Where My Books Go - William Butler Yeats
ALL the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is, 5
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken'd or starry bright.
Sonnet 028 - William Shakespeare
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressed,
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger.
To You Walt Whitman
Smith, of the Third Oregon, dies - Mary Carolyn Davies
AUTUMN in Oregon is wet as Spring,
And green, with little singings in the grass,
And pheasants flying,
Gold, green and red,
Great, narrow, lovely things, 5
As if an orchid had snatched wings.
There are strange birds like blots against a sky
Where a sun is dying.
Beyond the river where the hills are blurred
A cloud, like the one word 10
Of the too-silent sky, stirs, and there stand
Black trees on either hand.
Autumn in Oregon is wet and new
And puts a fever like Spring’s in the cheek 15
That once has touched her dew—
And it puts longing too
In eyes that once have seen
Her season-flouting green,
And ears that listened to her strange birds speak. 20
Autumn in Oregon—I’ll never see
Those hills again, a blur of blue and rain
Across the old Willamette. I’ll not stir
A pheasant as I walk, and hear it whirr
Above my head, an indolent, trusting thing. 25
When all this silly dream is finished here,
The fellows will go home to where there fall
Rose-petals over every street, and all
The year is like a friendly festival.
But I shall never watch those hedges drip 30
Color, not see the tall spar of a ship
In our old harbor.—They say that I am dying,
Perhaps that’s why it all comes back again:
Autumn in Oregon and pheasants flying—
Seven Little Sparrows - Ralph Chaplin
Beyond the deep-cut window
The bars are heaped with snow,
And seven little sparrows
Are sitting in a row.
Fluffy blur of snowflakes;
Dappled haze of light;
The narrow prison vista
Is all awhirl with white.
Seven little sparrows
Ruffled brown and grey
Snuggled close against the bars--
And this is Christmas day!
The Sceptic - Robert W. Service
My Father Christmas passed away
When I was barely seven.
At twenty-one, alack-a-day,
I lost my hope of heaven.
Yet not in either lies the curse:
The hell of it's because
I don't know which loss hurt the worse --
My God or Santa Claus.
Rain has fallen all the day - James Joyce
Rain has fallen all the day.
O come among the laden trees:
The leaves lie thick upon the way
Staying a little by the way
Of memories shall we depart.
Come, my beloved, where I may
Speak to your heart.
O, it was out by Donnycarney - James Joyce
O, it was out by Donnycarney
When the bat flew from tree to tree
My love and I did walk together;
And sweet were the words she said to me.
Along with us the summer wind
Went murmuring -- - O, happily! -- -
But softer than the breath of summer
Was the kiss she gave to me.
Now, O Now, In This Brown Land - James Joyce
Now, O now, in this brown land
Where Love did so sweet music make
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
Forbearing for old friendship' sake,
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.
A rogue in red and yellow dress
Is knocking, knocking at the tree;
And all around our loneliness
The wind is whistling merrily.
The leaves -- - they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.
Now, O now, we hear no more
The vilanelle and roundelay!
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
We take sad leave at close of day.
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything -- -
The year, the year is gathering.
Losing a Slave Girl - Juyi Bai 白居易
Around my garden the little wall is low;
In the bailiff's lodge the lists are seldom checked.
I am ashamed to think we were not always kind;
I regret your labours, that will never be repaid.
The caged bird owes no allegiance;
The wind-tossed flower does not cling to the tree.
Where tonight she lies none can give us news;
Nor any knows, save the bright watching moon.
Hearing That His Friend Was Coming Back From the War - Jian Wang
Life and Age of Man Anonymous
Foreign Lands - Robert Louis Stevenson
Up into the cherry tree
Who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
And looked abroad in foreign lands.
I saw the next door garden lie,
Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
And many pleasant places more
That I had never seen before.
I saw the dimpling river pass
And be the sky's blue looking-glass;
The dusty roads go up and down
With people tramping in to town.
If I could find a higher tree
Farther and farther I should see,
To where the grown-up river slips
Into the sea among the ships,
To where the road on either hand
Lead onward into fairy land,
Where all the children dine at five,
And all the playthings come alive.
Fire and Ice - Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Compensation - Ralph Waldo Emerson
Dirge for Two Veterans Walt Whitman
Each and All Ralph Waldo Emerson
Berrying - Ralph Waldo Emerson
"May be true what I had heard,
Earth's a howling wilderness
Truculent with fraud and force,"
Said I, strolling through the pastures,
And along the riverside.
Caught among the blackberry vines,
Feeding on the Ethiops sweet,
Pleasant fancies overtook me:
I said, "What influence me preferred
Elect to dreams thus beautiful?"
The vines replied, "And didst thou deem
No wisdom to our berries went?"
The City Revisited Stephen Vincent Benét
April - Ralph Waldo Emerson
THE APRIL 1 winds are magical
And thrill our tuneful frames;
The garden walks are passional
To bachelors and dames.
The hedge is gemmed with diamonds, 5
The air with Cupids full,
The cobweb clues of Rosamond
Guide lovers to the pool.
Each dimple in the water,
Each leaf that shades the rock 10
Can cozen, pique and flatter,
Can parley and provoke.
Goodfellow, Puck and goblins,
Know more than any book.
Down with your doleful problems, 15
And court the sunny brook.
The south-winds are quick-witted,
The schools are sad and slow,
The masters quite omitted
The lore we care to know.
Short Poetry Collection 042
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