Poems

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud Life Is Fine Brown Penny

I wandered lonely as a cloud I went down to the river, I whispered, 'I am too young,'
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, I set down on the bank. And then, 'I am old enough';
I tried to think but couldn't, Wherefore I threw a penny
When all at once I saw a crowd,
So I jumped in and sank.
A host, of golden daffodils; To find out if I might love.
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, I came up once and hollered! 'Go and love, go and love, young man,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. I came up twice and cried! If the lady be young and fair.'
If that water hadn't a-been so cold Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
Continuous as the stars that shine I might've sunk and died. I am looped in the loops of her hair.
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line But it was cold in that water! It was cold! O love is the crooked thing,
Along the margin of a bay: There is nobody wise enough
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, I took the elevator To find out all that is in it,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. Sixteen floors above the ground. For he would be thinking of love
I thought about my baby
Till the stars had run away
And thought I would jump down.
The waves beside them danced, but they And the shadows eaten the moon.
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee; I stood there and I hollered! Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
A poet could not be but gay, I stood there and I cried! One cannot begin it too soon.
In such a jocund company! If it hadn't a-been so high
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought I might've jumped and died. William Butler Yeats
What wealth the show to me had brought:
But it was high up there! It was high!
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood, So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
They flash upon that inward eye
I could've died for love--
Which is the bliss of solitude; But for livin' I was born
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils. Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
William Wordsworth I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

Langston Hughes

Compiled by Lam C.
Poems

Compiled by Lam C.
Poems

A Poison Tree Trees In the Evening

I was angry with my friend; I think that I shall never see I

I told my wrath, my wrath did end. A poem lovely as a tree. In the evening, love returns,
I was angry with my foe: Like a wand’rer ’cross the sea;
I told it not, my wrath did grow. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest In the evening, love returns
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; With a violet for me;
And I watered it in fears, In the evening, life’s a song,
Night & morning with my tears: A tree that looks at God all day, And the fields are full of green;
And I sunned it with smiles, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; All the stars are golden crowns,
And with soft deceitful wiles. And the eye of God is keen.
A tree that may in Summer wear
And it grew both day and night, A nest of robins in her hair; II
Till it bore an apple bright. In the evening, sorrow dies
And my foe beheld it shine, Upon whose bosom snow has lain; With the setting of the sun;
And he knew that it was mine. Who intimately lives with rain. In the evening, joy begins,
When the course of mirth is done;
And into my garden stole. Poems are made by fools like me, In the evening, kisses sweet
When the night had veiled the pole; But only God can make a tree. Droop upon the passion vine;
In the morning glad I see, In the evening comes your voice:
My foe outstretched beneath the tree. Joyce Kilmer “I am yours, and you are mine.”

William Blake Fenton Johnson

Compiled by Lam C.
Poems

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night The Rainy Day Gathering Leaves
Do not go gentle into that good night, The day is cold, and dark, and dreary Spades take up leaves
Old age should burn and rave at close of day; It rains, and the wind is never weary; No better than spoons,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, And bags full of leaves
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, Are light as balloons.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, And the day is dark and dreary. I make a great noise
Because their words had forked no lightning they Of rustling all day
Do not go gentle into that good night. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; Like rabbit and deer
It rains, and the wind is never weary; Running away.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, But the mountains I raise
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And the days are dark and dreary. Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; And into my face.
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Do not go gentle into that good night. Thy fate is the common fate of all, I may load and unload
Into each life some rain must fall, Again and again
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Some days must be dark and dreary. Till I fill the whole shed,
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, And what have I then?
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Next to nothing for weight,
And you, my father, there on that sad height, And since they grew duller
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. From contact with earth,
Do not go gentle into that good night. Next to nothing for color.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

Robert Frost

Compiled by Lam C.
Poems

Love’s Philosophy Lullaby The Road Not Taken

The fountains mingle with the river Now the day is done, Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And the rivers with the ocean, Now the shepherd sun And sorry I could not travel both
The winds of heaven mix for ever Drives his white flocks from the sky; And be one traveler, long I stood
With a sweet emotion; Now the flowers rest And looked down one as far as I could
Nothing in the world is single, On their mother’s breast, To where it bent in the undergrowth;
All things by a law divine Hushed by her low lullaby.
In one another’s being mingle— Then took the other, as just as fair,
Why not I with thine? Now the glowworms glance, And having perhaps the better claim,
Now the fireflies dance, Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
See the mountains kiss high heaven, Under fern-boughs green and high; Though as for that the passing there
And the waves clasp one another; And the western breeze Had worn them really about the same,
No sister-flower would be forgiven To the forest trees
If it disdain’d its brother; Chants a tuneful lullaby. And both that morning equally lay
And the sunlight clasps the earth, In leaves no step had trodden black.
And the moonbeams kiss the sea— Now ‘mid shadows deep Oh, I kept the first for another day!
What is all this sweet work worth Falls blessed sleep, Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
If thou kiss not me? Like dew from the summer sky; I doubted if I should ever come back.
And the whole earth dreams,
Percy Bysshe Shelley In the moon’s soft beams, I shall be telling this with a sigh
While night breathes a lullaby. Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
Now, birdlings, rest, I took the one less traveled by,
In your wind-rocked nest, And that has made all the difference.
Unscared by the owl’s shrill cry;
For with folded wings Robert Frost
Little Brier swings,
And singeth your lullaby.

Louisa May Alcott

Compiled by Lam C.