Poem of the day

this is one of my favorite poems" road less travled" by "frost" 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 coud
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 onto 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 took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference

"donne" also is one of my favorite poet i like his " deat be not proud" "sonne rising" and this wonderful one Forbidding Mourning AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise, 5
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ; 10
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove 15
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss. 20

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so 25
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam, 30
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

PS donne wrote this wonderful poem h for his wife when he went to france and he left his wife waiting for their baby.and when the time come for her to have it he had a vision that his baby is dead and soon after he had a message cconfirming his feeling

A sonnet you must like..

"Amorett"

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,that 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 whene as death shall all the world subdue
Our love shall live,and later life renew

Edmund Spencer

In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity
And the pride of life that planned her,stilly coushes she
Steel chambers,late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires
Cold current thrid,and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres
Over the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea_warm crawls_grotesque,slimed,dumb,indifferent

Thomas Hardy

Love Not


Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay!
Hope’s gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers—
Things that are made to fade and fall away
Ere they have blossom’d for a few short hours.
Love not!

Love not! the thing ye love may change:
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,
The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true.
Love not!

Love not! the thing you love may die,
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth;
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,
Beam o’er its grave, as once upon its birth.
Love not!

Love not! oh warning vainly said
In present hours as in the years gone by;
Love flings a halo round the dear ones’ head,
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die,
Love not!


''Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton ''

But there's a tree of many, one
A single field which I have looked upon
Both of them speak of something that is gone.
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting
And cometh from afar
Not in entire forgetfulness
And not in utter nakedness
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy
The youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended
At length the man perceives it die away
And fade into the light of common day.

William Words-Worth

only eyes will cry, not a single soul will weep
i feel this will happen, when for ever i'll sleep
i'm torn inside, inside only i cry
knowing it makes no difference whether i live or die
now i only breathe, i died long back
and people now think its emotions i lack
no-one to share my feelings, my soul always wept
the sorrows passed away, but the pain is still kept
the whole wide world alone i roam
and live in a lonely room, in a lonely home
when spring kisses the earth and gives it a new song to dance
it's my heart afraid of breaking that won't take a chance
then sunrays greet and turn everything to gold
the snow thaws away but my heart remains cold
when earth gets a new life from the gentle autumn rain
there is nothing to lok forward to, it was all in vain
then winter comes and another year will end
and again i wonder whether my life will mend
will there ever be someone, someone by my side?
but now its too late because long back i died


MY LIFE
by nutty always

It lies not in our power to love, or hate
For will in us is over-ruled by fate
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin
We wish that one should lose, the other win
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect
The reason no man knows; let it suffice
What we behold is censured by our eyes
Where both deliberate, the love is slight;
Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?

Christopher Marlowe

A fool I was to sleep at noon,
And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
A fool to snap my lily.

My garden-plot I have not kept;
Faded and all-forsaken,
I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept,
It's winter now I waken.

Talk what you please of future spring
And sun-warm'd sweet to-morrow:—
Stripp'd bare of hope and everything,
No more to laugh, no more to sing,
I sit alone with sorrow
A Daughter of Eve

[صن النفس وحملها على ما يزينهـات عـش سالـمـاً والـقـول فـيـك جمـيـلُ
ولا تــريـــن الــنـــاس إلا تــجــمــلاً نـبـابــك دهــــراً أو جــفــاك خـلـيــلُ
وإن ذاق رزق اليوم فاصبر إلى غدٍ عسـى نكـبـات الـدهـر عـنـك تــزولُ
يـعـز غـنـي النـفـس إن قِـــل مـالــهُ ويغـنـى غـنـي الـمــال وهـــو ذلـيــلُ
ولا خـيــر فـــي ود إمـــرءٍ مـتـلـون إ ذا الريـح مـالـت مــال حـيـث تمـيـلُ
جـواد إذا استغنيـت عـن أخـذ مـالـ هوعـنـد احتـمـال الفـقـر عـنـك بخـيـلُ
فـمـا أكـثـر الأخــوان حـيـن تعـدهـم ولـكـنـهـم فـــــي الـنـائـبــات قـلــيــلُ

YOU ARE MY MAN, MY MIGHTY KING,
AND I AM THE JEWEL IN YOUR CROWN,
YOU ARE THE SUN SO HOT AND BRIGHT,
I AM YOUR LIGHT-RAYS SHINING DOWN,

YOU ARE THE SKY SO VAST AND BLUE,
AND I AM THE WHITE CLOUDS IN YOUR CHEST,
I AM A RIVER CLEAN AND PURE,
WHO IN YOUR OCEAN FINDS HER REST,

YOU ARE THE MOUNTAIN HUGE AND HIGH,

I AM THE VALLEY GREEN AND WIDE,
YOU ARE THE BODY FIRM AND STRONG,
AND I AM A RIB BONE ON YOUR SIDE,

YOU ARE AN EAGLE FLYING HIGH,
I AM YOUR FEATHERS LIGHT AND BROWN,
YOU ARE MY MAN, MY KING OF KINGS,
AND I AM THE JEWEL IN YOUR CROWN.

Sonnet 98
by William Shakespeare

From you have I been absent in the spring
when proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

I just liked this poem

The Trees in the Gerden Rained Flowers
For Stephene Crane

The trees in the garden rained flowers.
Children ran there joyously.
They gathered the flowers
Each to himself.
Now there were some
Who gathered great heaps
Having opportunity and skill
Until, behold, only chance blossoms
Remained for the feeble.
Then a little spindling tutor
Ran importantly to the father ,crying:
"Pray, come hither!
See this injust thing in your garden!"
But when the father had surveyed,
He admonished the tutor:
"Not so, small sage!
This thing is just.
For, look you,
Are not they who possess the flowers
Stronger, bolder, shrewder
Than they who have none?
Why should the strong
The beautiful strong
Why should they not have the flowers?"
Upon reflection, the ttutor bowed to the ground,
"My lord," he said,
"The stars are displaced
By this towering wisdom."

The Sorrows Of the Seas


Look out at the sea, 
You feel it,
But it is not the sea you feel is it,
It is but your soul,
Traped in the sarrows of the seas,
It never is but a sea,
Walk along the beach,
Cry and pray to the waves,
All you can see is but the sarrows of the sea,
Alone I sit,
Alone I cry,
Alone is but the sea,
Alone my soul alone my shadow,
It is the sorrows of the sea,
Cry to your self,
Cry to the sorrows of the sea,
I am alone,
I am alone and only I and Me know,
And the sorrows of the sea,
I am but the sorrows of the sea,

Samantha Guinen