The Spring And The Fall Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The trees were black where the bark was wet.
I see them yet, in the spring of the year.
He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach
That was out of the way and hard to reach.
In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The rooks went up with a raucous trill.
I hear them still, in the fall of the year.
He laughed at all I dared to praise,
And broke my heart, in little ways.
Year be springing or year be falling,
The bark will drip and the birds be calling.
There’s much that’s fine to see and hear
In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year.
‘Tis not love’s going hurt my days.
But that it went in little ways.
Laughter And Tears Ix Poem by Kahlil Gibran
As the Sun withdrew his rays from the garden, and the moon threw cushioned beams upon the flowers, I sat under the trees pondering upon the phenomena of the atmosphere, looking through the branches at the strewn stars which glittered like chips of silver upon a blue carpet; and I could hear from a distance the agitated murmur of the rivulet singing its way briskly into the valley.
When the birds took shelter among the boughs, and the flowers folded their petals, and tremendous silence descended, I heard a rustle of feet though the grass. I took heed and saw a young couple approaching my arbor. The say under a tree where I could see them without being seen.
After he looked about in every direction, I heard the young man saying, ‘Sit by me, my beloved, and listen to my heart; smile, for your happiness is a symbol of our future; be merry, for the sparkling days rejoice with us.
‘My soul is warning me of the doubt in your heart, for doubt in love is a sin. ‘Soon you will be the owner of this vast land, lighted by this beautiful moon; soon you will be the mistress of my palace, and all the servants and maids will obey your commands.
‘Smile, my beloved, like the gold smiles from my father’s coffers.
‘My heart refuses to deny you its secret. Twelve months of comfort and travel await us; for a year we will spend my father’s gold at the blue lakes of Switzerland, and viewing the edifices of Italy and Egypt, and resting under the Holy Cedars of Lebanon; you will meet the princesses who will envy you for your jewels and clothes.
‘All these things I will do for you; will you be satisfied? ‘
In a little while I saw them walking and stepping on flowers as the rich step upon the hearts of the poor. As they disappeared from my sight, I commenced to make comparison between love and money, and to analyze their position in the heart.
Money! The source of insincere love; the spring of false light and fortune; the well of poisoned water; the desperation of old age!
I was still wandering in the vast desert of contemplation when a forlorn and specter-like couple passed by me and sat on the grass; a young man and a young woman who had left their farming shacks in the nearby fields for this cool and solitary place.
After a few moments of complete silence, I heard the following words uttered with sighs from weather-bitten lips, ‘Shed not tears, my beloved; love that opens our eyes and enslaves our hearts can give us the blessing of patience. Be consoled in our delay our delay, for we have taken an oath and entered Love’s shrine; for our love will ever grow in adversity; for it is in Love’s name that we are suffering the obstacles of poverty and the sharpness of misery and the emptiness of separation. I shall attack these hardships until I triumph and place in your hands a strength that will help over all things to complete the journey of life.
‘Love – which is God – will consider our sighs and tears as incense burned at His altar and He will reward us with fortitude. Good-bye, my beloved; I must leave before the heartening moon vanishes.’
A pure voice, combined of the consuming flame of love, and the hopeless bitterness of longing and the resolved sweetness of patience, said, ‘Good-bye, my beloved.’
They separated, and the elegy to their union was smothered by the wails of my crying heart.
I looked upon slumbering Nature, and with deep reflection discovered the reality of a vast and infinite thing – something no power could demand, influence acquire, nor riches purchase. Nor could it be effaced by the tears of time or deadened by sorrow; a thing which cannot be discovered by the blue lakes of Switzerland or the beautiful edifices of Italy.
It is something that gathers strength with patience, grows despite obstacles, warms in winter, flourishes in spring, casts a breeze in summer, and bears fruit in autumn – I found Love.
Naming Of Parts Poem by Henry Reed
Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But today,
Today we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens likecoral in all the neighboring gardens,
And today we have naming of parts.
This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.
This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For today we have the naming of parts.
It Was A Lover And His Lass Poem by William Shakespeare
IT was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o’er the green corn-field did pass,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
Between the acres of the rye,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that life was but a flower
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
And, therefore, take the present time
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crown`d with the prime
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
Bluebells Poem by David Wood
Bluebells carpet the woodland floor
Packed so tightly that insects tip-toe
Softly and quietly between them.
Their beauty unlocks a woodland door
With such colour of delicate blue,
And a fragrance that is heaven sent.
They droop their heads in the spring rain,
With their beauty making all things new.
Their magic weaves a pleasant spell
A sea of blue that meanders in the breeze
And floats delicately over the forest floor,
Their fragrance creates a delicate smell.
Nature now has all its beauty brought
To the fore before summer casts its spell
Delicate bluebells making spring so fine
Their time on earth far too short.
Alchemy Poem by Sara Teasdale
I lift my heart as spring lifts up
A yellow daisy to the rain;
My heart will be a lovely cup
Altho’ it holds but pain.
For I shall learn from flower and leaf
That color every drop they hold,
To change the lifeless wine of grief
To living gold.
The Pasture Poem by Robert Frost
I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I shan’t be gone long. — You come too.
I’m going out to fetch the little calf
That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan’t be gone long. — You come too.
Spring, The Sweet Spring Poem by Thomas Nashe
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!
Winged Words Poem by Valsa George
Like a creature hibernating in its burrow
Waiting to come out with the first verdure of spring
The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart
Through the long winter awaiting another spring
After staying torpid inside for long
At a time I expected it the least
Timidly came out the first word
As shaky as a calf getting up for the first time
Then another came and word after word in a row
Like pellets of rain on the window pane
I boiled them in the crucibles of my imagination
And finally dipping them in the ocean of my emotions
But rhyme came to set constraints
For the right alignment I struggled
I had to decide on its texture and format
Pondered if it should be a sonnet or an ode
I might have kept the door open for long
Alas! All my words and fancies flew away
Like birds taking on wings into the sky
From a cage where they were imprisoned for long
I stood so helpless with my mouth shut
Staring blankly out into the airy nothing
Like one lost in the doorway of his own threshold
Unable to call back those winged words lost in the void
Spring In My Native Poem by Muzahidul Reza
During the spring in my riverine country
Green is every big and small tree,
Soft is every blade of grasses on soil
Cute is every mole and hill;
Love flies here at this romantic time
Singing the most thrilling rhyme,
Seeing here this nature
Anyone can draw its features;
Flowers will help them
With beauty and fragrance,
Bees and butterflies will attract them
To taste nectar and multi colors;
Birds will sing for them
Sweetly without any chorus,
West wind will enchant them
Randomly blowing in spring tunes;
Green and golden fields will soften them
Hoping for enough crops,
And watching the folks interesting
At late spring early harvesting;
Village boys and girls will meet them
With the chains of bakul flowers,
And smilingly will propose them
To taste half ripe spring blueberries;
They will also invite them
Arranging some spring ceremonies,
Being so close friends
Offering delicious homemade food;
In spring every year I come here
Where my roots call me, ‘come dear’
To observe, taste and hear
It is spring, all good unite together.
