J'aimerais que tu sois là
Toi que je ne connais pas
Tu vis dans mes pensées
Dans mes rêves, dans mon idéal
#prose
#prose
The Value of Little Things by #WilliamCutter.
What if the little rain should say,
"So small a drop as I
Can ne'er refresh the thirsty earth,
I'll tarry in the sky!"
What if a shining beam of noon
Should in its fountain stay,
Because its feeble light alone
Is not enough for day!
Doth not each rain-drop help to form
The cool refreshing shower?
And every ray of light to warm
And beautify the flower?
To venerate the simple days by #EmilyDickinson.
To venerate the simple days
Which lead the seasons by,
Needs but to remember
That from you or me
They may take the trifle
Termed mortality!
To invest existence with a stately air,
Needs but to remember
That the acorn there
Is the egg of forests
For the upper air!
The River and the Tree by #MargaretESangster.
"You are white and tall and swaying," sang the river to the tree,
"And your leaves are touched with silver—but you never smile on me;
For your branches murmur love songs to the sun-kissed turquoise sky,
And you seem so far above me that I always hurry by!"
"You are laughing in your shallows, you are somber in your deeps,
And below your shining surface there's a heart that never sleeps;
But all day you pass me, dancing, and at evening time you dream,
And I didn't think you liked me," sang the birch-tree to the stream.
So they got a bit acquainted on a glowing summer day,
And they found they liked each other (which is often times the way);
And the river got so friendly, and it ran so very slow,
That the birch-tree shone reflected in the water down below!
The Brook by #AlfredTennyson.
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorpes, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,
And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
The Stone in the Road by #JohnEdwardEverett.
Up hill, with heavy load,
A farmer's wheels turned round;
A stone was in the road,
At which the farmer frowned.
At once, with snap and crack,
The shaft gave way and dropped;
The wagon staggered back,
But struck the stone and stopped.
The stone, frowned on at first,
Now held the wagon fast;
The stone the farmer cursed,
Reclaimed his load at last.
Through life, repeatedly,
The evils help and bless,
And hindrance proves to be
A rock of sure success.
The Crocus's Soliloquy by #HannahFlaggGould.
Down in my solitude under the snow,
Where nothing cheering can reach me;
Here, without light to see how to grow,
I'll trust to nature to teach me.
I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown,
Locked in so gloomy a dwelling;
My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down,
While the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Soon as the frost will get out of my bed,
From this cold dungeon to free me,
I will peer up with my little bright head;
All will be joyful to see me.
Then from my heart will young petals diverge,
As rays of the sun from their focus;
I from the darkness of earth will emerge
A happy and beautiful Crocus!
Gaily arrayed in my yellow and green,
When to their view I have risen,
Will they not wonder how one so serene
Came from so dismal a prison?
Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower
This little lesson may borrow—
Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour,
We come out the brighter to-morrow!
At School by #RudyardKipling.
They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few.)
You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods.
But there is no road through the woods.
Self-Reliance by #IdaMcClatchie.
Myself did make my yesterdays,
And this I truly know,
To all my morrows I shall bring
Their store of joy or woe.
Each cup these lips of mine shall drink,
It shall be filled by me;
For every door that I would pass,
These hands must mould the key.
If e'er on yonder shining height,
A larger life I own,
Though throb my brain, though ache my feet,
Its slope I climb alone.
No more along a darkened way,
I, doubting, blindly grope:
No more I shame my soul with fear,
Nor yet with yearning hope.
But knowing this that I do know,
And seeing what I see,
I rest in this great certainty,-
All may be well with me.
How Did You Die? by #EdmundVanceCooke.
Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?
You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that!
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there—that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;
It's how did you fight and why?
And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only, how did you die?
My Kingdom by #LouisaMayAlcott.
A little kingdom I possess,
Where thoughts and feelings dwell,
And very hard I find the task
Of governing it well;
For passion tempts and troubles me,
A wayward will misleads,
And selfishness its shadow casts
On all my words and deeds.
How can I learn to rule myself,
To be the child I should,
Honest and brave, nor ever tire
Of trying to be good?
How can I keep a sunny soul
To shine along life's way?
How can I tune my little heart
To sweetly sing all day?
Dear Father, help me with the love
That casteth out my fear;
Teach me to lean on thee, and feel
That thou art very near,
That no temptation is unseen,
No childish grief too small,
Since thou, with patience infinite,
Doth soothe and comfort all.
I do not ask for any crown
But that which all may win,
Nor seek to conquer any world
Except the one within.
Be thou my guide until I find,
Led by a tender hand,
Thy happy kingdom in myself,
And dare to take command.
Beautiful Things by #EllenPAllerton.
Beautiful faces are those that wear—
It matters none if dark or fair—
Whole-souled honesty printed there.
Beautiful eyes are those that show,
Like crystal panes where hearth fires glow,
Beautiful thoughts that burn below.
Beautiful lips are those whose words
Leap from the heart like songs of birds,
Yet whose utterances prudence girds.
Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is earnest, brave and true,
Moment by moment the long day through.
Beautiful lives are those that bless
Silent rivers and happiness,
Whose hidden fountains few may guess.
Beautiful feet are those that go
On timely ministries to and fro—
Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so.
Beautiful shoulders are those that bear
Ceaseless burdens of homely care
With patient grace and with daily prayer.
Beautiful lives are those that bless
Silent rivers and happiness,
Whose hidden fountains but few may guess.
Beautiful twilight, at set of sun,
Beautiful goal with race well run,
Beautiful rest, with work well done.
Beautiful graves, where grasses creep,
Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep
Over worn out hand—oh, beautiful sleep.
Apple Dumplings by #MaryETucker.
Gaze not upon my outside, friend,
With scorn or with disgust —
Judge not, until you condescend
To look beneath the crust.
Rough and unsightly is my shell,
But you just dues will render;
And to the world the truth will tell,
And say my heart is tender.
The young may scorn my olden ways,
With their new-fashioned notions;
The old the insult soon repays
By claiming double portions.
'Tis true, like modern Misses, gay,
The truth is sad, distressing!
But I must now say out my say —
I need a little dressing!
My sauce, my rich apparel, hides
My ugly form from sight;
The goodness of my heart, besides,
Will always come to light.
Then judge not by the surface, dear;
Look deeper at the heart:
Above the faults of earth appear
Beneath the better part.
Emancipation by #EmilyDickinson.
No rack can torture me,
My soul's at liberty
Behind this mortal bone
There knits a bolder one
You cannot prick with saw,
Nor rend with scymitar.
Two bodies therefore be;
Bind one, and one will flee.
The eagle of his nest
No easier divest
And gain the sky,
Than mayest thou,
Except thyself may be
Thine enemy;
Captivity is consciousness,
So's liberty.
My Treasure by #ArthurWeir.
"What do you gather?" the maiden said,
Shaking her sunlit curls at me—
"See, these flowers I plucked are dead,
Ah! misery."
"What do you gather?" the miser said,
Clinking his gold, as he spoke to me—
"I cannot sleep at night for dread
Of thieves," said he.
"What do you gather?" the dreamer said,
"I dream dreams of what is to be;
Daylight comes, and my dreams are fled,
Ah! woe is me."
"What do you gather?" the young man said—
"I seek fame for eternity,
Toiling on while the world's abed,
Alone," said he.
"What do I gather?" I laughing said,
"Nothing at all save memory,
Sweet as flowers, but never dead,
Like thine, Rosie."
"I have no fear of thieves," I said,
"Daylight kills not my reverie,
Fame will find I am snug abed,
That comes to me."
"The past is my treasure, friends," I said,
"Time but adds to my treasury,
Happy moments are never fled
Away from me."
"All one needs to be rich," I said,
"Is to live that his past shall be
Sweet in his thoughts, as a wild rose red,
Eternally."
Trees by #JoyceKilmer.
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Good Timber by #DouglasMalloch.
The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
But lived and died a scrubby thing.
The man who never had to toil
To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man
But lived and died as he began.
Good timber does not grow with ease,
The stronger wind, the stronger trees,
The further sky, the greater length,
The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.
Where thickest lies the forest growth
We find the patriarchs of both.
And they hold counsel with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and much of strife.
This is the common law of life.
No Coward Soul Is Mine by #EmilyBrontë.
No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven's glories shine
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear
O God within my breast
Almighty ever-present Deity
Life, that in me hast rest,
As I Undying Life, have power in Thee
Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts, unutterably vain,
Worthless as withered weeds
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main
To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thy infinity,
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality.
With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears
Though earth and moon were gone
And suns and universes ceased to be
And Thou wert left alone
Every Existence would exist in thee
There is not room for Death
Nor atom that his might could render void
Since thou art Being and Breath
And what thou art may never be destroyed.
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