My Favorite Poems

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• "When You Are Old" by William Butler Yeats Visit William Butler Yeats's Page Read Poem

  When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
  And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
  And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
  Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
  
  How many loved your moments of glad grace,
  And loved your beauty with love false or true,
  But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
  And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
  
  And bending down beside the glowing bars,
  Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
  And paced upon the mountains overhead
  And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

• "La Nuit - Extract" by Antoine de Girard Saint-Amant Visit Antoine de Girard Saint-Amant's Page Read Poem

  The Night - Extract
  Peaceful and solitary Night,
  Without Moon and without Stars,
  Contains the Day that harms me
  In your darkest veils;
  Hasten your steps, Goddess hear me,
  I like a brunette like you.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  Ha! the day is over,
  I have to get ready;
  The Star of Venus has risen
  Conducive to my request;
  So good that he seems by showing himself so beautiful
  Wanting to serve as a torch.
  
  The craftsman tired of working,
  Leave his work behind;
  His wife who sees him yawn
  Laughs in his courage,
  And the watcher prepares to receive
  The fruits of nuptial duty.
  
  Cats almost mad with love,
  Rumble in the gutters;
  Werewolves fleeing the day
  Howl at the Cemeteries:
  And the Children are numb to be all alone,
  Cover their heads with shrouds.
  
  The Tinkerbell of the Dead
  Ringing from street to street,
  Their hearts are frozen with fear,
  Although their body sweats;
  And a thousand Dogs hearing his sad voice
  Answer him at length.
  
  These tones combined together,
  Make funeral arrangements,
  Whose accents are widespread
  In the horror of darkness
  May Silence abandon this noise
  Who terrifies him and destroys him.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  All these winds that were blowing so hard
  Hold their breath,
  It no longer rains, the lightning sleeps,
  We only see the fountains,
  And the sweet sound of some charming lutes
  Who speak instead of Lovers.
  
  I cannot be discovered,
  Night is too faithful to me;
  Let's enter, I feel the door ajar,
  I see the candle;
  Gods ! What's this ?
  
  I tremble with every step,
  As if I was going to die.
  
  O you! whose eye is my conqueror,
  Sylvie, hey! what do you think?
  
  A man who has no heart
  Shouldn't he be trembling?
  
  I don't have one, do you have mine?
  
  Won't you give me yours?
  
  Paisible et solitaire Nuit,
  Sans Lune et sans Étoiles,
  Renferme le Jour qui me nuit
  Dans tes plus sombres voiles ;
  Hâte tes pas, Déesse exauce-moi,
  J'aime une Brune comme toi.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  Ha ! voilà le jour achevé,
  Il faut que je m'apprête ;
  L'Astre de Vénus est levé
  Propice à ma requête ;
  Si bien qu'il semble en se montrant si beau
  Me vouloir servir de flambeau.
  
  L'artisan las de travailler,
  Délaisse son ouvrage ;
  Sa femme qui le voit bâiller
  En rit en son courage,
  Et l'oeilladant s'apprête à recevoir
  Les fruits du nuptial devoir.
  
  Les Chats presque enragés d'amour,
  Grondent dans les gouttières ;
  Les loups-garous fuyant le jour
  Hurlent aux Cimetières :
  Et les Enfants transis d'être tout seuls,
  Couvrent leurs têtes de linceuls.
  
  Le Clochetteur des trépassés
  Sonnant de rue en rue,
  De frayeur rend leurs coeurs glacés,
  Bien que leur corps en sue ;
  Et mille Chiens oyant sa triste voix
  Lui répondent à longs abois.
  
  Ces tons ensemble confondus,
  Font des accords funèbres,
  Dont les accents sont épandus
  En l'horreur des ténèbres
  Que le Silence abandonne à ce bruit
  Qui l'épouvante, et le détruit.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  Tous ces vents qui soufflaient si fort
  Retiennent leurs haleines,
  Il ne pleut plus, la foudre dort,
  On n'oit que les fontaines,
  Et le doux son de quelques luths charmants
  Qui parlent au lieu des Amants.
  
  Je ne puis être découvert,
  La Nuit m'est trop fidèle ;
  Entrons, je sens l'huis entrouvert,
  J'aperçois la chandelle ;
  Dieux ! qu'est ceci ?
  
  je tremble à chaque pas,
  Comme si j'allais au trépas.
  
  Ô toi ! dont l'oeil est mon vainqueur,
  Sylvie, eh ! que t'en semble ?
  
  Un homme qui n'a point de coeur
  Ne faut-il pas qu'il tremble ?
  
  Je n'en ai point, tu possèdes le mien ?
  
  Me veux-tu pas donner le tien ?

• "Crossing The Water" by Sylvia Plath Visit Sylvia Plath's Page Read Poem

  Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.
  
  Where do the black trees go that drink here?
  
  Their shadows must cover Canada.
  
  A little light is filtering from the water flowers.
  
  Their leaves do not wish us to hurry:
  They are round and flat and full of dark advice.
  
  Cold worlds shake from the oar.
  
  The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes.
  
  A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;
  Stars open among the lilies.
  
  Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
  
  This is the silence of astounded souls.

• "Atom From Atom" by Ralph Waldo Emerson Visit Ralph Waldo Emerson's Page Read Poem

  Atom from atom yawns as far
  as moon from earth, as star from star.
  
  written before details of the atomic structure of things existed.
  
  found in anthology "The Tree That Time Built"

• "Eros" by Ralph Waldo Emerson Visit Ralph Waldo Emerson's Page Read Poem

  The sense of the world is short, -
  Long and various the report, -
  To love and be beloved;
  Men and gods have not outlearned it;
  And, how oft soe'er they've turned it,
  'Tis not to be improved.

• "If...." by Rudyard Kipling Visit Rudyard Kipling's Page Read Poem

  If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
  If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too:
  If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
  Or being hated don't give way to hating,
  And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
  If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim,
  If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
  
  If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
  Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;
  If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
  And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
  If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
  And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
  If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
  If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
  If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
  Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
  And which is more: you'll be a Man, my son!

• "La Nuit - Extract" by Antoine de Girard Saint-Amant Visit Antoine de Girard Saint-Amant's Page Read Poem

  The Night - Extract
  Peaceful and solitary Night,
  Without Moon and without Stars,
  Contains the Day that harms me
  In your darkest veils;
  Hasten your steps, Goddess hear me,
  I like a brunette like you.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  Ha! the day is over,
  I have to get ready;
  The Star of Venus has risen
  Conducive to my request;
  So good that he seems by showing himself so beautiful
  Wanting to serve as a torch.
  
  The craftsman tired of working,
  Leave his work behind;
  His wife who sees him yawn
  Laughs in his courage,
  And the watcher prepares to receive
  The fruits of nuptial duty.
  
  Cats almost mad with love,
  Rumble in the gutters;
  Werewolves fleeing the day
  Howl at the Cemeteries:
  And the Children are numb to be all alone,
  Cover their heads with shrouds.
  
  The Tinkerbell of the Dead
  Ringing from street to street,
  Their hearts are frozen with fear,
  Although their body sweats;
  And a thousand Dogs hearing his sad voice
  Answer him at length.
  
  These tones combined together,
  Make funeral arrangements,
  Whose accents are widespread
  In the horror of darkness
  May Silence abandon this noise
  Who terrifies him and destroys him.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  All these winds that were blowing so hard
  Hold their breath,
  It no longer rains, the lightning sleeps,
  We only see the fountains,
  And the sweet sound of some charming lutes
  Who speak instead of Lovers.
  
  I cannot be discovered,
  Night is too faithful to me;
  Let's enter, I feel the door ajar,
  I see the candle;
  Gods ! What's this ?
  
  I tremble with every step,
  As if I was going to die.
  
  O you! whose eye is my conqueror,
  Sylvie, hey! what do you think?
  
  A man who has no heart
  Shouldn't he be trembling?
  
  I don't have one, do you have mine?
  
  Won't you give me yours?
  
  Paisible et solitaire Nuit,
  Sans Lune et sans Étoiles,
  Renferme le Jour qui me nuit
  Dans tes plus sombres voiles ;
  Hâte tes pas, Déesse exauce-moi,
  J'aime une Brune comme toi.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  Ha ! voilà le jour achevé,
  Il faut que je m'apprête ;
  L'Astre de Vénus est levé
  Propice à ma requête ;
  Si bien qu'il semble en se montrant si beau
  Me vouloir servir de flambeau.
  
  L'artisan las de travailler,
  Délaisse son ouvrage ;
  Sa femme qui le voit bâiller
  En rit en son courage,
  Et l'oeilladant s'apprête à recevoir
  Les fruits du nuptial devoir.
  
  Les Chats presque enragés d'amour,
  Grondent dans les gouttières ;
  Les loups-garous fuyant le jour
  Hurlent aux Cimetières :
  Et les Enfants transis d'être tout seuls,
  Couvrent leurs têtes de linceuls.
  
  Le Clochetteur des trépassés
  Sonnant de rue en rue,
  De frayeur rend leurs coeurs glacés,
  Bien que leur corps en sue ;
  Et mille Chiens oyant sa triste voix
  Lui répondent à longs abois.
  
  Ces tons ensemble confondus,
  Font des accords funèbres,
  Dont les accents sont épandus
  En l'horreur des ténèbres
  Que le Silence abandonne à ce bruit
  Qui l'épouvante, et le détruit.
  
  .
  
  .
  
  .
  
  Tous ces vents qui soufflaient si fort
  Retiennent leurs haleines,
  Il ne pleut plus, la foudre dort,
  On n'oit que les fontaines,
  Et le doux son de quelques luths charmants
  Qui parlent au lieu des Amants.
  
  Je ne puis être découvert,
  La Nuit m'est trop fidèle ;
  Entrons, je sens l'huis entrouvert,
  J'aperçois la chandelle ;
  Dieux ! qu'est ceci ?
  
  je tremble à chaque pas,
  Comme si j'allais au trépas.
  
  Ô toi ! dont l'oeil est mon vainqueur,
  Sylvie, eh ! que t'en semble ?
  
  Un homme qui n'a point de coeur
  Ne faut-il pas qu'il tremble ?
  
  Je n'en ai point, tu possèdes le mien ?
  
  Me veux-tu pas donner le tien ?

• "Atom From Atom" by Ralph Waldo Emerson Visit Ralph Waldo Emerson's Page Read Poem

  Atom from atom yawns as far
  as moon from earth, as star from star.
  
  written before details of the atomic structure of things existed.
  
  found in anthology "The Tree That Time Built"

• "Eros" by Ralph Waldo Emerson Visit Ralph Waldo Emerson's Page Read Poem

  The sense of the world is short, -
  Long and various the report, -
  To love and be beloved;
  Men and gods have not outlearned it;
  And, how oft soe'er they've turned it,
  'Tis not to be improved.

• "If...." by Rudyard Kipling Visit Rudyard Kipling's Page Read Poem

  If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
  If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too:
  If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
  Or being hated don't give way to hating,
  And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
  If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim,
  If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
  
  If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
  Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;
  If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
  And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
  If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
  And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
  If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
  If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
  If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
  Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
  And which is more: you'll be a Man, my son!

• "Crossing The Water" by Sylvia Plath Visit Sylvia Plath's Page Read Poem

  Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.
  
  Where do the black trees go that drink here?
  
  Their shadows must cover Canada.
  
  A little light is filtering from the water flowers.
  
  Their leaves do not wish us to hurry:
  They are round and flat and full of dark advice.
  
  Cold worlds shake from the oar.
  
  The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes.
  
  A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;
  Stars open among the lilies.
  
  Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
  
  This is the silence of astounded souls.

• "When You Are Old" by William Butler Yeats Visit William Butler Yeats's Page Read Poem

  When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
  And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
  And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
  Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
  
  How many loved your moments of glad grace,
  And loved your beauty with love false or true,
  But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
  And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
  
  And bending down beside the glowing bars,
  Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
  And paced upon the mountains overhead
  And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

My Poems

• We Could be Birds

  a short poem

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