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The Forest Sanctuary - Part II.

I.
Bring me the sounding of the torrent-water,
With yet a nearer swell-fresh breeze, awake!
And river, darkening ne'er with hues of slaughter
Thy wave's pure silvery green,-and shining lake,
Spread far before my cabin, with thy zone
Of ancient woods, ye chainless things and lone!
Send voices through the forest aisles, and make
Glad music round me, that my soul may dare,
Cheer'd by such tones, to look back on a dungeon's air!

II.
Oh, Indian hunter of the desert's race!
That with the spear at times, or bended bow,
Dost cross my footsteps in thy fiery chase
Of the swift elk or blue hill's flying roe;
Thou that beside the red night-fire thou heapest,
Beneath the cedars and the star-light sleepest,
Thou know'st not, wanderer-never may'st thou know!-
Of the dark holds wherewith man cumbers earth,

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poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Retirement

Hackney'd in business, wearied at that oar,
Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more,
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
Where, all his long anxieties forgot
Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot,
Or recollected only to gild o'er
And add a smile to what was sweet before,
He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,
Lay his old age upon the lap of ease,
Improve the remnant of his wasted span,
And, having lived a trifler, die a man.
Thus conscience pleads her cause within the breast,
Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd,
And calls a creature form'd for God alone,
For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own,
Calls him away from selfish ends and aims,
From what debilitates and what inflames,

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poem by William Cowper
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The Example of Vertu : Cantos VIII.-XIV.

Capitalum VIII.

Dame Sapyence taryed a lytell whyle
Behynd the other saynge to Dyscrecyon
And began on her to laugh and smyle
Axynge her how I stode in condycyon
Well she sayd in good perfeccyon
But best it is that he maryed be
For to eschewe all yll censualyte
I knowe a lady of meruelous beaute
Spronge out of hyghe and noble lynage
Replete with vertue and full of bounte
Whiche vnto youth were a good maryage
For she is comen of royall apparage
But herde it wyll be to gete her loue
Without youth frayltye do sore reproue
I kneled downe than vpon my kne
Afore dame Sapyence with humble chere
Besechynge her of me to haue pyte
And also Dyscrecyon her syster dere

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poem by Stephen Hawes
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The Unknown Eros. Book I.

I
Saint Valentine’s Day

Well dost thou, Love, thy solemn Feast to hold
In vestal February;
Not rather choosing out some rosy day
From the rich coronet of the coming May,
When all things meet to marry!

O, quick, prævernal Power
That signall'st punctual through the sleepy mould
The Snowdrop's time to flower,
Fair as the rash oath of virginity
Which is first-love's first cry;
O, Baby Spring,
That flutter'st sudden 'neath the breast of Earth
A month before the birth;
Whence is the peaceful poignancy,
The joy contrite,
Sadder than sorrow, sweeter than delight,

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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Endymion: Book IV

Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
While yet our England was a wolfish den;
Before our forests heard the talk of men;
Before the first of Druids was a child;--
Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild
Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude.
There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:--
Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,
Apollo's garland:--yet didst thou divine
Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" Plain
Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
A higher summons:--still didst thou betake
Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
Which undone, these our latter days had risen
On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison

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poem by John Keats
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Christmas-Eve

I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.

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poem by Robert Browning
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My Angel...

My angel has been sent afar to keep watch over you,
May he give you inspiration in everything you do.
May he show you peace and love is always the way,
May you feel the loving care that he brings to you this day.

May my angel keep you near and in his sight my friend,
May you hear my angels heart beating out the love I send.
May he lift you up on high with his golden angel wings,
May he keep you standing tall and teach your heart to sing.

May he whisper wisdom in your ear,
May he touch your soul and calm your fear.
May he fill your desperate wanting need,
May he keep you free from feelings of greed.

May he always walk with you by your side,
May he fill you with courage so you never hide.
May he give to you his pure sweet love,
May he shower you with these gifts from high above.

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poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Choose to Boot It Just to Mute

...and,
You may...
Risk your life for petty reasons.
You may...
Not believe it to accept it,
Just to find there's nothing there to lose.

...and,
You may...
Risk your life for petty reasons.
You may...
Not believe it to accept it,
Just to find there's nothing there to lose.

And 'then'...
You may,
Get dramatic in dismissing diplomatic moments toned...
When knowing love of life you own with a peace of mind condoned,
In and outside of your home,
Is not on loan droning in a moan groaned all day and night long!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I am novice

Pardon me for being novice,
Have no choice and no device,
Can you just render simple an advice,
It Will only add and need to suffice?

Will she be listening?
More she be confusing,
Might not but also be refusing,
And not try for it defusing?

Why a curse on simple luck?
Why to sit as just lame duck?
May I just make the voice mute?
And not just pass and refute,

Have just simple and only belief,
God may give, bless and relief,
May be some amiss and even emiss,
But for sure, will there be miss,

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Veteran

They preferred death to honour
No to life for dishonour
To die for the cause
Constant move with no let or pause

It may be need of an hour
Better lay down life than to lie on floor
Death may not wait and come fast
You will not have time to breathe your last

Chances for bright life may recede
You may fight the war but not concede
Who knows when death may make fast visit?
You will find hell is let loose and find exit

Country may not know it so soon
Bodies may be flown in bright noon
Countrymen may weep and lay a wreath
May mourn and offer roses on death

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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