Poems
She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.
A violet by a mossy stone
Half-hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
--William Wordsworth
London
I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban.
The mind-forged manacles I hear:
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appalls;
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace walls;
But most through midnight struts I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new born infant's tear
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
--William Blake
"Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave?"
"Ah, are you digging on my grave
My loved one?--planting rue?"
--"No; yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said.
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave?
My nearest, dearest kin?"
--"Ah, no: they sit and think,'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendence of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy?--prodding sly?"
--"Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie."
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say--since I have not guessed!"
--"O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog, who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah, yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not on me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."
--Thomas Hardy
No Title (sort of ironic, because now it has a title)
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there.
I did not die.
--Unknown
No Title
Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-around,
Or listened to rain slapping the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight,
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast,
Time is short, the music won't last.
Do you run through each day on the fly,
When you ask,"How are you?" do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed,
With the next hundred chores running through your head?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast,
Time is short, the music won't last.
Ever told your child,"We'll do it tomorrow,"
And in your haste, not seen his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die,
'Cause you never had time to call and say,"Hi"?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast,
Time is short, the music won't last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere,
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift thrown away.
Life is not a race, so take it slower,
Hear the music before the song is over.
Take time to smell the flowers along life's way,
Smile at someone today for tomorrow they may
Be your friend from today.
--Unknown
Statements
Walk me past the picket fence,
A reminder of ancient and glories immense.
A storage of laughter, fading away,
A bearer of secrets, hidden dismay.
Now she finds haven in a place most uncouth,
And takes her spot sadly, sent to the deuce.
Yet those who argue she shouldn't have quit,
Become, in my eyes, the condemned hypocrites.
Where were they to notice the signs
That she was sinking in the sands of the time?
Did they bother even to pass her a smile,
When it would've driven away the thoughts so vile?
When they were wasting time at vanity fair,
Did they invite her to emerge from her lair?
And then those times they passed her in the halls,
Couldn't they see her fear of the on-closing walls?
She doesn't watch them from the window anymore.
Nor does she seek refuge behind closed doors.
Now she screams to them in a voice loud and brave,
As they walk home from school and right past her grave.
--Me (Kaity Zhang)
No Title
"Come to the edge," I said.
"No, we're afraid."
"Come to the edge."
"No, we're afraid. We'll fall."
"Come to the edge," I said again.
And they came.
And I pushed them.
And they flew.
--Unknown
While We Were Fearing It, It Came
While we were fearing it, it came--
But came with less of fear.
Because that fearing it so long
Had almost made it fair--
There is a Fitting--a Dismay--
A Fitting--A Despair--
Tis harder knowing it is Due
Than knowing it is here.
The Trying on the Utmost
The Morning it is new
Is Terribler than wearing it
A whole existence through.
--Emily Dickinson