Ithaca by Constantine P. Cavafy

Ithaca 

by Constantine P. Cavafy

When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.

Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy -
ports seen for the first time;
to stop at Phoenician trading centres,
and to buy good merchandise,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensuous perfumes of every kind,
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can;
to visit many Egyptian cities,
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.

Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don't in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn't anything else to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you.
So wise you have become, of such experience,
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean. 

Great old poem. A link to learn more is here.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constantine_P._Cavafy

Like Barley Bending by Sarah Teasdale

Like Barley Bending
by Sarah Teasdale


Like barley bending
In low fields by the sea,
Singing in hard wind
Ceaselessly;

Like barley bending
And rising again,
So would I, unbroken,
Rise from pain;

So would I softly,
Day long, night long,
Change my sorrow
Into song. 


Visually I love the site of barley bending in the breeze. A link to read more is here. http://www.poemhunter.com/sarah-teasdale/

Conscience by Henry David Thoreau

Conscience
by Henry David Thoreau


Conscience is instinct bred in the house,
Feeling and Thinking propagate the sin
By an unnatural breeding in and in.
I say, Turn it out doors,
Into the moors.
I love a life whose plot is simple,
And does not thicken with every pimple,
A soul so sound no sickly conscience binds it,
That makes the universe no worse than 't finds it.
I love an earnest soul,
Whose mighty joy and sorrow
Are not drowned in a bowl,
And brought to life to-morrow;
That lives one tragedy,
And not seventy;
A conscience worth keeping;
Laughing not weeping;
A conscience wise and steady,
And forever ready;
Not changing with events,
Dealing in compliments;
A conscience exercised about
Large things, where one may doubt.
I love a soul not all of wood,
Predestinated to be good,
But true to the backbone
Unto itself alone,
And false to none;
Born to its own affairs,
Its own joys and own cares;
By whom the work which God begun
Is finished, and not undone;
Taken up where he left off,
Whether to worship or to scoff;
If not good, why then evil,
If not good god, good devil.
Goodness! you hypocrite, come out of that,
Live your life, do your work, then take your hat.
I have no patience towards
Such conscientious cowards.
Give me simple laboring folk,
Who love their work,
Whose virtue is song
To cheer God along. 

I feel a true kinship to this poem. A link to learn more is here. http://www.vcu.edu/engweb/transcendentalism/authors/thoreau/

The Secret by Edward Rowland

The Secret 
by Edward Rowland


A TIDE of sun and song in beauty broke
Against a bitter heart, where no voice woke
Till thus it spoke:—

What was it, in the old time that I know,
That made the world with inner beauty glow,
Now a vain show?

Still dance the shadows on the grass at play,
Still move the clouds like great, calm thoughts away,
Nor haste, nor stay.

But I have lost that breath within the gale,
That light to which the daylight was a veil,
The star-shine pale.

Still all the summer with its songs is filled,
But that delicious undertone they held—
Why is it stilled?

Then I took heart that I would find again
The voices that had long in silence lain,
Nor live in vain.

I stood at noonday in the hollow wind,
Listened at midnight, straining heart and mind
If I might find!

But all in vain I sought, at eve and morn,
On sunny seas, in dripping woods forlorn,
Till tired and worn,

One day I left my solitary tent
And down into the world's bright garden went,
On labor bent.

The dew stars and the buds about my feet
Began their old bright message to repeat,
In odors sweet;

And as I worked at weed and root in glee,
Now humming and now whistling cheerily,
It came to me,—

The secret of the glory that was fled
Shone like a sweep of sun all overhead,
And something said,—

"The blessing came because it was not sought;
There was no care if thou wert blest or not:
The beauty and the wonder all thy thought,—
Thyself forgot."





Simplicity is the secret we forget so easily. A link to read more is here.http://allpoetry.com/Edward_Rowland_Sill

The Fog by William H Davies

The Fog
by William H Davies


I saw the fog grow thick,
Which soon made blind my ken;
It made tall men of boys,
And giants of tall men.

It clutched my throat, I coughed;
Nothing was in my head
Except two heavy eyes
Like balls of burning lead.

And when it grew so black
That I could know no place,
I lost all judgment then,
Of distance and of space.

The street lamps, and the lights
Upon the halted cars,
Could either be on earth
Or be the heavenly stars.

A man passed by me close,
I asked my way, he said,
"Come, follow me, my friend"—
I followed where he led.

He rapped the stones in front,
"Trust me," he said, "and come";
I followed like a child—
A blind man led me home.


How sometimes we can lose our way, wonderful metaphor using the fog. A link to read more is here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._H._Davies

The Tuft of Flowers by Robert Frost

The Tuft of Flowers

BY ROBERT FROST

I went to turn the grass once after one

Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen

Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;

I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,

And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

As all must be,' I said within my heart,

Whether they work together or apart.'

But as I said it, swift there passed me by

On noiseless wing a 'wildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night

Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,

As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,

And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,

And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look

At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared

Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,

Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,

By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.

But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,

Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,

And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;

So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,

And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech

With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

Men work together,' I told him from the heart,

Whether they work together or apart.'

A poem I can read and savor. A link to learn more is 

here.http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/robert-frost

("Sing the song of the moment...") By Rabindranath Tagore

(“Sing the song of the moment...”)

BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE

                                                      VII

Sing the song of the moment in careless carols, in the transient light of the day;

Sing of the fleeting smiles that vanish and never look back;

Sing of the flowers that bloom and fade without regret.

Weave not in memory’s thread the days that would glide into nights.

To the guests that must go bid God-speed, and wipe away all traces of their steps.

Let the moments end in moments with their cargo of fugitive songs.

With both hands snap the fetters you made with your own heart chords;

Take to your breast with a smile what is easy and simple and near.

Today is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die.         

Let your laughter flush in meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the ripples;

Let your life lightly dance on the verge of Time like a dew on the tip of a leaf.

Strike in the chords of your harp the fitful murmurs of moments.

Moments are all we have, he says that so well here. A link to read more is here.http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/rabindranath-tagore

Look To This Day by Kalidasa

Look To This Day 
by Kalidasa

Look to this day:
For it is life, the very life of life.
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence.
The bliss of growth,
The glory of action,
The splendour of achievement
Are but experiences of time.

For yesterday is but a dream
And tomorrow is only a vision;
And today well-lived, makes
Yesterday a dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well therefore to this day;
Such is the salutation to the ever-new dawn!

Each day is a treasure. A link to read more is here. http://allpoetry.com/Kalidasa

Stream of Life by Rabindranth Tagore

Stream of Life

by Rabindranth Tagore

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Wonderful poem of life, what we are made of. To read more a link is here.http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/may/07/rabindranath-tagore-why-was-he-neglected

The Right Thing by Theodore Roethke

The Right Thing 
by Theodore Roethke


Let others probe the mystery if they can.
Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will—
The right thing happens to the happy man.

The bird flies out, the bird flies back again;
The hill becomes the valley, and is still;
Let others delve that mystery if they can.

God bless the roots!—Body and soul are one!
The small become the great, the great the small;
The right thing happens to the happy man.

Child of the dark, he can out leap the sun,
His being single, and that being all:
The right thing happens to the happy man.

Or he sits still, a solid figure when
The self-destructive shake the common wall;
Takes to himself what mystery he can,

And, praising change as the slow night comes on,
Wills what he would, surrendering his will
Till mystery is no more: No more he can.
The right thing happens to the happy man.


This is an interesting poem to read again and again. A like to learn more is here. http://allpoetry.com/Theodore_Roethke

Life is a privilege by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life Is A Privilege

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life is a privilege. Its youthful days
Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays.
To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire,
To feed with dreams the heart’s perpetual fire,
To thrill with virtuous passions, and to glow
With great ambitions – in one hour to know
The depths and heights of feeling – God! in truth,
How beautiful, how beautiful is youth!

Life is a privilege. Like some rare rose
The mysteries of the human mind unclose.
What marvels lie in the earth, and air, and sea!
What stores of knowledge wait our opening key!
What sunny roads of happiness lead out
Beyond the realms of indolence and doubt!
And what large pleasures smile upon and bless
The busy avenues of usefulness!

Life is a privilege. Thought the noontide fades
And shadows fall along the winding glades,
Though joy-blooms wither in the autumn air,
Yet the sweet scent of sympathy is there.
Pale sorrow leads us closer to our kind,
And in the serious hours of life we find
Depths in the souls of men which lend new worth
And majesty to this brief span of earth.

Life is a privilege. If some sad fate
Sends us alone to seek the exit gate,
If men forsake us and as shadows fall,
Still does the supreme privilege of all
Come in that reaching upward of the soul
To find the welcoming Presence at the goal,
And in the Knowledge that our feet have trod
Paths that led from, and must wind back, to God.

Great message and rhyme is wonderful. A link to learn more is here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ella_Wheeler_Wilcox

Sonnet XV: When I consider everything that grows by William Shakespeare

Sonnet XV: When I Consider everything that grows

by William Shakespeare

When I consider everything that grows

Holds in perfection but a little moment,

That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows

Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;

When I perceive that men as plants increase,

Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky,

Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,

And wear their brave state out of memory;

Then the conceit of this inconstant stay

Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,

Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay

To change your day of youth to sullied night;

And all in war with Time for love of you,

As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

Timeless poetry. A link to read more is here.http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/122

On Looking Up By Chance At The Constellations by Robert Frost

On Looking Up By Chance At The Constellations
by Robert Frost


You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves -
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drought will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn't reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last to-night.


A master of imagery, line three is a favorite of mine. A link to read more is here.http://allpoetry.com/Robert_Frost

Immortal Sails by Alfred Noyes

Immortal Sails

BY ALFRED NOYES

Now, in a breath, we’ll burst those gates of gold,   

   And ransack heaven before our moment fails.   

Now, in a breath, before we, too, grow old,

   We’ll mount and sing and spread immortal sails.

It is not time that makes eternity.

   Love and an hour may quite out-span the years,   

And give us more to hear and more to see   

   Than life can wash away with all its tears.

Dear, when we part, at last, that sunset sky

   Shall not be touched with deeper hues than this;   

But we shall ride the lightning ere we die

   And seize our brief infinitude of bliss,

With time to spare for all that heaven can tell,   

While eyes meet eyes, and look their last farewell.

Great poem on the brevity of life. A link to read more is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/alfred-noyes

A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A Psalm of Life

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

   Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

   And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

   And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

   Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

   Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

   Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

   And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

   Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

   In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

   Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

   Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,— act in the living Present!

   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

   We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

   Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

   Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

   With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

   Learn to labor and to wait.

We never die until we lay down and quit. A link to learn more is here. http://www.hwlongfellow.org/poems_front.php

Fate by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Fate

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

That you are fair or wise is vain,

Or strong, or rich, or generous;

You must have also the untaught strain

That sheds beauty on the rose.

There is a melody born of melody,

Which melts the world into a sea:

Toil could never compass it;

Art its height could never hit;

It came never out of wit;

But a music music-born

Well may Jove and Juno scorn.

Thy beauty, if it lack the fire

Which drives me mad with sweet desire,

What boots it? what the soldier's mail,

Unless he conquer and prevail?

What all the goods thy pride which lift,

If thou pine for another's gift?

Alas! that one is born in blight,

Victim of perpetual slight:

When thou lookest on his face,

Thy heart saith, "Brother, go thy ways!

None shall ask thee what thou doest,

Or care a rush for what thou knowest,

Or listen when thou repliest,

Or remember where thou liest,

Or how thy supper is sodden;"

And another is born

To make the sun forgotten.

Surely he carries a talisman

Under his tongue;

Broad are his shoulders, and strong;

And his eye is scornful,

Threatening, and young.

I hold it of little matter

Whether your jewel be of pure water,

A rose diamond or a white,

But whether it dazzle me with light.

I care not how you are dressed,

In the coarsest or in the best;

Nor whether your name is base or brave;

Nor for the fashion of your behavior;

But whether you charm me,

Bid my bread feed and my fire warm me,

And dress up Nature in your favor.

One thing is forever good;

That one thing is Success, —

Dear to the Eumenides,

And to all the heavenly brood.

Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,

Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.

Such smart, wise words. A link to learn more is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/ralph-waldo-emerson

Winter Stars by Sara Teasdale

Winter Stars

BY SARA TEASDALE

I went out at night alone;

 The young blood flowing beyond the sea

Seemed to have drenched my spirit’s wings—

 I bore my sorrow heavily.

But when I lifted up my head

 From shadows shaken on the snow,

I saw Orion in the east

 Burn steadily as long ago.

From windows in my father’s house,

 Dreaming my dreams on winter nights,

I watched Orion as a girl

 Above another city’s lights.

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,

 The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars,

All things are changed, save in the east

 The faithful beauty of the stars.

Wonderful rhyme. A link to read more is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/sara-teasdale

The Smile by William Blake

The Smile

BY WILLIAM BLAKE

There is a smile of love,

And there is a smile of deceit,

And there is a smile of smiles

In which these two smiles meet;

And there is a frown of hate,

And there is a frown of disdain,

And there is a frown of frowns

Which you strive to forget in vain,

For it sticks in the heart's deep core,

And it sticks in the deep back bone,

And no smile that ever was smil'd,

But only one smile alone

That betwixt the cradle and grave

It only once smil'd can be,

But when it once is smil'd,

There's an end to all misery.

Smiling is good. A link to read more is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-blake

Reply to a Magistrate By Wang Wei

Reply to a Magistrate
by Wang Wei


Late in life, I care for ease alone—
to hell with official concerns.

Look! I make no plans for the future
but to go back to my forest home again.

Let pine winds loosen my robes,
mountain moons play my lute.

You want to taste success or failure?
A lone fisherman sings out on the water.


I like these simple poems to think about. A link to read more about this poet is here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wang_Wei_(8th_century_poet)

("Over the green and yellow...") by Rabindranath Tagore

(“Over the green and yellow...”)

BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE

                                    I 

         Over the green and yellow rice fields sweep the shadows of the autumn clouds, followed by the swift-chasing sun.
         The bees forget to sip their honey; drunken with the light they foolishly hum and hover; and the ducks in the sandy riverbank clamour in joy for mere nothing.
         None shall go back home, brothers, this morning, none shall go to work.
         We will take the blue sky by storm and plunder the space as we run.
         Laughters fly floating in the air like foams in the flood.
         Brothers, we shall squander our morning in futile songs. 

This one makes me smile each time I read it. A link to read more is here. http://www.schoolofwisdom.com/history/teachers/rabindranath-tagore/