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Good morning to you! Great morning to you!
Today is a new gift from up above
For we are born again each morning we wake up
So be sincerely thankful for this gift that you have
Ma. Cristina Colima
A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree
D. H. Lawrence
O happy soul, forget thy self!
This that has haunted all the past,
That conjured disappointments fast,
That never could let well alone;
Thomas Sturge Moore
The Great Hunger
Clay is the word and clay is the flesh
Where the potato-gatherers like mechanised scarecrows move
Along the side-fall of the hill - Maguire and his men.
A middle-northern March, now as always-
gusts from the South broken against cold winds-
but from under, as if a slow hand lifted a tide,
it moves-not into April-into a second March,
William Carlos Williams
Blue July, bright July,
Month of storms and gorgeous blue;
Violet lightnings o'er thy sky,
London In July
What ails my senses thus to cheat?
What is it ails the place,
That all the people in the street
Should wear one woman's face?
'Twas Jack-o'-Winter hailed it first,
But now more timid angels sing,
For what dull ear can fail to hear
Afar the fluting of the Spring?
John Le Gay Brereton
When I come in, my mechanic is eating
lunch. He doesn't look over the top
of his newspaper.
I glance around, hoping that Miss July
His beauty bore no token,
No sign our gladness shook;
With tender strength unbroken
The hand of Life he took:
Inniskeen Road: July Evening
The bicycles go by in twos and threes -
There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn to-night,
And there's the half-talk code of mysteries
And the wink-and-elbow language of delight.
A is the Alphabet, A at its head;
A is an Antelope, agile to run.
B is the Baker Boy bringing the bread,
Or black Bear and brown Bear, both begging for bun.
We must not force events, but rather make
The heart soil ready for their coming, as
The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring,
Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost,
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea
Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come?
Am I not always here, thy summer home?
Is not my voice thy music, morn and eve?
Ralph Waldo Emerson
A ghost is roaming through the building,
And shadows in the attic browse;
Persistently intent on mischief
A goblin roams about the house.
It Was Upon
It was upon a July evening.
At a stile I stood, looking along a path
Over the country by a second Spring
Drenched perfect green again. 'The lattermath
With beams December planets dart
His cold eye truth and conduct scanned,
July was in his sunny heart,
October in his liberal hand.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
In one salutation to thee, my God,
let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.
Like a rain-cloud of July
He strode across the schoolroom in July,
Great Hector, clanging in his brazen mail;
And all the cringing Greeks, with faces pale,
Creaked into jabbering Ks and turned to fly.
David Mckee Wright
The wind is singing through the trees to-night,
A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences
And crashing intervals. No summer breeze
Is this, though hot July is at its height,
WHY do I make no poems? Good my friend
Now is there silence through the summer woods,
In whose green depths and lawny solitudes
The light is dreaming; voicings clear ascend
|WE were young, we were merry, we were very very wise,
And the door stood open at our feast,
When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes,
And a man with his back to the East.
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
To die be given us, or attain!
Fierce work it were, to do again.
So pilgrims, bound for Mecca, pray'd
At burning noon: so warriors said,
Maurine: Part 06
There was a week of bustle and of hurry;
A stately home echoed to voices sweet,
Calling, replying; and to tripping feet
Of busy bridesmaids, running to and fro,
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Mine was a Midwest homeâ??you can keep your world.
Plain black hats rode the thoughts that made our code.
We sang hymns in the house; the roof was near God.
Captain Craig Ii
Yet that ride had an end, as all rides have;
And the days coming after took the road
That all days take,-though never one of them
Went by but I got some good thought of it
Edwin Arlington Robinson
Mamie beat her head against the bars of a little Indiana
town and dreamed of romance and big things off
somewhere the way the railroad trains all ran.
She could see the smoke of the engines get lost down
To Helen - 1848
I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not many.
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,
Edgar Allan Poe