Tag Archive | poems

For my sister who has to go to bed while it’s light

Bed in Summer    
by Robert Louis Stevenson 

In winter I get up at night  
And dress by yellow candle-light.  
In summer, quite the other way,  
I have to go to bed by day.  
  
I have to go to bed and see         
The birds still hopping on the tree,  
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet  
Still going past me in the street.  
  
And does it not seem hard to you,  
When all the sky is clear and blue,  
And I should like so much to play,  
To have to go to bed by day?

Poetry month – Faerie Queen

Blackmore’s Night

Over on the hill
There grows a flower
Growing quicker still
More perfect by the hour
Deep within that flower
Is a tiny chair
All a-fringed with gold
The fairy queen sits there…

It is in her breath
That the wind does blow
It is in her heart
As pure as winter snow
It is in her tears
Crystal raindrops fall
And within her years
That she is in us all…

*Oh dark eyes
Help me see
Just one look
She is gone
Look on me
We are one
Fading with the setting sun…

As the willow bows
To her majesty
All the forest flowers
Love her mystery
Who would not admire
Who could not adore
Who does not desire
Who wishes to see more?

Poetry month – Saint Bridget

Saint Bridget

by Eleanor Farjeon

Part of a series of poems on saint’s lives and because I have been lax in my flamekeeping.

Saint Bridget she was beautiful
In feature and in deed
And she would give the world away
To anyone in need.
It was enough for her to know
Of beggars at her door
That women starved and babes were cold,
And ragged men were poor.

Saint Bridget gave the world away
And cut her golden hair
To dwell beneath the Holy Oak
Men speak of in Kildare.
The stick she put her lips upon
Broke straightway into flower,
The sunbeam in her greenwood cell
Lingered beyond its hour.

Saint Bridget laid her beauty by
That earth might leave her be,
And God bestowed it twice on her
Till angels leaned to see.
‘Look, look! There goes the loveliest one
In Ireland ever known,
Our Bride who gave the world away
And made all heaven her own.

Poetry month – America, a poem AKA America the Beautiful

This is the original version of America the Beautiful. I like this one better especially the verse:

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

Till selfish gain no longer stain,

The banner of the free!

I bet she and her partner of 25 years, Katherine Coman, would be amazed at the changes since they were around. I hope they would see an America where they didn’t have to hide.

Original poem (1893) Katherine Lee Bates

America. A Poem for July 4.

O beautiful for halcyon skies,

For amber waves of grain,

For purple mountain majesties

Above the enameled plain!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee,

Till souls wax fair as earth and air

And music-hearted sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet

Whose stern, impassioned stress

A thoroughfare for freedom beat

Across the wilderness!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

Till paths be wrought through wilds of thought

By pilgrim foot and knee!

O beautiful for glory-tale

Of liberating strife,

When once or twice, for man’s avail,

Men lavished precious life!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

Till selfish gain no longer stain,

The banner of the free!

O beautiful for patriot dream

That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam

Undimmed by human tears!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

Till nobler men keep once again

Thy whiter jubilee!

Poetry month – I want to be strong

Chorus:
I want to be strong, to be strong as the land around me
I want a heart that’s as wide as the sky
I want a spirit like a moving mountain stream.
I want to look people straight in the eye.

Walking along beneath a canopy of clouds
Feeling like a stranger in the midst of a crowd
I know that something great is calling me aloud
I know that I must choose.

The crowd is crying ‘cause there’s hunger and there’s hate
But if we care it’s not too late
A loving, laughing world we’re able to create
Underneath the endless sky.

Happy birthday Shakespeare! Poetry month – Puck’s final speech, MSND

PUCK
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.