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A desert life, lonely it may seem
A long journey awaits
But aimless you feel
With no clear path to take
Nine months in my mother's womb was the most wonderful phase of her life, And my first step into the unknown then- Was the most beautiful moment she cherished; Unawareness and uncertainties my future held- Yet she did all that she could do to make it bright and beautiful. But only if dreams could turn into reality, I would have been a better child to her then;
I shattered her hopes and dreams- Compelled her to walk the path of guilt and shame, And now she only
sits wondering, where she went wrong, That transformed me to a person who now hardly remembers Mother's sweet songs.
Importance of my life has vanished, In the fog of wants and selfishness- Getting high and getting my kicks, Are the things that I now only embrace; I steal, I cheat and manipulate, Just to get the substance of my choice, I do weird and unsocial acts- Just to satisfy my Euphoric Thirst.
One Autumn evening, wandering, when the sun was hanging low,
Through a woodland where the music of a streamlet's gentle flow
Commingled with the rustling of the yellow golden leaves,
And the idling breeze's sighing as it floated through the trees,
George W. Doneghy
HOW very hard it is to be
A Christian! Hard for you and me,
â??Not the mere task of making real
That duty up to its ideal,
To grace those lines wch next appear to sight,
The Pencil shone with more abated light,
Yet still ye pencil shone, ye lines were fair,
& awfull Moses stands recorded there.
Only Words... My Son
Yield to love; both a proper self-love
and a sincere love for others.
One that will do no harm to you or your neighbor,
both here and for eternity.
That tribe of prophets with the burning eyes
Is on the road, their babies on their backs,
Who satisfy their appetite attacks
With treasured breasts that always hang nearby.
They say we must not hate, nor fight in hate.
I've thought it over many a solemn hour,
And cannot mildly view the man or state
That has no thought, save only to be great;
Edgar Albert Guest
See! the corn again in ear!
How the fields and valleys smile!
Harvest now is drawing near
To repay the farmer's toil:
Encouraged by thy word
Of promise to the poor;
Behold, a beggar, Lord,
Waits at thy mercy's door!
Four miles at a leap, over the dark hollow land,
To the frosted steep of the down and its junipers black,
Travels my eye with equal ease and delight:
And scarce could my body leap four yards.
I let myself in at the kitchen door.
“It's you,” she said. “I can't get up. Forgive me
Not answering your knock. I can no more
Let people in than I can keep them out.
My religion's lovin' God, who made us, one and all,
Who marks, no matter where it be, the humble sparrow's fall;
An' my religion's servin' Him the very best I can
By not despisin' anything He made, especially man!
Edgar Albert Guest
That Rock Was Christ
When Israel's tribes were parch'd with thirst,
Forth from the rock the waters burst;
And all their future journey through
Yielded them drink, and Gospel too!
There is a village in a southern land,
By rounded hills closed in on every hand.
The streets slope steeply to the market-square,
Long lines of white-washed houses, clean and fair,
Robert Fuller Murray
Too late the prize is drawn, the goal attained.
Too late, too late, our heart's desire is gained.
Wealth's use is past; Fame's crown of laurel mocks
The downward drooping head and grizzled locks.
A Poet's Voice Xv
reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.
My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty.
AH! what advice can I receive!
No, satisfy me first;
For who would physick-potions give
To one that dies with thirst?
Expectation is mental illness,
Which makes people go mad,
If we have a single penny,
We will expect to have two.
You know Orien always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me
Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something
Robert Lee Frost
I drank musty ale at the Illinois Athletic Club with
the millionaire manufacturer of Green River butter
And his face had the shining light of an old-time Quaker,
No classic warrior tempts my pen
To fill with verse these pages
No lordly-hearted man of men
My Muse's thought engages.
It will not be these beauties of vignettes,
Poor products of a worthless century,
Feet in half-boots, fingers in castanets,
Who satisfy the yearning heart in me.
Within my garden's silence and seclusion,
In pensive beauty gazing toward the dawn,
There stands, mid vines and flowers in profusion,
A sculptured Faun.
John L. Stoddard
But some good Triton-god had ruth, and bare
The boy's drowned body back to Grecian land,
And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair
And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching hand;
O cover me, long gentle grasses,
Cover me with your seeding heads,
Cover me with your shaking limbs,
Cover me with your light soft hands,
The Iliad: Book 11
And now as Dawn rose from her couch beside Tithonus, harbinger of
light alike to mortals and immortals, Jove sent fierce Discord with
the ensign of war in her hands to the ships of the Achaeans. She
took her stand by the huge black hull of Ulysses' ship which was
The Iliad: Book 10
Now the other princes of the Achaeans slept soundly the whole
night through, but Agamemnon son of Atreus was troubled, so that he
could get no rest. As when fair Juno's lord flashes his lightning in
token of great rain or hail or snow when the snow-flakes whiten the
Jupiter And Fortune.
Once Jupiter, from out the Skies,
Beheld a thousand Temples rise;
The Goddess Fortune all invok'd,
To Jove an Altar seldom smoak'd: