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

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

~ Robert Frost

After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – 

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – 

The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ 

And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? 

The Feet, mechanical, go round – 

A Wooden way 

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought – 

Regardless grown, 

A Quartz contentment, like a stone – 

This is the Hour of Lead – 

Remembered, if outlived, 

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – 

First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

~ Emily Dickinson

Redemption

Having been tenant long to a rich lord, 

Not thriving, I resolvèd to be bold, 

And make a suit unto him, to afford 

A new small-rented lease, and cancel th’ old. 

In heaven at his manor I him sought; 

They told me there that he was lately gone 

About some land, which he had dearly bought 

Long since on earth, to take possessiòn. 

I straight returned, and knowing his great birth, 

Sought him accordingly in great resorts; 

In cities, theaters, gardens, parks, and courts; 

At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth 

Of thieves and murderers; there I him espied, 

Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.

~ George Herbert

Prospice

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat, 

The mist in my face, 

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote 

I am nearing the place, 

The power of the night, the press of the storm, 

The post of the foe; 

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, 

Yet the strong man must go: 

For the journey is done and the summit attained, 

And the barriers fall, 

Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, 

The reward of it all. 

I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more, 

The best and the last! 

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forbore, 

And bade me creep past. 

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers 

The heroes of old, 

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears 

Of pain, darkness and cold. 

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, 

The black minute's at end, 

And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, 

Shall dwindle, shall blend, 

Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, 

Then a light, then thy breast, 

O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, 

And with God be the rest! 

~ Robert Browning

The Elixir

Teach me, my God and King, 

In all things Thee to see, 

And what I do in anything 

To do it as for Thee. 

Not rudely, as a beast, 

To run into an action; 

But still to make Thee prepossest, 

And give it his perfection. 

A man that looks on glass, 

On it may stay his eye; 

Or if he pleaseth, through it pass, 

And then the heav'n espy. 

All may of Thee partake: 

Nothing can be so mean, 

Which with his tincture—"for Thy sake"— 

Will not grow bright and clean. 

A servant with this clause 

Makes drudgery divine: 

Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws, 

Makes that and th' action fine. 

This is the famous stone 

That turneth all to gold; 

For that which God doth touch and own 

Cannot for less be told.

~ George Herbert