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HOBBS PUBLIC LIBRARY |
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SAMPLES OF POETRY FORMS
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PIED BEAUTY by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844--89)
GLORY be to God for dappled things
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal
chestnut-falls; finches'' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;
And ááll tráádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
TO HELEN by Edgar Allan Poe
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicaean barks of yore,
that gently o'er the perfumed sea.
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land.
THE EAGLE by Alfred Lord Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
ANONYMOUS
Moses supposes his toeses are roses,
But Moses supposes erroneously;
For nobody's toeses are posies of roses
As Moses supposes his toeses to be.
ANNABEL LEE by Edgar Allan Poe (1849)
It
was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:--
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than
the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--
For the moon never beams without bringing
me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
I SING OF A MAIDEN
I sing of a maiden
That is matchless,
King of all kings
For her son she chose.
He came all so still
Where his mother was,
As dew in April
That falleth on the grass.
He came all so still
To his mother's bower,
As dew in April
That falleth on the flower.
He came all so still
Where his mother lay,
As dew in April
That falleth on the spray.
Mother and maiden
Was never none but she;
Well may such a lady
God's mother be.
THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY
Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,
O where have ye been?
They have slain the Earl of Murray,
And have laid him on the green.
Now woe be to thee, Huntley!
O what did I say?
I bade you bring him with you,
But forbade you him to slay.
He was a brave gallant,
And he rode at the ring;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
O he might have been a king!
He was a brave gallant,
And he played at the ball;
And the bonny Earl of Murray
Was the flower among them all!
He was a brave
gallant,
And he played at the glove,
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
O he was the Queen's love!
O long will his Lady
Look o'er the Castle Downe,
Ere she see the Earl of Murray
Come sounding through the town!
THE SHARPBREASTED SNAKE by Louis (LittleCoon) Oliver
The Muskogee's hokpi--
fuski (Loch Ness
Monster)
Traveled here,
By the Camp of
The Sac and Fox;
Thru the alluvial
Gombo soil, flailing
Thrashing-up rooting
Giant trees;
Ploughed deep
With its sharp breast.
Come to rest by
Tuskeegi Town, buried
Its self in a lake of
mud to rest. The
warriors of Tustanuggi
were ordered to shoot
it with a silver tipped
arrow. With a great
roar and upheaval The
Snake moved on;
winding by Okmulgee
To enter (Okta hutcher)
South Canadian River.
Thus his ploughed
journey, The Creeks
called (Hotchee
Sufkel Deepfork
River.
One, Cholaka,
observed The Snake
had hypnotic Power.
Could draw a person
into a swirling.
whirlpool. It
made a sound
Like a
Tinkling
silver
Bell.
O
k
I
s
c
MIRROR by John Updike
When you
look kool uoy nehW
into a mirror rorrim a otni
it is not ton si ti
yourself you see, ,ees uoy flesruoy
but a
kind dnik a tub
of apish error rorre hsipa fo
posed in fearful lufraef ni desop
symmetry. .yrtemmys
EASTER WINGS by George Herbert (1593-1633)
Lord, who createdst man in
wealth and store,
Through foolishly he l lost the same,
Decaying more and more
Till he became
Most poor:
With thee
Oh, let me rise
As larks,
harmoniously,
And sing
this day thy victories;
Then shall the fall further the flight
in me.
My
tender age in
sorrow did begin;
And still
with sicknesses and shame
Thou didst
so punish sin,
That
I became
Most thin.
With thee
Let me combine,
And feel this day thy victory;
For if
I imp my
wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the
flight in me.
CAVALIER TUNES: BOOT AND SADDLE by Robert Browning (1812-1889)
Boot, saddle, to horse and away!
Rescue my Castle, before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray,
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd
say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay--
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array:
Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and
gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
THERE WAS A MAN OF DOUBLE DEED by Anonymous (English; 1784 or earlier)
There was a man of double deed
Who sowed his garden full of seed.
When the seed began to grow
'Twas like a garden full of snow,
When the snow began to melt
'Twas like a shop without a belt,
When the ship began to sail
'Twas like a bird without a tail,
When the bird began to fly
'Twas like an eagle in the sky,
When the sky began to roar
'Twas like a lion at the door,
When the door began to crack
'Twas like a stick across my back,
When my back began to smart
'Twas like a penknife in my heart,
And when my heart began to bleed
'Twas death and death and death indeed.
ANONYMOUS
Red skyk at night,
Shepherd's delight;
Red sky in the morning,
Shepherd's warning.
ANONYMOUS
March winds and April showers
Bring forth May flowers.
Here lies the mother of eight,
There would have been more,
But now it's too late.
Here lies my wife
So let her lie.
Now she's at rest,
And so am I
Beza Wood
Here lies one Wood enclosed in wood
One Wood within another
The outer wood is very good
We cannot praise the other.
Here lie the remains of Ann
Mann
Who lived an old woman
But died an old Mann
Benjamin Franklin
A Printer
Food for Worms
John Summer
An English Teacher
who could not only
spell the word
"Epitaph"
correctly, but also
knew what it means.
Here lies the body of our
Anna
Done to death by a banana
It wasn't the fruit that laid her low
But the skin of the thing that made her go.
SONG OF MYSELF by Walt Whitman
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume, or every atom belonging to me as good
belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the
same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.
2 Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is
odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
STARS by Carl Sandburg
The stars are too many to count.
The stars make sixes and sevens.
The stars tell nothing--and everything.
The stars look scattered.
Stars are so far away they never speak
when spoken to.
THE BASE STEALER by Robert Francis
Poised between going on and back, pulled
Both ways taut like a tightrope-walker,
Fingertips pointing the opposites,
Now bouncing tiptoe like a dropped ball
Or a kid skipping rope, come on, come on,
Running a scattering of steps sidewise,
How he teeters, skitters, tingles, teases,
Taunts them, hovers like an ecstatic bird,
He's only flirting, crowd him, crowd him,
Delicate, delicate, delicate, delicate--now!
SPIRITS OF THE DEAD by Edgar Allan Poe
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
CAT'S FUNERAL by E.V. Rieu
Bury her deep, down deep,
Safe in the earth's cold keep,
Bury her deep --
No more to watch bird
stir;
Not more to clean dark fur;
No more to glisten as silk;
No more to revel in milk;
No more to purr.
Bury her deep, down
deep;
She is beyond warm sleep.
She will not walk in the night;
She will not wake to the light.
Bury her deep.
by Issa
plum blossom scent--
at the fox's hole
red beans and rice
UNKNOWN
Ha! the butterfly!
--it is flowing the person
who stole the flowers!
by Uko
The nightingales sing
In the echo of the bell
Tolled at evening.
by Issa
A giant firefly:
that way, this way, that way, this--
and it passes by.
UNKNOWN
The swan drifts away
gathering in its feathers
the light of the day.
UNKNOWN
The boy in the foam...
Seeing him I touch the mist
veiling my childhood.
"HOPE" IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS "HOPE" IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
"Hope" is the thing with
feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
THE LIGHTNING IS A YELLOW FORK by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
The Lightning is a yellow Fork
From Tables in the sky
By inadvertent fingers dropt
The awful Cutlery.
Of mansions never quite disclosed
And never quite concealed
The Apparatus of the Dark
To ignorance revealed.
THE EAGLE by Alfred Lord Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
STARS by Carl Sandburg
The stars are too many to count.
The stars make sixes and sevens.
The stars tell nothing--and everything.
The stars look scattered.
Stars are so far away they never speak
when spoken to.
NATURAL HISTORY by Anonymous
What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?
Frogs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails,
And that are little boys made of.
What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and all that's nice,
And that are little girls made of.
What are young men made of?
What are young men made of?
Sighs and leers, and crocodile tears,
And that are young men made of.
What are young women made of?
What are young women made of?
Ribbons and laces, and sweet pretty faces,
And that are young women made of.
UNTITLED by Anonymous
Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St.
Clement's;
You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's;
When will you pay me, say the bells of Old Bailey;
When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch;
When will that be? say the bells of Stepney;
I do not know, says the great bell of Bow.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head.
THERE WAS AN OLD MAN OF NEW YORK by Edward Lear (1812-1888)
There Was an Old Man of New York,
Who Murdered Himself with a Fork;
but Nobody Cried
Though He Very Soon Died, --
for That Silly Old Man of New York.
UNUSUAL VISIT by B.J. Lee
An astronaut, famous and grand,
Descended in Santa Claus Land,
Where Santa and he,
After doughnuts and tea,
Discussed how their travels were planned.
THE HOLIDAY YEAR by Merlin Millet
The holidays fill us with cheer
If the weather be sunny or drear,
What matters the weather?
We'll all shout together,
"Hurray for the holiday year!"
NO AFRAID by Jay Lee
I'm not a bit scared of the witches'
moan.
I'm not afraid of the goblin's groan,
Or the hoot of the owl,
Or the black cat's yowl,
My big brother's with me....I'm not alone.
TO SEA ON A GOOSE by Edward Lear
There was an old man of Dunluse
Who went out to sea on a goose.
When he'd gone out a mile,
He observed with a smile,
"It's time to return to Dunluse."
NURSERY RHYME
Yankee Doodle came to town,
Riding on a pony;
He stuck a feather in his cap
And called it macaroni.
Yankee Dooke, doodle do,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
All the lasses are so smart,
And sweet as sugar candy.
Yankee Doodle is a tune
That comes in mighty handy;
The enemy all runs away
At Yankee Doodle dandy.
Yankee Doodle, doodle do,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
All the lasses are so smart,
And sweet as sugar candy.
HUSH-A-BYE-BABY
Hush-a-bye, baby,
On the tree top,
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall,
Down will come baby,
Cradle and all.
THE FLOWER OF MENDING by Vachel Lindsay 1879-1931
When Dragon-fly would fix his wings,
When Snail would patch his house,
When moths have marred the overcoat
Of tender Mister Mouse,
The pretty creatures go with haste
To the sunlit blue-grass hills
Where the Flower of Mending yields the wax
And webs to help their ills.
The hour the coats are waxed and webbed
They fall into a dream,
And when they wake the ragged robes
Are joined without a seam.
My heart is but a dragon-fly,
My heart is but a mouse,
My heart is but a haughty snail
In a little stony house.
Your hand was honey-comb to heal,
Your voice a web to bind.
You were a Mending Flower to me
To cure my heart and mind.
TO SEE A WORLD IN A GRAIN OF SAND by William Blake (1757-1827)
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
METAPHORS by Sylvia Plath
I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off
THE BELLS by Edgar Allan Poe (1849)
I
Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while
she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III
Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
ANONYMOUS
Ring-a-ring o'roses,
A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down.
The cows in the meadow
Lying fast aleep,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all get up again.
THE BUMBLEBEE by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916
You better not fool with a Bumblebee! --
Ef you don't think they can sting -- you'll see!
They're lazy to look at, an' kind o' go
Buzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow,
An' ac' so slouchy an' all fagged out,
Danglin' their legs as they drone about
The hollyhawks 'at they can't climb in
'Ithout ist a-tumble-un out ag'in!
Wunst I watched one climb clean 'way
In a jimson-blossom, I did, one day, --
An' I ist grabbed it -- an' nen let go --
An' "Ooh-ooh! Honey! I told ye so!"
Says The Raggedy Man; an' he ist run
An' pullt out the stinger, an' don't laugh none,
An' says: "They has be'n folks, I guess,
'At thought I wuz predjudust, more er less, --
Yit I still muntain 'at a Bumblebee
Wears out his welcome too quick fer me!"
THE PASTURE by Robert Frost
I'm going out to clean the pasture
spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may)
I sha'n't be gone long. -- You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long. -- You come too.
THE BROWNY HEN by Irene F. Fawsey
A browny hen sat on her nest
With a hey-ho for the springtime!
Seven brown eggs 'neath her downy breast,
With a hey-ho for the springtime!
A brown hen clucks all day from dawn,
With a hey-ho for the springtime!
She's seven wee chicks as yellow as corn,
With a hey-ho for the springtime!
THE CHARIOT (BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH) by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school where children
played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible.
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
BE READY by Carl Sandburg
Be land ready
for you shall go back to land.
Be sea ready
for you have been nine-tenths water
and the salt taste shall cling to your mouth.
Be sky ready
for air, air, has been so needful to you--
you shall go back, back to the sky.
TO HELEN by Edgar Allan Poe
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicaean barks of yore,
that gently o'er the perfumed sea.
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land.
THE WIND by James Stephens (1882-1950)
The wind stood up and gave a shout.
He whistled on his fingers and
Kicked the withered leaves about
And thumped the branches with his hand.
And said he'd kill and kill and kill,
And so he will and so he will.
POOR RICHARD by Benjamin Franklin
No Morning Sun lasts a whole Day,
For Age and Want, save while you may;
Keep your mouth wet, feet dry.
He that speaks much, is much mistaken.
The worse wheel of the cart
makes the most noise.
UNKNOWN
Danger is sauce for prayers.
Many have quarreled about Religion
That never practised it.
THE RAINY DAY by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
SHENANDOAH
O Shenandoah, I long to hear you
Away, you rolling river,
O Shenandoah, I long to hear youk
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.
Missouri, she's a mighty river,
Away, you rolling river,
The Indians camp along her borders.
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.
The white man loved an Indian maiden,
Away, you rolling river,
With notions his canoe was laden,
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.
O, Shenandoah, I love your daughter,
Away, you rolling river,
For her I've crossed the rolling water,
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.
Seven long years I courted Sallyk
Away, you rolling river,
Seven more I longed to have her.
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.
Farewell, my dear, I'm bound to leave
you,
Away, you rolling river,
O Shenandoah, I'll not deceive you.
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.
I HEAR AMERICA SINGING by Walt Whitman (1819--1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
I HEAR America singing, the varied carols
I hear;
Those of mechanics--each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and
strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat--the deckhand singing on
the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench--the hatter singing as he
stands;
The wood-cutter''s song--the ploughboy's, on his way in the morning,
or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother--or of the young wife at work--or of
the girl sewing or washing--
Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day--At night, the party of young fellows,
robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs
STARS by Carl Sandburg
The stars are too many to count.
The stars make sixes and sevens.
The stars tell nothing--and everything.
The stars look scattered.
Stars are so far away they never speak
when spoken to.
THERE WAS A MAN OF DOUBLE DEED by Anonymous (English; 1784 or earlier)
There was a man of double deed
Who sowed his garden full of seed.
When the seed began to grow
'Twas like a garden full of snow,
When the snow began to melt
'Twas like a shop without a belt,
When the ship began to sail
'Twas like a bird without a tail,
When the bird began to fly
'Twas like an eagle in the sky,
When the sky began to roar
'Twas like a lion at the door,
When the door began to crack
'Twas like a stick across my back,
When my back began to smart
'Twas like a penknife in my heart,
And when my heart began to bleed
'Twas death and death and death indeed.
JABBERWOCKY by Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson)
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One two! One two! And through and
throughThe vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
BEAUTIFUL CITY by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Beautiful city, the centre and crater of
European confusion,
O you with your passionate shriek for the rights of an equal humanity,
How often your Re-volution has proven but E-volution
Roll''d again back on itself in the tides of a civic insanity!
THE BROWNY HEN by Irene F. Fawsey
A browny hen sat on her nest
With a hey-ho for the springtime!
Seven brown eggs 'neath her downy breast,
With a hey-ho for the springtime!
A brown hen clucks all day from dawn,
With a hey-ho for the springtime!
She's seven wee chicks as yellow as corn,
With a hey-ho for the springtime!
MICHAEL'S SONG by Wilfrid Gibson
Because I set no snare
But leave them flying free.
Al the birds of the air
Belong to me.
From the blue-tit on the sloe
To the eagle on the height,
Uncaged they come and go
For my delight.
And so the sunward way
I soar on the eagle's wings,
And in my heart all day
The blue-tit sings.
THE BASE STEALER by Robert Francis
Posed between going on and back, pulled
Both ways taut like a tightrope-walker,
Fingertips pointing the opposites,
Now bouncing tiptoe like a dropped ball
Or a kid skipping rope, come on, come on,
Running a scattering of steps sidewise,
How he teeters, skitters, tingles, teases,
Taunts them, hovers like an ecstatic bird,
He's only flirting, crowd him, crowd him,
Delicate, delicate, delicate, delicate-now!
TO HELEN by Edgar Allan Poe
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicaean barks of yore,
that gently o'er the perfumed sea.
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land.
THERE WAS A MAN OF DOUBLE DEED by Anonymous (English; 1784 or earlier)
There was a man of double deed
Who sowed his garden full of seed.
When the seed began to grow
'Twas like a garden full of snow,
When the snow began to melt
'Twas like a shop without a belt,
When the ship began to sail
'Twas like a bird without a tail,
When the bird began to fly
'Twas like an eagle in the sky,
When the sky began to roar
'Twas like a lion at the door,
When the door began to crack
'Twas like a stick across my back,
When my back began to smart
'Twas like a penknife in my heart,
And when my heart began to bleed
'Twas death and death and death indeed.
THE EAGLE by Alfred Lord Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
IN A SPRING GROVE by William Allingham
Here the white-ray'd anemone is born,
Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup;
And primrose in its purfled green swathed up,
Pallid and sweet round every budding thorn,
Gray ash, and beech with rusty leaves outworn.
Here, too the darting linnet hath her nest
In the blue-lustred holly, never shorn,
Whose partner cheers her little brooding breast,
Piping from some near bough. O simple song!
O cistern deep of that harmonious rillet,
And these fair juicy stems that climb and throng
The vernal world, and unexhausted seas
Of flowing life, and soul that asks to fill it,
Each and all of these,--and more, and more than these!
IMMORTALITY by Matthew Arnold
Foil'd
by our fellow men, depress'd, outworn,
We leave the brutal world to take its way,
nd,
Patience! in another life,
we say,
The world shall be thrust down, and
we up-borne!
And will not, then the immortal armies
scorn
The world's poor routed leavings? or
will they,
Who fail'd under the heat of this
life's day,
Support the fervours of the heavenly
morn?
No, no! the energy of life may be
Kept on after the grave, but not
begun!
And he who flagg'd not in the earthly
strife,
From strength to strength advancing--only he,
His soul well-knit, and all his
battles won,
Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal
life.
A SONNET ABOUT SONNETS by Robert Burns
Fourteen, a sonneteer thy praises sings;
What magic myst'ries in that number lie!
Your hen hath fourteen eggs beneath her wings
That fourteen chickens to the roost may fly.
Fourteen full pounds the jockey's stone must be;
His age fourteen--a horse's prime is past.
Fourteen long hours too oft the Bard must fast;
Fourteen bright bumpers--bliss he ne'er must see!
Before fourteen, a dozen yields the strife;
Before fourteen--e'en thirteen's strength is vain.
Fourteen good years--a woman gives us life;
Fourteen good men--we lose that life again.
What lucubrations can be more upon it?
Fourteen good measur'd verses make a sonnet.
I PRAY YOU IF YOU LIVE ME, BEAR MY JOY by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I pray you if you love me, bear my joy
A little while, or let me weep your tears;
I, too, have seen the quavering Fate destroy
Your destiny's bright spinning--the dull sheares
Meeting not neatly, chewing at the thread,
Nor can you well be less aware how fine,
>How staunch as wire, and how unwarranted
Endures the golden fortune that is mine.
I pray you for this day at least, my dear,
Fare by my side, that journey in the sun;
Else must I turn me from the blossoming year
And walk in grief the way that you have gone.
Let us go forth together to the spring:
Love must be this, if it be anything.
"Those lips that love's own hand did make"
TWO LOVES I HAVE OF COMFORT AND DESPAIR by William Shakespeare
Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out
BEAUTY by E-Yeh-Shure (Louise Abeita)
Beauty is seen
In the sunlight,
The trees, the birds,
Corn growing and people working
Or dancing for their harvest.
Beauty is heard
In the night,
Wind sighing, rain falling,
Or a singer chanting
Anything in earnest.
Beauty is in yourself.
Good deeds, happy thoughts
That repeat themselves
In your dreams,
In your work,
And even in your rest.
THE PASTURE by Robert Frost
I'm going out to clean the pasture
spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may)
I sha'n't be gone long. -- You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long. -- You come too.
CAT'S FUNERAL by E.V. Rieu
Bury her deep, down deep,
Safe in the earth's cold keep,
Bury her deep --
No more to watch bird
stir;
Not more to clean dark fur;
No more to glisten as silk;
No more to revel in milk;
No more to purr.
Bury her deep, down
deep;
She is beyond warm sleep.
She will not walk in the night;
She will not wake to the light.
Bury her deep.
THE ROMMANY GIRL [1857) by Ralph Waldo Emerson
The sun goes down, and with him takes
The coarseness of my poor attire;
The fair moon mounts, and aye the flame
Of gypsy beauty blazes higher.
Pale northern girls! you scorn our race;
You captives of your air-tight halls,
Wear out in-doors your sickly days,
But leave us the horizon walls.
And if I take you, dames, to task,
And say it frankly without guile,
Then you are gypsies in a mask,
And I the lady all the while.
If, on the heath, under the moon,
I court and play with paler blood,
Me false to mine dare whisper none,-
One sallow horseman knows me good.
Go, keep your cheek's rose from the rain,
For teeth and hair with shopmen deal;
My swarthy tint is in the grain,
The rocks and forest know it real.
The wild air bloweth in our lungs,
The keen stars twinkle in our eyes,
The birds gave us our wily tongues,
The panther in our dances flies.
You doubt we read the stars on high,
Nathless we read your fortunes true;
The stars may hide in the upper sky,
But without glass we fathom you.
Two roads diverged in a
yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
then took the other, as just
as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning
equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with
a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
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