Sunset fire lights up
Spring engorged leaves and dense clouds
Heavy with spring rain
Archives for Poetry
The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheerily smiled the morn,
And many a brach and many a hound
Obey’d Llewelyn’s horn.
And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a lustier cheer:
“Come, Gelert, come, wert never last
Llewelyn’s horn to hear.”
“Oh! where does faithful Gelert roam,
The flow’r of all his race?
So true, so brave; a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase!”
I wonder if Christ had a little black dog,
All curly and wooly like mine,
With two silk ears and a nose round and wet,
And two eyes brown and tender that shine;
I’m sure if He had, that little black dog
Knew right from the first He was God,
That he needed no proofs that Christ was divine,
But just worshiped the ground He trod.
I’m afraid that He hadn’t, because I have read
How He prayed in the Garden alone,
When all of His friends and disciples had fled,
Even Peter, that one called a stone.
And Oh, I am sure that little black dog
With a true heart so tender and warm
Would never have left Him to suffer alone,
But creeping right under His arm,
Would have licked those dear fingers in agony clasped,
And counting all favors but loss,
When they led Him away, would have trotted behind
And followed Him quite to the cross.
— Elizabeth Gardner Reynolds
by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)
One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.
Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.
I found this beautiful and very well written Summer poem and thought you might enjoy it. Click “more” below to read the wonderful poem.
Many of us have heard the saying above. I took this pretty rose photo yesterday and wanted to put that saying on it. A search of the ‘net gave up the context it was written in, which provides much more insight into the saying.
We all remember Romeo and Juliet, lovers from families which hated each other. Juliet spoke these words to Romeo:
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet . . . .
’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O! be some other name:
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
— William Shakespeare
Around the corner I have a friend,
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
—Marianne Williamson, from “A Return to Love”
Popularized when spoken by Nelson Mandela in his 1994 Inaugural speech
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
— Joyce Kilmer