tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60750322073537405332024-03-14T00:56:14.585-04:00A True Word: A Blog of Beautiful PoetryR. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-39927629671414181332013-05-11T21:42:00.000-04:002013-05-11T21:42:03.686-04:00"I Dwell in Possibility" by Emily Dickinson<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I <span style="font-size: large;">D<span style="font-size: large;">well in Possibility</span></span></b></span><i> </i><br />
<i>by Emily Dickinson</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br />
<div class="poem">
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
I dwell in Possibility – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
A fairer House than Prose – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
More numerous of Windows – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Superior – for Doors – </div>
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Of Chambers as the Cedars – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Impregnable of eye – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And for an everlasting Roof </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
The Gambrels of the Sky – </div>
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Of Visitors – the fairest – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
For Occupation – This – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
The spreading wide my narrow Hands </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
To gather Paradise –</div>
</div>
</div>
</blockquote>
R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-30438289293532657942013-03-28T23:48:00.000-04:002013-03-28T23:48:07.587-04:00"Batter My Heart, Three-Personed God" by John Donne<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Batter My Heart, Three-Personed God</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>by John Donne</i><br />
<br />
Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you<br />
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;<br />
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend<br />
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.<br />
I, like an usurped town, to another due,<br />
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end.<br />
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,<br />
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.<br />
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,<br />
But am betrothed unto your enemy:<br />
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,<br />
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,<br />
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,<br />
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.</div>
</blockquote>
R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-42888699198484880172012-10-12T11:09:00.002-04:002012-10-12T11:09:59.136-04:00"The Seed-Shop" by Muriel Stuart<blockquote>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Seed-Shop</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>by Muriel Stuart</i></div>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br />
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie, <br />
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand, <br />
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry - <br />
Meadows and gardens running through my hand. <br />
<br />
In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams; <br />
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust <br />
That will drink deeply of a century's streams; <br />
These lilies shall make summer on my dust. <br />
<br />
Here in their safe and simple house of death, <br />
Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap; <br />
Here I can blow a garden with my breath, <br />
And in my hand a forest lies asleep. </div>
</blockquote>
R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-43665796887483911412011-06-23T18:50:00.000-04:002011-06-23T18:50:44.085-04:00"The Meaning of the Look" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Meaning of the Look</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Elizabeth Barrett Browning</i><br />
<i> </i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I think that look of Christ might seem to say–</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">'Thou Peter! art thou then a common stone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Which I at last must break my heart upon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">For all God's charge to his high angels may</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Wash thy feet, my beloved, that they should run</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Quick to deny me 'neath the morning sun?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The cock crows coldly.–Go, and manifest</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">A late contrition, but no bootless fear!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">For when thy final need is dreariest,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My voice to God and angels shall attest,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Because I KNOW this man, let him be clear.'</span></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-2851948234886284382011-05-17T11:44:00.003-04:002012-08-23T00:12:21.082-04:00"To Lucasta, Going to the Wars" by Richard Lovelace<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>To Lucasta, Going to the Wars</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Richard Lovelace</i></div></blockquote><blockquote>Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,<br />
That from the nunnery <br />
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind <br />
To war and arms I fly. <br />
<br />
True, a new mistress now I chase, <br />
The first foe in the field; <br />
And with a stronger faith embrace <br />
A sword, a horse, a shield. <br />
<br />
Yet this inconstancy is such <br />
As you too shall adore; <br />
I could not love thee (Dear) so much, <br />
Lov'd I not Honour more. </blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-20297602991410394562011-05-02T19:55:00.002-04:002011-05-02T19:56:06.417-04:00"Split the Lark" by Emily Dickinson<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Split the Lark</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Emily Dickinson</i><br />
<br />
Split the Lark–and you'll find the Music–</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled–</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Scantily dealt to the Summer Morning </div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.</div></blockquote><blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Loose the Flood–you shall find it patent–</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Gush after Gush, reserved for you–</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas!</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true? </div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-78736385405031101952011-04-22T21:42:00.000-04:002012-08-23T00:34:44.567-04:00"Jesus of the Scars" by Edward Shillito<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Jesus of the Scars</span></b></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Edward Shillito</i><br />
<br />
If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;<br />
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;<br />
We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow;<br />
We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.<br />
<br />
The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;<br />
In all the universe we have no place.<br />
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?<br />
Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars we claim Thy grace.<br />
<br />
If when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,<br />
Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;<br />
We know today what wounds are; have no fear;<br />
Show us Thy Scars; we know the countersign.<br />
<br />
The other gods were strong, but Thou wast weak;<br />
They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;<br />
But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,<br />
And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.</div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-10227470510360426932011-04-19T17:31:00.000-04:002011-04-19T17:31:12.958-04:00"Symbol" by David Morton<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Symbol</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by David Morton</i><br />
<br />
My faith is all a doubtful thing, <br />
Wove on a doubtful loom, –<br />
Until there comes, each showery spring, <br />
A cherry-tree in bloom; <br />
And Christ who died upon a tree <br />
That death had stricken bare, <br />
Comes beautifully back to me, <br />
In blossoms, everywhere. <i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-67905754422650703802011-04-15T13:57:00.000-04:002011-04-15T13:57:12.136-04:00"Easter Communion" by Gerard Manley Hopkins<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Easter Communion</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Gerard Manley Hopkins</i> <br />
<br />
Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast: <br />
God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips. <br />
You striped in secret with breath-taking whips, <br />
Those crooked rough-scored chequers may be pieced <br />
To crosses meant for Jesu's; you whom the East <br />
With draught of thin and pursuant cold so nips <br />
Breathe Easter now; you serged fellowships, <br />
You vigil-keepers with low flames decreased, <br />
<br />
God shall o'er-brim the measures you have spent <br />
With oil of gladness, for sackcloth and frieze <br />
And the ever-fretting shirt of punishment <br />
Give myrrhy-threaded golden folds of ease. <br />
Your scarce-sheathed bones are weary of being bent: <br />
Lo, God shall strengthen all the feeble knees. <i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-22055593931467789532011-04-03T22:42:00.001-04:002011-04-03T22:48:49.051-04:00"When I Have Fears that I May Cease to Be" by John Keats<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>When I Have Fears that I May Cease to Be</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by John Keats</i><br />
<br />
When I have fears that I may cease to be <br />
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, <br />
Before high-piled books, in charactery, <br />
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; <br />
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, <br />
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, <br />
And think that I may never live to trace <br />
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; <br />
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, <br />
That I shall never look upon thee more, <br />
Never have relish in the faery power <br />
Of unreflecting love;–then on the shore <br />
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think <br />
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. <i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-19803584452346670442011-02-21T23:09:00.000-05:002011-02-21T23:09:31.986-05:00"Us Two" by A. A. Milne<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Us Two</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by A. A. Milne</i><br />
<br />
Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,<br />
There's always Pooh and Me.<br />
Whatever I do, he wants to do,<br />
"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:<br />
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.<br />
Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.<br />
"Let's go together," says Pooh.<br />
<br />
"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.<br />
("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)<br />
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."<br />
"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.<br />
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,<br />
But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.<br />
"That's what it is," said Pooh.<br />
<br />
"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.<br />
"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.<br />
We crossed the river and found a few-<br />
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.<br />
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.<br />
That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.<br />
"That's what they are," said Pooh.<br />
<br />
"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.<br />
"That's right," said Pooh to Me.<br />
"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,<br />
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!<br />
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.<br />
<br />
"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,<br />
"I'm never afraid with you." <br />
<br />
So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,<br />
There's always Pooh and Me.<br />
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,<br />
"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,<br />
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,<br />
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh. <i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-15841253506752105462011-02-04T22:53:00.000-05:002011-02-04T22:53:55.202-05:00"The Angry Man" by Phyllis McGinley<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Angry Man</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Phyllis McGinley</i><br />
<br />
The other day I chanced to meet<br />
An angry man upon the street —<br />
A man of wrath, a man of war,<br />
A man who truculently bore<br />
Over his shoulder, like a lance,<br />
A banner labeled “Tolerance.”<br />
<br />
And when I asked him why he strode<br />
Thus scowling down the human road,<br />
Scowling, he answered, “I am he<br />
Who champions total liberty —<br />
Intolerance being, ma’am, a state<br />
No tolerant man can tolerate.<br />
<br />
“When I meet rogues,” he cried, “who choose<br />
To cherish oppositional views,<br />
Lady, like this, and in this manner,<br />
I lay about me with my banner<br />
Till they cry mercy, ma’am.” His blows<br />
Rained proudly on prospective foes.<br />
<br />
Fearful, I turned and left him there<br />
Still muttering, as he thrashed the air,<br />
“Let the Intolerant beware!” <i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-15281965884645369232011-01-26T11:28:00.000-05:002011-01-26T11:28:10.257-05:00"While We Were Fearing It, It Came" by Emily Dickinson<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>While We Were Fearing It, It Came</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Emily Dickinson</i><br />
<br />
While we were fearing it, it came–<br />
But came with less of fear<br />
Because that fearing it so long<br />
Had almost made it fair–<br />
<br />
There is a Fitting–a Dismay–<br />
A Fitting–a Despair–<br />
'Tis harder knowing it is Due<br />
Than knowing it is Here.<br />
<br />
The Trying on the Utmost<br />
The Morning it is new<br />
Is Terribler than wearing it<br />
A whole existence through. <i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-73821319774250190002011-01-15T12:24:00.000-05:002011-01-15T12:24:49.965-05:00"The Pulley" by George Herbert<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Pulley</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by George Herbert</i><br />
<br />
When God at first made man,<br />
Having a glass of blessings standing by,<br />
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can:<br />
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,<br />
Contract into a span.<br />
<br />
So strength first made a way;<br />
Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:<br />
When almost all was out, God made a stay,<br />
Perceiving that alone of all His treasure<br />
Rest in the bottom lay.<br />
<br />
For if I should (said He)<br />
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,<br />
He would adore My gifts instead of Me,<br />
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:<br />
So both should losers be.<br />
<br />
Yet let him keep the rest,<br />
But keep them with repining restlessness:<br />
Let him be rich and weary, that, at least,<br />
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness<br />
May toss him to My breast.<i> </i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-39502294776759880142011-01-11T21:26:00.000-05:002011-01-11T21:34:29.457-05:00"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Robert Frost</i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Whose woods these are I think I know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">His house is in the village, though;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">He will not see me stopping here</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To watch his woods fill up with snow.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My little horse must think it's queer</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To stop without a farmhouse near</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Between the woods and frozen lake</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The darkest evening of the year.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">He gives his harness bells a shake</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To ask if there's some mistake.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The only other sound's the sweep</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Of easy wind and downy flake.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">But I have promises to keep,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">And miles to go before I sleep,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">And miles to go before I sleep. </span></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-31483029431849107852011-01-04T13:40:00.001-05:002011-01-11T21:34:29.460-05:00"Midcentury Love Letter" by Phyllis McGinley<blockquote><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Midcentury Love Letter</b></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Phyllis McGinley</i><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><blockquote><span style="font-size: small;">Stay near me. Speak my name. Oh, do not wander <br />
By a thought's span, heart's impulse, from the light <br />
We kindle here. You are my sole defender <br />
(As I am yours) in this precipitous night, <br />
Which over earth, till common landmarks alter, <br />
Is falling, without stars, and bitter cold. <br />
We two have but our burning selves for shelter. <br />
Huddle against me. Give me your hand to hold.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">So might two climbers lost in mountain weather <br />
On a high slope and taken by the storm, <br />
Desperate in the darkness, cling together <br />
Under one cloak and breathe each other warm. <br />
Stay near me. Spirit, perishable as bone, <br />
In no such winter can survive alone.</span></blockquote><i></i></div>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-1065300778486457702011-01-02T16:32:00.000-05:002011-01-02T16:32:12.522-05:00"Moonless Darkness Stands Between" by Gerard Manley Hopkins<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Moonless Darkness Stands Between</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Gerard Manley Hopkins</i><br />
<br />
Moonless darkness stands between. <br />
Past, the Past, no more be seen! <br />
But the Bethlehem-star may lead me <br />
To the sight of Him Who freed me <br />
From the self that I have been. <br />
Make me pure, Lord: Thou art holy; <br />
Make me meek, Lord: Thou wert lowly; <br />
Now beginning, and alway: <br />
Now begin, on Christmas day.<i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-85388526446817627662010-12-24T04:19:00.000-05:002011-01-11T21:34:29.463-05:00"Christmas Eve" by Christina Rossetti<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Christmas Eve</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Christina Rossetti</i><br />
<br />
Christmas hath a darkness<br />
Brighter than the blazing noon,<br />
Christmas hath a chillness<br />
Warmer than the heat of June,<br />
Christmas hath a beauty<br />
Lovelier than the world can show:<br />
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,<br />
Brought for us so low.<br />
<br />
Earth, strike up your music,<br />
Birds that sing and bells that ring;<br />
Heaven hath answering music<br />
For all Angels soon to sing:<br />
Earth, put on your whitest<br />
Bridal robe of spotless snow:<br />
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,<br />
Brought for us so low. </div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-66390137497395656082010-12-20T12:25:00.002-05:002011-01-11T21:34:29.475-05:00"Prayer for a New Mother" by Dorothy Parker<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Prayer for a New Mother</b></span><i> </i><br />
<i>by Dorothy Parker</i> </div></blockquote><blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The things she knew, let her forget again-<br />
The voices in the sky, the fear, the cold,<br />
The gaping shepherds, and the queer old men<br />
Piling their clumsy gifts of foreign gold.<br />
<br />
Let her have laughter with her little one;<br />
Teach her the endless, tuneless songs to sing,<br />
Grant her her right to whisper to her son<br />
The foolish names one dare not call a king.<br />
<br />
Keep from her dreams the rumble of a crowd,<br />
The smell of rough-cut wood, the trail of red,<br />
The thick and chilly whiteness of the shroud<br />
That wraps the strange new body of the dead.<br />
<br />
Ah, let her go, kind Lord, where mothers go<br />
And boast his pretty words and ways, and plan<br />
The proud and happy years that they shall know<br />
Together, when her son is grown a man. </div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-3178612563670135822010-12-19T18:46:00.000-05:002010-12-19T18:46:03.867-05:00"A Christmas Carol" by Aubrey De Vere<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A Christmas Carol</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Aubrey De Vere</i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">They leave the land of gems and gold,<br />
The shining portals of the East;<br />
For Him, the woman's Seed foretold,<br />
They leave the revel and the feast.<br />
<br />
To earth their sceptres they have cast,<br />
And crowns by kings ancestral worn;<br />
They track the lonely Syrian waste;<br />
They kneel before the Babe new born.<br />
<br />
O happy eyes that saw Him first;<br />
O happy lips that kissed His feet:<br />
Earth slakes at last her ancient thirst;<br />
With Eden's joy her pulses beat.<br />
<br />
True kings are those who thus forsake<br />
Their kingdoms for the Eternal King;<br />
Serpent, her foot is on thy neck;<br />
Herod, thou writhest, but canst not sting.<br />
He, He is King, and He alone<br />
Who lifts that infant hand to bless;<br />
Who makes His mother's knee His throne,<br />
Yet rules the starry wilderness.</span></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-47520660373615321962010-12-16T18:15:00.000-05:002010-12-16T18:15:59.283-05:00"A Christmas Carol" by G. K. Chesterton<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A Christmas Carol</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by G. K. Chesterton</i><br />
<br />
The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,<br />
His hair was like a light.<br />
(O weary, weary were the world,<br />
But here is all aright.)<br />
<br />
The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast<br />
His hair was like a star.<br />
(O stern and cunning are the kings,<br />
But here the true hearts are.)<br />
<br />
The Christ-child lay on Mary’s heart,<br />
His hair was like a fire.<br />
(O weary, weary is the world,<br />
But here the world’s desire.)<br />
<br />
The Christ-child stood on Mary’s knee,<br />
His hair was like a crown,<br />
And all the flowers looked up at Him,<br />
And all the stars looked down.</div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-33375059781620016662010-12-06T21:59:00.000-05:002011-01-11T21:34:29.478-05:00"The Child Next Door" by Rose Fyleman<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Child Next Door</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Rose Fyleman</i><br />
<br />
The child next door has a wreath on her hat, <br />
Her afternoon frock sticks out like that, </div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> All soft and frilly; <br />
She doesn't believe in fairies at all <br />
(She told me over the garden wall) <br />
She thinks they're silly. <br />
<br />
The child next door has a watch of her own, <br />
She has shiny hair and her name is Joan <br />
(Mine's only Mary), <br />
But doesn't it seem very sad to you <br />
To think that she never her whole life through <br />
Has seen a fairy? </div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-32901682108528063322010-11-28T22:39:00.000-05:002011-01-11T21:34:29.482-05:00"The Maid-Servant at the Inn" by Dorothy Parker<blockquote><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The Maid-Servant at the Inn</span></b></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by Dorothy Parker</i><br />
<br />
"It's queer," she said; "I see the light<br />
As plain as I beheld it then,<br />
All silver-like and calm and bright-<br />
We've not had stars like that again!<br />
<br />
"And she was such a gentle thing<br />
To birth a baby in the cold.<br />
The barn was dark and frightening-<br />
This new one's better than the old.<br />
<br />
"I mind my eyes were full of tears,<br />
For I was young, and quick distressed,<br />
But she was less than me in years<br />
That held a son against her breast.<br />
<br />
"I never saw a sweeter child-<br />
The little one, the darling one!-<br />
I mind I told her, when he smiled<br />
You'd know he was his mother's son.<br />
<br />
"It's queer that I should see them so-<br />
The time they came to Bethlehem<br />
Was more than thirty years ago;<br />
I've prayed that all is well with them." <i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-227135495493765562010-11-24T22:06:00.000-05:002010-11-24T22:06:15.116-05:00"Sonnet 116" by William Shakespeare<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sonnet 116</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>by William Shakespeare</i><br />
<br />
Let me not to the marriage of true minds<br />
Admit impediments. Love is not love<br />
Which alters when it alteration finds,<br />
Or bends with the remover to remove.<br />
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark<br />
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;<br />
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,<br />
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.<br />
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks<br />
Within his bending sickle's compass come;<br />
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,<br />
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.<br />
If this be error and upon me proved,<br />
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.<i><br />
</i></div></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6075032207353740533.post-70672473149770606672010-11-19T14:25:00.001-05:002011-01-11T21:34:29.485-05:00"We Never Know How High We Are" by Emily Dickinson<blockquote><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>We Never Know How High We Are</b></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Emily Dickinson</i></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We never know how high we are</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Till we are asked to rise</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then if we are true to plan</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our statures touch the skies.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Heroism we recite</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Would be a normal thing</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Did not ourselves the Cubits warp</span></div><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">For fear to be a King.</span><i><br />
</i></blockquote>R. A.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10746563233541071722noreply@blogger.com0