| Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening Whose 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 is 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 Frost |
| Promises to Keep |
| Old Tunes As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose, Float in the garden when no wind blows, Come to us, go from us, whence no one know. So the old tunes float in my mind, And go from me leaving no trace behind, Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind. But in the instant the airs remain, I know the laughter and the pain Of times that will not come again. I try to catch at many a tune, Like petals of light fallen from the moon, Broken and bright on a dark lagoon, But they float away....for who can hold Youth....or perfume....or the moon's gold? -- Sara Teasdale |
| The Haunted Chamber Each heart has its haunted chamber, where the silent moonlight falls. On the floor are mysterious footsteps, there are whispers along the walls! And mine at times is haunted by phantoms of the Past As motionless as shadows by the silent moonlight cast. A form sits by the window, that is not seen by the day, For, as soon as the dawn approaches, it vanishes away. It sits there in the moonlight, itself as pale and still, And points with its airy finger across the windowsill. Without before the window, there stand the gloomy pines, Whose boughs wave upward and downward as wave these thoughts of mine. What are ye, O pallid phantoms that haunt my troubled brain? That vanish when day approaches, and at night return again? -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |
| Gray Fog A fog drifts in, the heavy laden cold white ghost of the sea... One by one, the hills go out, the road and the pepper-tree. I watch the fog float in at the window with the whole world gone blind, Everything, even my longing, drowses, even the thoughts in my mind. -- Sara Teasdale |
| Think Not My Spirits Are Always Light Oh! think not my spirits are always as light, and as free from a pang as they seem to you now; Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of tonight will return with tomorrow to brighten my brow. No! life is a waste of wearisome hours, which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, is always the first to be touched by the thorns. But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile -- may we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile, and the smile that compassion can turn to a tear. The thread of our lives would be dark, Heaven knows, if it weren't with friendship and love intertwined; And I'd care not how soon I may sink to repose, if these blessings should cease to be dear to my mind. -- Thomas Moore |
| Compensation I should be glad of loneliness and hours that go on broken wings, A thirsty body, a tired heart and the unchanging ache of things, If I could make a single song as lovely and as full of light, As hushed and brief as a falling star on a still and frozen winter night. -- Sara Teasdale |
| Let It Be Forgotten Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten for ever and ever, time is a kind friend, he will make us old. If anyone ask, say it was forgotten long and long ago, As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall in a long forgottten snow. -- Sara Teasdale |
| Live each day as if your life had just begun. -- Johann von Goethe |