ,
She wore her pains like an amour , She held strong her weapon of prayers ,
Mamua, when our laughter ends,
And hearts and bodies, brown as white,
Are dust about the doors of friends,
Or scent ablowing down the night,
After an address to Malvina, the daughter of Toscar, Ossian proceeds to relate his own expedition to FuÃ¤rfed, an island of Scandinavia. Mal-orchol, king of FuÃ¤rfed, being hard pressed in war by Ton-thormod, chief of Sar-dronto (who had demanded in vain the daughter of Mal-orchol in marriage,) Fingal sent Ossian to his aid. Ossian, on the day after his arrival, came to battle with Ton-thormod, and took him prisoner. Mal-orchol offers his daughter, Oina-morul, to Ossian; but he, discovering her passion for Ton-thormod, generously surrenders her to her lover, and brings about a reconciliation between the two kings.
In Virgil's Sacred Verse we find,
That Passion can depress or raise
The Heav'nly, as the Human Mind:
Who dare deny what Virgil says?
I shall tread, another year,
Ways I walked with Grief,
Past the dry, ungarnered ear
And the brittle leaf.
The Two Voices
There are two voices with me in the night,
Easing my grief. The God of Israel saith,
``I am the Lord thy God which vanquisheth.
See that thou walk unswerving in my sight,
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill;
I had walked on at the wind's will-
I sat now, for the wind was still.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti