Tuesady Is Poem Day! The Mystery - By. Sara Teasdale

The Mystery

The Mystery

Your eyes drink of me,

Love makes them shine,

Your eyes that lean

So close to mine.

We have long been lovers,

We know the range

Of each other's moods

And how they change;

But when we look

At each other so

Then we feel

How little we know;

The spirit eludes us,

Timid and free --

Can I ever know you

Or you know me? 

~ Sara Teasdale ~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! Think Gently of the Erring by. Julia Carney

Think Gently of the Erring



Think gently of the erring:

Ye know not of the power

With which the dark temptation came

In some unguarded hour.

Ye may not know how earnestly

They struggled, or how well,

Until the hour of weakness came

And sadly thus they fell.

Think gently of the erring:

Oh! do not thou forget,

However darkly stained by sin

He is thy brother yet;

Heir of the selfsame heritage,

Child of the selfsame God,

He has but stumbled in the path

Thou hast in weakness trod.

Speak gently to the erring:

For is it not enough

That innocence and peace have gone,

Without thy censure rough?

It sure must be a weary lot,

That sin-stained heart to bear,

And those who share a happier fate

Their chidings well may spare.

Speak gently to the erring:

Thou yet may'st lead them back

With holy words and tones of love,

From misery's thorny track:

Forget not thou hast often sinned,

And sinful yet must be;

Deal gently with the erring, then,

As God has dealt with thee.

~ Julia Carney ~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! She Walks In Beauty by. Lord Byron

She Walks in Beauty

 

She walks in beauty like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to the tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One ray the more, one shade the less

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress

Or softly lightens o'er her face,

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek and o'er that brow

So soft, so calm yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow

But tell of days in goodness spent

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.

~Lord Byron, (George Gordon)~



Tuesday Is Poem Day! A poor- torn heart- a tattered heart By. Emily Dickinson

A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart—

That sat it down to rest—

Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day

Flowed silver to the West—

Nor noticed Night did soft descend—

Nor Constellation burn—

Intent upon the vision

Of latitudes unknown.

The angels—happening that way

This dusty heart espied—

Tenderly took it up from toil

And carried it to God—

There—sandals for the Barefoot—

There—gathered from the gales—

Do the blue havens by the hand

Lead the wandering Sails.

~ Emily Dickinson ~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! I Dream A World - by. Langston Hughes

I Dream A World

I dream a world where man

No other man will scorn,

Where love will bless the earth

And peace its paths adorn

I dream a world where all

Will know sweet freedom's way,

Where greed no longer saps the soul

Nor avarice blights our day.

A world I dream where black or white,

Whatever race you be,

Will share the bounties of the earth

And every man is free,

Where wretchedness will hang its head

And joy, like a pearl,

Attends the needs of all mankind-

Of such I dream, my world!

~ Langston Hughes ~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! Refrain - by. Helen Hunt Jackson

Refrain

OF all the songs which poets sing

The ones which are most sweet

Are those which at close intervals

A low refrain repeat;

Some tender word, some syllable,

Over and over, ever and ever,

While the song lasts,

Altering never,

Music if sung, music if said,

Subtle like some golden thread

A shuttle casts,

In and out on a fabric red,

Till it glows all through

With the golden hue.

Oh! of all the songs sung,

No songs are so sweet

As the songs with refrains,

Which repeat and repeat.

Of all the lives lived,

No life is so sweet,

As the life where one thought,

In refrain doth repeat,

Over and over, ever and ever,

Till the life ends,

Altering never,

Joy which is felt, but is not said,

Subtler than any golden thread

Which the shuttle sends

In and out in a fabric red,

Till it glows all through

With a golden hue.

Oh! of all the lives lived,

Can be no life so sweet,

As the life where one thought

In refrain doth repeat,

"Now name for me a thought

To make life so sweet,

A thought of such joy

Its refrain to repeat."

Oh! foolish to ask me. Ever, ever

Who loveth believes,

But telleth never.

It might be a name, just a name not said,

But in every thought; like a golden thread

Which the shuttle weaves

In and out on a fabric red,

Till it glows all through

With a golden hue.

Oh! of all sweet lives,

Who can tell how sweet

Is the life which one name

In refrain doth repeat?

~Helen Hunt Jackson~



Tuesady Is Poem Day! Christmas Eve - by. Mathilde Blind

CHRISTMAS EVE.

 

Alone--with one fair star for company,

The loveliest star among the hosts of night,

While the grey tide ebbs with the ebbing light--

I pace along the darkening wintry sea.

Now round the yule-log and the glittering tree

Twinkling with festive tapers, eyes as bright

Sparkle with Christmas joys and young delight,

As each one gathers to his family.

But I--a waif on earth where'er I roam--

Uprooted with life's bleeding hopes and fears

From that one heart that was my heart's sole home,

Feel the old pang pierce through the severing years,

And as I think upon the years to come

That fair star trembles through my falling tears.

~ Mathilde Blind ~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! Beauty XXV - Khalil Gibran

Beauty XXV

And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty."

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle.

Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us."

And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.



Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."

The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow."

But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains,



And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions."

At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset."

In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."

And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."



All these things have you said of beauty.

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,

But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.



It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,

But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

But you are life and you are the veil.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

But you are eternity and you are the mirror.


~Khalil Gibran~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! THANKSGIVING - by. Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Thanksgiving

We walk on starry fields of white

And do not see the daisies;

For blessings common in our sight

We rarely offer praises.

We sigh for some supreme delight

To crown our lives with splendor,

And quite ignore our daily store

Of pleasures sweet and tender.

Our cares are bold and push their way

Upon our thought and feeling.

They hang about us all the day,

Our time from pleasure stealing.

So unobtrusive many a joy

We pass by and forget it,

But worry strives to own our lives

And conquers if we let it.

There's not a day in all the year

But holds some hidden pleasure,

And looking back, joys oft appear

To brim the past's wide measure.

But blessings are like friends, I hold,

Who love and labor near us.

We ought to raise our notes of praise

While living hearts can hear us.

Full many a blessing wears the guise

Of worry or of trouble.

Farseeing is the soul and wise

Who knows the mask is double.

But he who has the faith and strength

To thank his God for sorrow

Has found a joy without alloy

To gladden every morrow.

We ought to make the moments notes

Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;

The hours and days a silent phrase

Of music we are living.

And so the theme should swell and grow

As weeks and months pass o'er us,

And rise sublime at this good time,

A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox ~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! A Sonnet of the Moon - By. Charles Best

A Sonnet of the Moon



Look how the pale queen of the silent night

Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,

And he, as long as she is in his sight,

With her full tide is ready her to honor.

But when the silver waggon of the moon

Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,

The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,

And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are the sovereign of my heart

Have all my joys attending on your will;

My joys low-ebbing when you do depart,

When you return their tide my heart doth fill.

So as you come and as you do depart,

Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.

~ Charles Best ~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! Be A Friend by. Edward Guest

Be a Friend

Be a friend. You don't need money;

Just a disposition sunny;

Just the wish to help another

Get along some way or other;

Just a kindly hand extended

Out to one who's unbefriended;

Just the will to give or lend,

This will make you someone's friend.

Be a friend. You don't need glory.

Friendship is a simple story.

Pass by trifling errors blindly,

Gaze on honest effort kindly,

Cheer the youth who's bravely trying,

Pity him who's sadly sighing;

Just a little labor spend

On the duties of a friend.

Be a friend. The pay is bigger

(Though not written by a figure)

Than is earned by people clever

In what's merely self-endeavor.

You'll have friends instead of neighbors

For the profits of your labors;

You'll be richer in the end

Than a prince, if you're a friend.

~Edgar Guest~

Tuesday Is Poem Day! The Dark Hour by. W.H. Davies

The Dark Hour

AND now, when merry winds do blow,

And rain makes trees look fresh,

An overpowering staleness holds

This mortal flesh.

Though well I love to feel the rain,

And be by winds well blown --

The mystery of mortal life

Doth press me down.

And, In this mood, come now what will,

Shine Rainbow, Cuckoo call;

There is no thing in Heaven or Earth

Can lift my soul.

I know not where this state comes from --

No cause for grief I know;

The Earth around is fresh and green,

Flowers near me grow.

I sit between two fair rose trees;

Red roses on my right,

And on my left side roses are

A lovely white.

The little birds are full of joy,

Lambs bleating all the day;

The colt runs after the old mare,

And children play.

And still there comes this dark, dark hour --

Which is not borne of Care;

Into my heart it creeps before

I am aware.

 

 

~ W.H. Davies ~

Tuesady Is Poem Day! Is This The Price Of Love by Joseph Cotter Jr.

Never again the sight of her?

Never her winsome smile

Shall light the path of my journeying

O'er many a weary mile?

Never again shall her soft voice come

To cheer me all the while?

O Thou, who hearest from above,

Tell me, is this the price of love?

Never again the touch of her lips?

Never her dark, brown eyes

Shall shine on me with the dancing joy

Of stars in the summer skies?

Never again shall my song be aught

Save minor chords of sighs?

O Thou, who hearest from above,

Tell me, is this the price of love?




~ Joseph Cotter Jr. ~