I never knew there would be a better tomorrow But you've come into my life and taken away all my sorrow My days of sadness are a thing of the past Because I have found true love at last My days of emptiness are gone for good Because you fill a void in my heart that you should You've opened a window You've shown me the light And my love for you will continue to burn bright. Author: Yvonne Warren free dating sites
A BETTER TOMORROW
– adminTo My Wife a poem by Oscar Wilde
– adminI can write no stately poem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.
Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900)
All the World’s a Stage by William Shakespeare
– adminAll the World’s a Stage
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
To Hope by John Keats
– adminWhen by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!
Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!
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Robert Frost – Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
– adminWhose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there’s some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Daffodils by William Wordsworth
– adminI WANDER’D lonely as a cloud
- That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
- A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
- And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch’d in never-ending line
- Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
- Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
- In such a jocund company:
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
- In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
- Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).
CRADLE SONG
– adminby: William Blake (1757-1827)
SLEEP, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek, and o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.
Crossing America
– adminDust has gathered on a photograph of you.
The years you weathered from the storm called
life has taken its toll.
There you sit with lines and creases upon
your face, hands cracked from bending over
washing floors and scrubbing dishes.
All the meals you cooked without the kindness
of a thank you.
Life was hard crossing the parries. If you
stood before me now, I would say thank you
for being strong to braving a new world.
I’m looking at your photograph now from a
distant past. My great grandmother’s crossing
America in a covered wagon with my fathers
Dad.
Jim Mack Rainey