Disgusting

In the boarding house where I live

Things are getting very old.

Long gray hairs in the butter,

 And the cheese is green with mold,

When the dog died we had sausage,

 When the cat died, catnip tea.

When the landlord died I left it; 

Spareribs are too much for me.

~ Anonymous

Dried Apple Pies

I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,

Abominate dried-apple pies.

I like good bread, I like good meat,

Or anything that's fit to eat;

But of all poor grub beneath the skies,

The poorest is dried apple pies.

Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,

But don't give me dried apple pies.

The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit,

'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;

He leaves the hulls to make us cough,

And don't take half the peeling off.

Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung

And in a garret window hung,

And there it serves as roost for flies,

Until it's made up into pies.

Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,

But don't pass me dried-apple pies.

~ Anonymous

To a Segar

Sweet antidote to sorrow, toil and strife,

Charm against discontent and wrinkled care,

Who knows thy power can never know despair;

Who knows thee not, one solace lacks of life:

When cares oppress, or when the busy day

Gives place to tranquil eve, a single puff

Can drive ev'n want and lassitude away,

And give a mourner happiness enough.

From thee when curling clouds of incense rise,

They hide each evil that in prospect lies;

But when in evanescence fades thy smoke,

Ah! what, dear sedative, my cares shall smother?

If thou evaporate, the charm is broke,

Till I, departing taper, light another.

~ Samuel Low

Too Great a Sacrifice

The maid, as by the papers doth appear, 

Whom fifty thousand dollars made so dear, 

To test Lothario’s passion, simply said, 

“Forego the weed before we go to wed. 

For smoke take flame; I ’ll be that flame’s bright fanner.

To have your Anna, give up your Havana.” 

But he, when thus she brought him to the scratch, 

Lit his cigar and threw away his match.

~ Anonymous

The Scent of a Good Cigar

What is it comes through the deepening dusk, --

Something sweeter than jasmine scent

Sweeter than rose and biolet blent, 

More potent in power than orange or musk?

The scent of a good cigar.

I am all alone in my quiet room,

And the windows are open wide and free

To let in the south winds kiss for me

While I rock in the softly gathering gloom, 

And that subtle fragrance steals.

Just as a loving, tender hand

Will sometimes steal in yours, 

It softly comes through the open doors, 

And memory wakes at its command,--

The scent of a good cigar.

And what does it say? Ah! That's for me

And my heart alone to know;

But that heart thrills with a sudden glow, 

Tears fill my eyes till I cannot see,--

From the scent of that good cigar.

~ Kate A. Carrington

Get Up, Get Up

Get up, get up, you lazy-head,

Get up, you lazy sinner,

We need those sheets for tablecloths,

It's nearly time for dinner.

~ Anonymous

The Moron

See the happy moron,

He doesn’t give a damn!

I wish I were a moron ---

My God! Perhaps I am!

~ Anonymous

Requiem

Under the wide and starry sky, 

Dig the grave and let me lie. 

Glad did I live and gladly die, 

And  I laid me down with a will. 

This be the verse you grave for me: 

Here he lies where he longed to be; 

Home is the sailor, home from sea, 

And the hunter home from the hill.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

On His Seventy-fifth Birthday

I strove with none; for none was worth my strife. 

Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; 

I warmed both hands before the fire of life, 

It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

~ Walter Savage Landor

I May, I Might, I Must

If you will tell me why the fen

appears impassable, I then

will tell you why I think that I

can get across it if I try.

~ Marianne Moore

Death, Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

~ John Donne

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer

When I heard the learn’d astronomer, 

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, 

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, 

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, 

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, 

Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself, 

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, 

Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

~ Walt Whitman

FROM Divina Commedia

Oft have I seen at some cathedral door 

A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, 

Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet 

Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor 

Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er; 

Far off the noises of the world retreat; 

The loud vociferations of the street 

Become an undistinguishable roar. 

So, as I enter here from day to day, 

And leave my burden at this minster gate, 

Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, 

The tumult of the time disconsolate 

To inarticulate murmurs dies away, 

While the eternal ages watch and wait. 

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Rock of Ages

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee!

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy riven side which flow'd,

Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labour of my hands

Can fulfill Thy law's demands;

Could my zeal no respite know,

Could my tears forever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring;

Simply to Thy cross I cling;

Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace;

Foul, I to the fountain fly;

Wash me, Saviour, or I die!

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When mine eyes shall close in death,

When I soar to worlds unknown,

See Thee on Thy judgment-throne;

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee!

~ Augustus Montague Toplady

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

~ Langston Hughes

Up-Hill

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 

Yes, to the very end. 

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day? 

From morn to night, my friend. 

But is there for the night a resting-place? 

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. 

May not the darkness hide it from my face? 

You cannot miss that inn. 

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 

Those who have gone before. 

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 

They will not keep you standing at that door. 

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? 

Of labour you shall find the sum. 

Will there be beds for me and all who seek? 

Yea, beds for all who come.

~ Christina Georgina Rossetti

Ode on Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care 

A few paternal acres bound, 

Content to breathe his native air, 

In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 

Whose flocks supply him with attire, 

Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 

In winter fire. 

Blest, who can unconcernedly find 

Hours, days, and years slide soft away, 

In health of body, peace of mind, 

Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night; study and ease, 

Together mixed; sweet recreation; 

And innocence, which most does please, 

With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 

Thus unlamented let me die; 

Steal from the world, and not a stone 

Tell where I lie.

~ Alexander Pope

A Man Saw a Ball of Gold

A man saw a ball of gold in the sky; 

He climbed for it, 

And eventually he achieved it -- 

It was clay. 

Now this is the strange part: 

When the man went to the earth 

And looked again, 

Lo, there was the ball of gold. 

Now this is the strange part: 

It was a ball of gold. 

Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold. 

~ Stephen Crane

If

If you can keep your head when all about you 

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 by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

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 that’s in it, 

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

~ Rudyard Kipling

When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be

When I have fears that I may cease to be 

Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, 

Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, 

Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain; 

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face, 

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, 

And think that I may never live to trace 

Their shadows with the magic hand of chance; 

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, 

That I shall never look upon thee more, 

Never have relish in the faery power 

Of unreflecting love—then on the shore 

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think 

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

~ John Keats

The Lamb

Little Lamb who made thee 

Dost thou know who made thee 

Gave thee life & bid thee feed. 

By the stream & o'er the mead; 

Gave thee clothing of delight, 

Softest clothing wooly bright; 

Gave thee such a tender voice, 

Making all the vales rejoice! 

Little Lamb who made thee 

Dost thou know who made thee 

Little Lamb I'll tell thee, 

Little Lamb I'll tell thee!

He is called by thy name, 

For he calls himself a Lamb: 

He is meek & he is mild, 

He became a little child: 

I a child & thou a lamb, 

We are called by his name. 

Little Lamb God bless thee. 

Little Lamb God bless thee.

~ WIlliam Blake

The Anvil --- God's Word

Last eve I passed beside a blacksmith's door,

And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime;

When looking in, I saw upon the floor,

Old hammers worn with beating years of time.

"How many anvils have you had," said I,

"To wear and batter these hammers so?"

"Just one," said he; then with a twinkling eye,

"The anvil wears the hammers out, you know."

And so, I thought, the anvil of God's Word,

For ages, skeptics blows have beat upon;

Yet, though the noise of falling blows was heard,

The anvil is unharmed - the hammers gone.

~ Anonymous