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To The Miami

Kiss me, Miami, thou most constant one!
I love thee more for that thou changest not.
When Winter comes with frigid blast,
Or when the blithesome Spring is past
And Summer's here with sunshine hot,
Or in sere Autumn, thou has still the pow'r
To charm alike, whate'er the hour.

Kiss me, Miami, with thy dewy lips;
Throbs fast my heart e'en as thine own breast beats.
My soul doth rise as rise thy waves,
As each on each the dark shore laves
And breaks in ripples and retreats.
There is a poem in thine every phase;
Thou still has sung through all thy days.

Tell me, Miami, how it was with thee
When years ago Tecumseh in his prime
His birch boat o'er thy waters sent,
And pitched upon thy banks his tent.

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poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Dream

Was it a dream? We sail'd, I thought we sail'd,
Martin and I, down the green Alpine stream,
Border'd, each bank, with pines; the morning sun,
On the wet umbrage of their glossy tops,
On the red pinings of their forest-floor,
Drew a warm scent abroad; behind the pines
The mountain-skirts, with all their sylvan change
Of bright-leaf'd chestnuts and moss'd walnut-trees
And the frail scarlet-berried ash, began.
Swiss chalets glitter'd on the dewy slopes,
And from some swarded shelf, high up, there came
Notes of wild pastoral music--over all
Ranged, diamond-bright, the eternal wall of snow.
Upon the mossy rocks at the stream's edge,
Back'd by the pines, a plank-built cottage stood,
Bright in the sun; the climbing gourd-plant's leaves
Muffled its walls, and on the stone-strewn roof
Lay the warm golden gourds; golden, within,
Under the eaves, peer'd rows of Indian corn.
We shot beneath the cottage with the stream.

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poem by Matthew Arnold
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If You Must Know

If you must know...

I'm the meadow.
I'm the stream through the hills.
I'm the valley below.
If you must know.
(If you must know)

If you must know...
I'm the Winter breeze.
I'm what you see but can't believe it.
I'm the heat.
I'm the snow.
If you must know.
(If you must know)

If you must know.
I'm the moonlight at night.
I'm the Sun giving 'sunlove'
I'm there at birth and when life goes.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Annan Water

'Annan water's wading deep,
And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
Because I love her best of ony.

'Gar saddle me the bonny black,--
Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:
For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
And all to see my bonny ladye.'--

He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;
But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.

He has loupen on the bonny gray,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.

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poem by Andrew Lang
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The Love We Once Shared

An unmarked gravestone.
When is the last time you visited?
The forgotten, the forgotten, the forgotten.
How many days have went bye?
How many times have you smiled since then?
How many time have you woke in the middle of the night screaming and clenching you fist?
How many, oh how many tear drops fall and wash away in the stream of lost souls just trying to find their way back home?

His name, empty an hollow, his date of both life and death doesn't exist.
All that remains is some old bones below the dirt of an unmarked grave.
I remember when he was first conceived, things were so different back then.
Not the fear that is present ever so much now.
No one wants to help each other, too afraid to get pulled down.
But once your down here, where is it you think you are going go?
I just don't know ow ow, but I do remember the love we once shared.
I remember as you were taken away in handcuffs crying but I didn't mean too.

Hard to forget such traumatic moments.
Emotion becomes the string to the cloth we are yet to weave.
For love we will all deceive.

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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Delusion

I would live forever beneath a rainbow if I could,
But if I became a dove, I would lift my wings and fly past that rainbow,
Worship the sun, play hide and seek with
Clouds of fortune and
When evening set in I would
Dance amongst the stars, search for the moon,
Let the light of the moon guide me towards
Some other planet and there I would make my home.
The rings of Saturn are enticing, and far more mysterious than
The seas and continents of the planet earth-
Saturn has always been the foremost and intriguing planet
Within the magical ocean of my dream world-
Yesterday I awakened at dawn, to find a rainbow on the horizon-
Its vibrant colors seemed to summon me, and Inside the world of my fantasies
I became that dove and soared upward toward the sky
Until I found myself hovering amidst that rainbow-
Its colors reflecting in the stream below-
But sad to say, rainbows always disappear and
I would find myself without destination wading in that stream,
That stream that leads towards nowhere.

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poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Crow And The Doe

Again and again the wise ol’ crow said to the sweet, young doe,
“Don’t play by the winding brook since that’s where hunters go.”
But sweet, young doe said, “I love to play by this gentle stream.
As I drink its cool water, I see how pretty that I seem.
While I’m there, I’ll be watchful and be careful as I can.
Besides, the many times I’ve played there I’ve never seen a man.”

Wise ‘ol crow frowned, pointing his wing as he quickly said,
“Innocent, sweet young doe, you won’t see hunters; just feel their lead.
You may drink the water and watch yourself while you’re having fun
Though from my perch I can see hunters and each one has a gun.
Please stay deep in the forest where no man or gun will go.
Play with your friends and have fun, but always let your mother know.”

Well, sweet, young doe had other ideas of what would be fun to do.
She thought, “Since I’m now two year old, I’ll try something new.”
There was fun and lots food for the taking at a farm far down stream.
To play with calves, piglets and chicks was almost too much to dream.
So off went young doe and her friends, laughing and singing at will,
“With our new buddies we’ll eat farm food till we’ve all had our fill.”

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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There is a Hill

There is a hill beside the silver Thames,
Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine
And brilliant underfoot with thousand gems
Steeply the thickets to his floods decline.
Straight trees in every place
Their thick tops interlace,
And pendent branches trail their foliage fine
Upon his watery face.

Swift from the sweltering pasturage he flows:
His stream, alert to seek the pleasant shade,
Pictures his gentle purpose, as he goes
Straight to the caverned pool his toil has made.
His winter floods lay bare
The stout roots in the air:
His summer streams are cool, when they have played
Among their fibrous hair.

A rushy island guards the sacred bower,
And hides it from the meadow, where in peace

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poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Genesis BK IV

ll. 169-191) ....It did not seem good to the Lord of heaven that
Adam should longer be alone as warden and keeper of this new
Paradise. Wherefore the King, Almighty God, wrought him an
helpmeet; the Author of life made woman and brought her unto the
man whom He loved. He took the stuff of Adam's body, and
secretly drew forth a rib from his side. He was fast asleep in
peaceful slumber; he knew no pain nor any pang; there came no
blood from out the wound, but the Lord of angels drew forth from
his body a growing rib, and the man was unhurt. Of this God
fashioned a lovely maid, breathing into her life and an eternal
soul. They were like unto the angels. The bride of Adam was a
living spirit. By God's might both were born into the world in
the loveliness of youth. They knew no sin nor any evil, but in
the hearts of both there burned the love of God.

(ll. 192-195) Then the Gracious King, Lord of all human kind,
blessed these two, male and female, man and wife, and spake this
word:

(ll. 196-205) "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the green earth

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poem by Caedmon
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Favorites of Pan

Once, long ago, before the gods
Had left this earth, by stream and forest glade,
Where the first plough upturned the clinging sods,
Or the lost shepherd strayed,

Often to the tired listener's ear
There came at noonday or beneath the stars
A sound, he knew not whence, so sweet and clear,
That all his aches and scars

And every brooded bitterness,
Fallen asunder from his soul took flight,
Like mist or darkness yielding to the press
Of an unnamed delight,-

A sudden brightness of the heart,
A magic fire drawn down from Paradise,
That rent the cloud with golden gleam apart,-
And far before his eyes

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poem by Archibald Lampman
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