Poetry

[_JonasS]

A Valentine to My Wife
by Eugene Field


Accept, dear girl, this little token,
And if between the lines you seek,
You'll find the love I've often spoken
The love my dying lips shall speak.

Our little ones are making merry
O'er am'rous ditties rhymed in jest,
But in these words (though awkward very)
The genuine article's expressed.

You are as fair and sweet and tender,
Dear brown-eyed little sweetheart mine,
As when, a callow youth and slender,
I asked to be your Valentine.

What though these years of ours be fleeting?
What though the years of youth be flown?
I'll mock old Tempus with repeating,
"I love my love and her alone!"

And when I fall before his reaping,
And when my stuttering speech is dumb,
Think not my love is dead or sleeping,
But that it waits for you to come.

So take, dear love, this little token,
And if there speaks in any line
The sentiment I'd fain have spoken,
Say, will you kiss your Valentine?

[_JonasS]

She Walks in Beauty Like the Night
by Lord Byron


She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd 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.

[_JonasS]

When we two parted, Lord Byron.

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well--
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.

[_JonasS]

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant poises,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherds's swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.


Christopher Marlowe

[_KimberlyAnn]

Those are lovely poems, JonasS.

KA

[_JonasS]

We Are Made One with What We Touch and See
by Oscar Wilde

We are resolved into the supreme air,
We are made one with what we touch and see,
With our heart's blood each crimson sun is fair,
With our young lives each spring-impassioned tree
Flames into green, the wildest beasts that range
The moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.

With beat of systole and of diastole
One grand great life throbs through earth's giant heart,
And mighty waves of single Being roll
From nerve-less germ to man, for we are part
Of every rock and bird and beast and hill,
One with the things that prey on us, and one with what we kill. . . .

One sacrament are consecrate, the earth
Not we alone hath passions hymeneal,
The yellow buttercups that shake for mirth
At daybreak know a pleasure not less real
Than we do, when in some fresh-blossoming wood
We draw the spring into our hearts, and feel that life is good. . . .

Is the light vanished from our golden sun,
Or is this daedal-fashioned earth less fair,
That we are nature's heritors, and one
With every pulse of life that beats the air?
Rather new suns across the sky shall pass,
New splendour come unto the flower, new glory to the grass.

And we two lovers shall not sit afar,
Critics of nature, but the joyous sea
Shall be our raiment, and the bearded star
Shoot arrows at our pleasure! We shall be
Part of the mighty universal whole,
And through all Aeons mix and mingle with the Kosmic Soul!

We shall be notes in that great Symphony
Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres,
And all the live World's throbbing heart shall be
One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years
Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,
The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!

[_JonasS]

Those are lovely poems, JonasS.

KA

I think so too. I picked out ones that have touched me.

[_JonasS]

I know this isn't a poem but it is poetry and whenever I hear it being sung and sing it it catches me and it is so beautiful as is the music.

As now we take the sacrament,
Our thoughts are turned to thee,
Thou Son of God, who lived for us,
Then dies on Calvary.
We contemplate thy lasting grace,
Thy boundless charity;
To us the gift of life giv'n
For all eternity.

As now our minds review the past,
We know we must repent;
The way to thee is rightousness-
The way thy life was spent.
Forgiveness is a gift from thee
We seek the pure intent.
With hands now pledged to do thy work,
We take the sacrament.

As now we praise thy name with song,
The blessings of this day
Will linger in our thankful hearts,
As silently we pray
For courage to accept thy will,
To listen and obey.
We love thee, Lord; our hearts are full.
We'll walk thy chosen way.


http://www.LDS.org/churchmusic/detailmusicPlayer/index.html?searchlanguage=1&searchcollection=1&searchseqstart=169&searchsubseqstart=%20&searchseqend=169&searchsubseqend=ZZZ

[_Doctor Steuss]

Further Reflections on Parsley
by Ogden Nash

Parsley
Is gharsley.

----------------

The Cow
by Ogden Nash

The cow is of the bovine ilk;
One end is moo, the other, milk.

[_KimberlyAnn]

I like those Ogden Nash poems, Studdly. They made me think of a slogan my girls made up recently.

Madeline and Courtney created a new model of SUV for Buick the other night and called it the Buick SaBeaver.

Here's Madeline's slogan for it:

Catch the fever
In a Buick SaBeaver!

I'm not sure why, but it cracks me up every single time I think of it.

KA