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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Easter, by George Herbert
I GOT me flowers to straw Thy way,
I got me boughs off many a tree;
But Thou wast up by break of day,
And brought'st Thy sweets along with Thee.
Yet though my flowers be lost, they say
Godheart, by Mark Zimmerman
spinning and pumping along the
pathway, drenched with melting
rocks shaped like fornicating roses
twirling around, the heart is carried
while gliding back and forth through time
Gordon's Grave, by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
All the heat and the glow and the hush
of the summer afternoon;
the scent of the sweet-briar bush
over bowing grass-blades and broom;
the birds that flit and pass;
Where My Books go, by William Butler Yeats
ALL the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
Little Gray Songs from St. Joseph's, by Grace Fallow Norton
I
With cassock black, baret and book,
Father Saran goes by;
I think he goes to say a prayer
For one who has to die.
When we Two parted, by George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron
WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Beyond Rathkelly, by Francis Carlin
As I went over the Far Hill,
Just beyond Rathkelly,
-- Och, to be on the Far Hill
O'er Newtonstewart Town!
As I went over the Far Hill
The Path that leads to Nowhere, by Corinne Roosevelt Robinson
There's a path that leads to Nowhere
In a meadow that I know,
Where an inland island rises
And the stream is still and slow;
There it wanders under willows
Saturday Night, by Mary Colborne-Veel
Saturday night in the crowded town;
Pleasure and pain going up and down,
Murmuring low on the ear there beat
Echoes unceasing of voice and feet.
Withered age, with its load of care,
Chloe Divine, by Thomas D'Urfey
CHLOE 's a Nymph in flowery groves,
A Nereid in the streams;
Saint-like she in the temple moves,
A woman in my dreams.
Love steals artillery from her eyes,
The Young May Moon, by Thomas Moore
THE young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love;
How sweet to rove
Through Morna's grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Where Are You, by Brother De Buff
The place in my heart is empty
I want to scream come back I love you
Words are lost
on my action of the past
Heavy is my burden I must continue
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