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Sleep, let me sleep, for I am sick of care;
Sleep, let me sleep, for my pain wearies me.
Shut out the light; thicken the heavy air
With drowsy incense; let a distant stream
Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
Ebony is what I call her name
She and beauty are equal and same
Whenever she's out of sight causes an ache
Because she taste sweet like cake
I'm glad these feelings inside stayed
For me to look back at those days.
When we didn't think of times being late,
When the heart shaped stars were our place.
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,
It all seems like yesterday,
When the sun made a pathway,
The waves soaked my feet,
The ocean played a song
Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
To us each unforgotten memory saith:
“Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school,
A Whispered Tale
I'd heard fool-heroes brag of where they'd been,
With stories of the glories that they'd seen.
But you, good simple soldier, seasoned well
In woods and posts and crater-lines of hell,
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows
My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes-
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
One never knows
How far a word of kindness goes;
One never sees
How far a smile of friendship flees.
Edgar Albert Guest
Time and time again,
I'm taken down memory lane,
Where things remain the same,
Where there's beauty even in pain.
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
55 Years Of His Existence.
There is blood, There is blood.
In that blood he sees 55 years of his existence.
Blood graces the white floor just as failure graces his existence.
He look long back in his life, He sees a 16 year old to love his loved ones forever.
In Memory Of My Mother
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily
Mother Of Five
She mothered five!
Night after night she watched a little bed,
Night after night she cooled a fevered head,
Day after day she guarded little feet,
Edgar Albert Guest
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
She was dragged into pain,
Her heart in bitter ordain,
And her dress, wet with tears,
That flow from heart bars,
That Time Is Not Far Away
That time is not far away, when you too will love me.
At that time, you want to be humble.
But no, your fate will find Deirdar-e-Man.
Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
Alone, alone! - no other face
Wears kindred smile, kindred line;
And yet they say my mother's eyes.
They say my father's brow, is mine;
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
I dreamed a Voice, of one God-authorised,
Cried loudly throâ?? the world, â??Disarm! Disarm! â??
And there was consernation in the camps;
And men who strutted under braid and lace
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
You Love Me
true love is yours too
including my passions and wants
I'm going to make you a woman
a fulfilled and happy woman
When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
I have no riches but my thoughts,
Yet these are wealth enough for me;
My thoughts of you are golden coins
Stamped in the mint of memory;
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
Views Of Life
When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom,
And life can shew no joy for me;
And I behold a yawning tomb,
Where bowers and palaces should be;
IT is not Love, this beautiful unrest,
This tremor of longing that invades my breast:
(In Memory of a Commission)
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt!
When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend,
And Youth's blue sky is bright,
And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend,
Love's early dawning light,
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:
Letter To Maria Gisborne
The spider spreads her webs, whether she be
In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;
The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leaves
His winding sheet and cradle ever weaves;
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Waiting For You
Alone in this lofty and deserted place,
Have I patiently and eagerly waited.
Among men each day have I search your face;