FAVOURITE POETRY
Amoretti LXXV;
One day I wrote her name upon the strand
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away;
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide and made my pains his prey.
"Vain man," said she "thou dost in vain assay
A mortal thing so to immortalize,
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wiped out likewise."
"Not so," quoth I "let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:
My verse your virtues rare shall eternize,
And in the heavens write your glorious name;
Where, whenas death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew."
Edmund Spenser
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The Night has a Thousand
Eyes
The Night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of the whole life dies
When love in done.
By Francis William Bourdillon
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If
If you can keep your head when all about you
people are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
but make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired of waiting,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken ,
And stoop and build' em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: " Hold On."
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue
Or walk with kings - - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything in it,
And - - which is more - - you'll be a Man, my son!
By Rudyard Kipling
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Just Friends
I love you, but you do not know it.
"Just friends" is how you think of us.
I have tried to tell you,
but the words to unlock your heart
are now foreign to my silvered tongue.
I love you, but you do not know it.
I sit and watch you,
the world seems so distant then
and your smiles melt the cornerstones
of my cold and belligerent heart.
How I wish you knew me
and not the mask I wear.
I love you, but you can not see it.
I have tried to tell you ...
how beautiful you are ...
how special you are to me
and how special you make me feel.
I have tried to tell you
that I would like to be more than a friend.
I love you,
but you can not hear it.
I have tried to tell you
how lonely I feel inside
and how much you do to fill that empty space.
I wish that I could some how
win the favor of your heart
and sweep you away to far off Camelot.
I love you,
but will you ever know?
Lord Aragomons (a.k.a. Thomas F. Ketchum)
Thanks for sending, and allowing me to post your poem, Thomas.
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When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted
When Earth's last picture is painted,
and the tubes are twisted and dry
When the oldest colors have faded,
and the youngest critic has died
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it
Lie down for an a eon or two
Till the Master of all good workmen
shall put us to work anew.
And those that were good shall be happy;
They shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas
With brushes of comets' hair
They shall find real Saints to draw from
Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting
and never be tired at all!
And only the Master shall praise us,
And only the Master shall blame;
And no-one shall work for money,
And no-one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of working,
And each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he see it
for the God of Things as they are.
By Rudyard Kipling
Not in Vain
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life from aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Emily Dickinson
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Finding
From the candles and dumb shadows,
And the house where love had died,
I stole to the vast moonlight
And the whispering life outside.
But I found no lips of comfort,
No home in the moon's light
(I, little and lone and frightened
In the unfriendly night) ,
And no meaning in the voices. . . .
Far over the lands and through
The dark, beyond the ocean,
I willed to think of YOU!
For I knew, had you been with me
I'd have known the words of night,
Found peace of heart, gone gladly
In comfort of that night.
Oh! The wind with soft beguiling
Would have stolen my thought away;
And the night, subtly smiling
Came by the silver way;
And the moon came down and danced to me,
And her robe was white and flying;
And trees bent their heads to me
Mysteriously crying;
And dead voices wept around me;
And dead soft fingers thrilled;
And the little gods whispered. . . .
But ever
Desperately I willed;
Till all grew soft and far
And silent . . . .
And suddenly
I found you white and radiant,
Sleeping quietly,
Far out through the tides of darkness.
And I there in that great light
Was alone no more, nor fearful;
For there, in the homely night,
Was no thought else that mattered,
And nothing else was true,
But the white fire of moonlight,
And a white dream of you.
By Rupert Brookes
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