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Poem for the Day

Posted: 16 August 2014

When all the world is young, lad, 
And all the trees are green; 
And every goose a swan, lad, 
And every lass a queen; 
Then hey for boot and horse, lad, 
And round the world away! 
Young blood must have its course, lad, 
And every dog his day. 

When all the world is old, lad, 
And all the trees are brown; 
And all the sport is stale, lad, 
And all the wheels run down; 
Creep home, and take your place there, 
The spent and maimed among; 
God grant you find one face there, 
You loved when all was young.

Young and Old
Charles Kingsley

Poem for the Day

Posted: 15 August 2014

She wore a 'terra-cotta' dress,
And we stayed, because of the pelting storm,
Within the hansom's dry recess,
Though the horse had stopped; yea, motionless
We sat on, snug and warm.

Then the downpour ceased, to my sharp sad pain,
And the glass that had screened our forms before...
Flew up, and out she sprang to her door:
I should have kissed her if the rain
Had lasted a minute more.

A Thunderstorm in Town
Thomas Hardy

Poem for the Day

Posted: 14 August 2014

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,...
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

Sonnet XIV (If Thou Must Love Me)
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Poem for the Day

Posted: 13 August 2014

What in our lives is burnt
In the fire of this?
The heart’s dear granary?
The much we shall miss?

Three lives hath one life –
Iron, honey, gold.
The gold, the honey gone –...
Left is the hard and cold.

Iron are our lives
Molten right through our youth.
A burnt space through ripe fields,
A fair mouth’s broken tooth.

August 1914
Isaac Rosenberg

Poem for the Day

Posted: 12 August 2014

“We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering - these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love - these are what we stay alive for.” Robin Williams in "Dead Poets Society".

O Captain...! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! My Captain!
Walt Whitman

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