Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.' And he said: Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you,

Crossing The Bar

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.

The Crazy Woman

I shall not sing a May song. A May song should be gay. I'll wait until November And sing a song of gray. I'll wait until November That is the time for me. I'll go out in the frosty dark And sing most terribly.

The Brook

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorpes, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.

See It Through

When you're up against a trouble, Meet it squarely, face to face; Lift your chin and set your shoulders, Plant your feet and take a brace. When it's vain to try to dodge it, Do the best that you can do; You may fail, but you may conquer, See it through! Black may be the clouds about you And your future may seem grim,

All Dreams Not Come True ###309(In 500)

All dreams may not come true All credits due may not accrue But with true reflection in mind Ideas newer and newer may emerge and find though may not be the nature too so kind Dreaming in day time is not at all good Good thoughts and efforts work as food Earnest efforts to come out of wood Failure may stun and you loose the hope

The Sad Mother

Sleep, sleep, my beloved, without worry, without fear, although my soul does not sleep, although I do not rest. Sleep, sleep, and in the night may your whispers be softer than a leaf of grass, or the silken fleece of lambs.

All Hopes Against Hope

All hopes dash against hopes It is like tight walking on simple ropes We may counter stiff resistance at high slope Bonding may not be possible even if you elope Power suddenly may fail and hopes may dash Life too can end if you make driving rash Business too may fail with crunch in cash Credit may be lost even if you attempt fresh

Leaves Compared With Flowers

A tree's leaves may be ever so good, So may its bar, so may its wood; But unless you put the right thing to its root It never will show much flower or fruit. But I may be one who does not care Ever to have tree bloom or bear. Leaves for smooth and bark for rough, Leaves and bark may be tree enough.

To The Virgins, Make Much Of Time

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may: Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting.

Your Children

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you. And though they are with you, they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

Easter

MOST glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day, Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin; And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win: This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin; And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye, Being with Thy deare blood clene washt from sin, May live for ever in felicity! And that Thy love we weighing worthily,

Little Of Me

Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all. Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on every side, and come to thee in everything, and offer to thee my love every moment. Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee.

Blame Me

Blame me for everything, Spare me for nothing, I left behind special thing, My memory to miss something, It was to last and something to cherish, Till I am forgotten and completely perished, My soul still roams and not finished, Blot on old cloths removed andwashed

Blueberries

'You ought to have seen what I saw on my way To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day: Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb, Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum In the cavernous pail of the first one to come! And all ripe together, not some of them green And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen! ' 'I don't know what part of the pasture you mean.' 'You know where they cut off the woods—let me see— It was two years ago—or no! —can it be No longer than that? —and the following fall The fire ran and burned it all up but the wall.' 'Why, there hasn't been time for the bushes to grow. That's always the way with the blueberries, though: There may not have been the ghost of a sign Of them anywhere under the shade of the pine, But get the pine out of the way, you may burn The pasture all over until not a fern Or grass-blade is left, not to mention a stick, And presto, they're up all around you as thick And hard to explain as a conjuror's trick.' 'It must be on charcoal they fatten their fruit. I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot. And after all really they're ebony skinned: The blue's but a mist from the breath of the wind, A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand, And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned.' 'Does Mortenson know what he has, do you think? ' 'He may and not care and so leave the chewink To gather them for him—you know what he is. He won't make the fact that they're rightfully his An excuse for keeping us other folk out.' 'I wonder you didn't see Loren about.' 'The best of it was that I did. Do you know, I was just getting through what the field had to show And over the wall and into the road, When who should come by, with a democrat-load Of all the young chattering Lorens alive, But Loren, the fatherly, out for a drive.' 'He saw you, then? What did he do? Did he frown? ' 'He just kept nodding his head up and down. You know how politely he always goes by. But he thought a big thought—I could tell by his eye— Which being expressed, might be this in effect: 'I have left those there berries, I shrewdly suspect, To ripen too long. I am greatly to blame.'' 'He's a thriftier person than some I could name.' 'He seems to be thrifty; and hasn't he need, With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed? He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say, Like birds. They store a great many away. They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet.' 'Who cares what they say? It's a nice way to live, Just taking what Nature is willing to give, Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow.' 'I wish you had seen his perpetual bow— And the air of the youngsters! Not one of them turned, And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned.' 'I wish I knew half what the flock of them know Of where all the berries and other things grow, Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop. I met them one day and each had a flower Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower; Some strange kind—they told me it hadn't a name.' 'I've told you how once not long after we came, I almost provoked poor Loren to mirth By going to him of all people on earth To ask if he knew any fruit to be had For the picking. The rascal, he said he'd be glad To tell if he knew. But the year had been bad. There had been some berries—but those were all gone. He didn't say where they had been. He went on: 'I'm sure—I'm sure'—as polite as could be. He spoke to his wife in the door, 'Let me see, Mame, we don't know any good berrying place? ' It was all he could do to keep a straight face. 'If he thinks all the fruit that grows wild is for him, He'll find he's mistaken. See here, for a whim, We'll pick in the Mortensons' pasture this year. We'll go in the morning, that is, if it's clear, And the sun shines out warm: the vines must be wet. It's so long since I picked I almost forget How we used to pick berries: we took one look round, Then sank out of sight like trolls underground, And saw nothing more of each other, or heard, Unless when you said I was keeping a bird Away from its nest, and I said it was you. 'Well, one of us is.' For complaining it flew Around and around us. And then for a while We picked, till I feared you had wandered a mile, And I thought I had lost you. I lifted a shout Too loud for the distance you were, it turned out, For when you made answer, your voice was as low As talking—you stood up beside me, you know.' 'We sha'n't have the place to ourselves to enjoy— Not likely, when all the young Lorens deploy. They'll be there to-morrow, or even to-night. They won't be too friendly—they may be polite— To people they look on as having no right To pick where they're picking. But we won't complain. You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain, The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves, Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves.'

I Speak Not, I Trace Not, I Breathe Not Thy Name

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name; There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame; But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace, Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease? We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, - We will part, we will fly to - unite it again! Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt;

Being Old: The Advantages And Disadvantages....... [(See The Title): Long; Personal? ; Humour? ]

For my poems, my friend Valsa George has a hunger. She’s over fifty, but, compared to me, she is younger. She suggested I write about ‘the advantages of being old’. It’s a challenge, but, Valsa, on this idea you have sold...... me. I – The Advantages Retirement income though you’re done working. [Why, now, are some of you readers smirking? ]

Close The Eyes

We may face onslaught and not survive If no timely action is taken or efforts revived Nature may not spare us for committed sin We may have complete loss and situation no win Glaciers are melting with sudden spate in rivers Havoc, destruction loss of precious lives all over Progress may be around but not to rejoice No one can claim prosperity with single voice

Cry Not

You should not cry else tears may fall Hold them back until, you make call you tell them not to fall or roll is the cry only way left for recall? Go in isolation or on the roof top yell and shout as much as you and don’t stop If need be then go to the hill peak Shout in wilderness and don’t speak,

Child

Hello lovely kid, You may always lead, May you become head, Books more you read, You are always future, Ideas good you nurture, Learn always you best, And pass the entire test,