Poems about daily (51 Poems)

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    A Valentine (Lewis Carroll Poem)

    Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see him when he came, but didn’t seem to miss him if he stayed away. And cannot pleasures, while they last, Be actual unless, when past, They … Continue reading

    Acrostic (Lewis Carroll Poem)

    Little maidens, when you look On this little story-book, Reading with attentive eye Its enticing history, Never think that hours of play Are your only HOLIDAY, And that in a HOUSE of joy Lessons serve but to annoy: If in … Continue reading

    The Instinct Of Hope (John Clare Poem)

    Is there another world for this frail dust To warm with life and be itself again? Something about me daily speaks there must, And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain? ‘Tis nature’s prophesy that such will be, And everything … Continue reading

    May (John Clare Poem)

    Come queen of months in company Wi all thy merry minstrelsy The restless cuckoo absent long And twittering swallows chimney song And hedge row crickets notes that run From every bank that fronts the sun And swathy bees about the … Continue reading

    Summer (John Clare Poem)

    Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come, For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom, And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest, And love is burning diamonds … Continue reading

    Georgic on Memory (Erin Belieu Poem)

    Make your daily monument the Ego, use a masochist’s epistemology of shame and dog-eared certainty that others less exacting might forgo. If memory’s an elephant, then feed the animal. Resist revision: the stand of feral raspberry, contraband fruit the crows … Continue reading

    O World, be Nobler (Laurence Binyon Poem)

    O WORLD, be nobler, for her sake! If she but knew thee what thou art, What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done In thee, beneath thy daily sun, Know’st thou not that her tender heart For pain and very … Continue reading

    The Growth of Love (Robert Seymour Bridges Poem)

    1 They that in play can do the thing they would, Having an instinct throned in reason’s place, –And every perfect action hath the grace Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood– These are the best: yet be there workmen good Who … Continue reading

    My Comforter (Emily Bronte Poem)

    Well hast thou spoken, and yet, not taught A feeling strange or new; Thou hast but roused a latent thought, A cloud-closed beam of sunshine, brought To gleam in open view. Deep down, concealed within my soul, That light lies … Continue reading

    Death (Emily Bronte Poem)

    Death! that struck when I was most confiding In my certain faith of joy to be – Strike again, Time’s withered branch dividing From the fresh root of Eternity! Leaves, upon Time’s branch, were growing brightly, Full of sap, and … Continue reading

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