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These wet rocks where the tide has been,
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
These wet rocks where the tide went down
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Do memories last forever?
This thought runs through the mind of thinkers.
Memories are destined to fade,
But your most important memories,
Night frawns on our hope and belongings,
And left us hopeless and stranded.
New dawn renews our hope,
And makes all new and beautiful.
Love oh love,
You are sweeter than honey.
You make things easy without money;
Everything smiles at where there is love
Before Our Freedom
In the dungeons of untrue liberty, we were laid,
Chains of inhumanness clustered our treasured feet,
Good tidings they preached, to us, roes we weet,
“Static efforts that puzzled fettered minds”, I said,
From The Bridge
Held and thrilled by the vision
I stood, as the twilight died,
Where the great bridge soars like a song
Over the crawling tide-
I Still See You In My Dreams
I still see you in my dreams with your angel face in your beautiful white dress, smiling like a queen.
It was the most beautiful day of my dreams that I've ever seen.
Song At Sunset
Splendor of ended day, floating and filling me!
Hour prophetic-hour resuming the past!
Inflating my throat-you, divine average!
You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing.
Time stopped in a single moment,
Once you gave me hand in my hand,
Now I will go wherever you would go,
I will be on your right side,
It's “be a good boy, Willie,”
And it's “run away and play,
For Santa Claus is coming
With his reindeer and his sleigh.”
Edgar Albert Guest
Out of the wood my White Knight came:
His eyes were bright with a bitter flame,
As I clung to his stirrup leather;
For I was only a dreaming lad,
Young Fellow My Lad
“Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?”
“I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say.”
If we meet and I say, 'Hi,'
That's a salutation.
If you ask me how I feel,
That's a consideration.
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.
The Wings Of Love
I will row my boat on Muckross Lake when the grey of the dove
Comes down at the end of the day; and a quiet like prayer
Grows soft in your eyes, and among your fluttering hair
The red of the sun is mixed with the red of your cheek.
James H. Cousins
Remember the 1340's? We were doing a dance called the Catapult.
You always wore brown, the color craze of the decade,
and I was draped in one of those capes that were popular,
the ones with unicorns and pomegranates in needlework.
Who Needs School?
In the future, fifteen years from now,
This won't matter,
My name carved into that desk will just be a carving,
And the pot-bellied children will still be starving.
David To Bathsheba
Very red are the roses of Sharon,
But redder thy mouth,
There is nard, there is myrrh, in En Gedi,
From the uplands of Lebanon, heavy
High up in the apple tree climbing I go,
With the sky above me, the earth below.
Each branch is the step of a wonderful stair
Which leads to the town I see shining up there.
Worms finer for fishing you couldn't be wishing;
I delved them dismayed from the velvety sod;
The rich loam upturning I gathered them squirming,
big, fat, gleamy earthworms, all ripe for my rod.
I am stirred by the dream of an afternoon
Of a perfect day-though it was not June;
The lilt of winds, and the droning tune
That a busy city was humming.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
From torrid heat to frigid cold
I've rovered land and sea;
And now, with halting heart I hold
My grandchild on my knee:
The mighty sound of forests murmuring
In answer to the dread command;
The stars that shudder when their king
extends his hand,
Regal the earth seems with diamonds today,
Gemming all nature in blazing array;
A picture more fairy-like never could be
Than this wonderful icicle filigree.
Nannie R. Glass
OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child,
What wonder strikes the curious, while he views
The black ant's city, by a rotten tree,
Or woodland bank! In ignorance we muse:
Pausing, annoyed,--we know not what we see,
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Under The Oak
You, if you were sensible,
When I tell you the stars flash signals, each one dreadful,
You would not turn and answer me
“The night is wonderful.”
D. H. Lawrence
Away from the city, away from the crowd,
Two comrades in sorrow traversed hill and dale;
The gloom of their hearts did their faces enshroud,
And clouds of distress only seemed to prevail.
Nannie R. Glass
Here you are, grand old sensualist!
And here are the three goddesses
displaying their charms to Paris.
It was all one to you &mdash goddesses, saints, court ladies &mdash
Frida, I knew that thy life-years were counted.
If but before thee a lifting thought mounted,
Upward thy gaze turned all wistful to view it,
As wouldst thou pursue it.
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.
DOWN in the South, by the waste without sail on itâ??
Far from the zone of the blossom and treeâ??
Lieth, with winter and whirlwind and wail on it,
Ghost of a land by the ghost of a sea.
A WONDERFUL age
Is now on the stage:
I'll sing you a song, if I can,
How modern Whigs,