Some of my favourite poems :
Mazhar-ud-Deen
To an Orchid
She looks like water
through shimmering light
And dazzles with softness
and her sight
Too pure to touch
lest she be marred
her delicate skin
so soft, so bright
She brings new joy
in every light
she shines in day
and glows at night
My Garden blooms
with my orchid pink
who cannot know
this Atlas' plight
I am afraid
to be a blight
to be a blot
on this ray of light
She brings to me
a beauteous pain
a dream so nice
an ache so right
MARY
T. LATHRAP (1838-1895)
A WOMAN'S ANSWER TO A MAN'S QUESTION.
[Written in reply to a man's poetic unfolding of what he conceived to be a woman's duty.]
Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
Ever made by the hand above—
A woman's heart, and a woman's life
And a woman's wonderful love?
Do you know you have asked for this priceless thing
As a child might ask for a toy,
Demanding what others have died to win,
With the reckless dash of a boy?
You have written my lesson of duty out,
Man-like you have questioned me;
Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul
Until I shall question thee.
You require your mutton shall always be hot,
Your socks and your shirt be whole;
I require your heart to be true as God's stars,
And as pure as heaven your soul.
You require a cook for your mutton and beef;
I require a far better thing.
A seamstress you're wanting for socks and shirts;
I look for a man and a king.
A king for the beautiful realm called home,
And a man that the maker, God,
Shall look upon as he did the first
And say, "It is very good."
I am fair and young, but the rose will fade
From my soft, young cheek one day,
Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves,
As you did 'mid the bloom of May?
Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep,
I may launch my all on its tide?
A loving woman finds heaven or hell
On the day she is made a bride.
I require all things that are grand and true,
All things that a man should be;
If you give all this, I would stake my life
To be all you demand of me.
If you cannot do this — a laundress and cook
You can hire, with little to pay,
But a woman's heart and a woman's life
Are not to be won that way.
PAUL
LAURENCE DUNBAR (1872-1906)
We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
LORD
ALFRED TENNYSON (1809-1892)
from In Memoriam A.H.H.
5
I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel:
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold;
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given outline and no more.
DOROTHY
PARKER:
A
Fairly Sad Tale
I
think that I shall never know
Why
I am thus, and I am so.
Around
me, other girls inspire
In
men the rush and roar of fire,
The
sweet transparency of glass,
The
tenderness of April grass,
The
durability of granite;
But
me- I don't know how to plan it.
The
lads I've met in Cupid's deadlock
Were-
shall we say?- born out of wedlock.
They
broke my heart, they stilled my song,
And
said they had to run along,
Explaining,
so to sop my tears,
First
came their parents or careers.
But
ever does experience
Deny
me wisdom, calm, and sense!
Though
she's a fool who seeks to capture
The
twenty-first fine, careless rapture,
I
must go on, till ends my rope,
Who
from my birth was cursed with hope.
A
heart in half is chaste, archaic;
But
mine resembles a mosaic-
The
thing's become ridiculous!
Why
am I so? Why am I thus?
But
Not Forgotten
I
think, no matter where you stray,
That
I shall go with you a way.
Though
you may wander sweeter lands,
You
will not soon forget my hands,
Nor
yet the way I held my head,
Nor
all the tremulous things I said.
You
still will see me, small and white
And
smiling, in the secret night,
And
feel my arms about you when
The
day comes fluttering back again.
I
think, no matter where you be,
You'll
hold me in your memory
And
keep my image, there without me,
By
telling later loves about me.
Symptom Recital
I
do not like my state of mind;
I'm
bitter, querulous, unkind.
I
hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I
do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I
dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I
hate to go to bed at night.
I
snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I
cannot take the simplest joke.
I
find no peace in paint or type.
My
world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm
disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For
what I think, I'd be arrested.
I
am not sick. I am not well.
My
quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My
soul is crushed, my spirit sore:
I
do not like me any more.
I
cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I
ponder on the narrow house.
I
shudder at the thought of men.
I'm
due to fall in love again.
Experience
Some
men break your heart in two,
Some men fawn and flatter,
Some
men never look at you;
And that clears up the matter.
De
Profundis
Oh,
is it, then, Utopian
To
hope that I may meet a man
Who'll
not relate, in accents suave,
The
tales of girls he used to have?
Love
Song
My
own dear love, he is strong and bold
And he cares not what comes after.
His
words ring sweet as a chime of gold,
And his eyes are lit with laughter.
He
is jubilant as a flag unfurled --
Oh, a girl, she'd not forget him.
My
own dear love, he is all my world, --
And I wish I'd never met him.
My
love, he's mad, and my love, he's fleet,
And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
The
ways are fair to his roaming feet,
And the skies are sunlit for him.
As
sharply sweet to my heart he seems
As the fragrance of acacia.
My
own dear love, he is all my dreams, --
And I wish he were in Asia.
My
love runs by like a day in June,
And he makes no friends of sorrows.
He'll
tread his galloping rigadoon
In the pathway of the morrows.
He'll
live his days where the sunbeams start,
Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
My
own dear love, he is all my heart, --
And I wish somebody'd shoot him.
Unfortunate
Coincidence
By
the time you swear you're his,
Shivering
and sighing,
And
he vows his passion is
Infinite,
undying -
Lady,
make a note of this:
One
of you is lying.
Words
Of Comfort To Be Scratched On A Mirror
Helen
of Troy had a wandering glance;
Sappho's
restriction was only the sky;
Ninon
was ever the chatter of France;
But
oh, what a good girl am I!
Interview
The
ladies men admire, I've heard,
Would
shudder at a wicked word.
Their
candle gives a single light;
They'd
rather stay at home at night.
They
do not keep awake till three,
Nor
read erotic poetry.
They
never sanction the impure,
Nor
recognize an overture.
They
shrink from powders and from paints.
So
far, I have had no complaints.
Men
The
hail you as their morning star
Because
you are the way you are.
If
you return the sentiment,
They'll
try to make you different;
And
once they have you, safe and sound,
They
want to change you all around.
Your
ways and moods they put a curse on;
They'd
make you another person.
They
cannot let you go your gait;
They
influence and they educate.
They'd
alter all that they admired.
They
make me sick, they make me tired.
Frustration
If
I had a shiny gun,
I
could have a world of fun
Speeding
bullets through the brains
Of
the folk who give me pains;
Or
had I some poison gas,
I
could make the moments pass
Bumping
off a number of
People
whom I do not love.
But
I have no lethal weapon-
Thus
does Fate our pleasure step on!
So
they still are quick and well
Who
should be, by rights, in hell.
Rhyme
Against Living
If
wild my breast and sore my pride,
I
bask in dreams of suicide;
If
cool my heart and high my head,
I
think, "How lucky are the dead!"
Theory
Into
love and out again,
Thus
I went, and thus I go.
Spare
your voice, and hold your pen -
Well
and bitterly I know
All
the songs were ever sung,
All
the words were ever said;
Could
it be, when I was young,
Some
one dropped me on my head?
Over
young are you to guide me,
And
your blood is slow and sleeping.
If
you must, then sit beside me....
Tell
me, why have I been weeping?
Observation
If
I don't drive around the park,
I'm
sure to make my mark.
If
I'm in bed each night by ten,
I
may get back my looks again.
If
I abstain from fun and such,
I'll
probably amount to much;
But
I shall stay the way I am,
Because
I do not give a damn.
Resume
Razors
pain you
Rivers
are damp
Acids
stain you
and
drugs cause cramps
Guns
aren't lawful
nooses
give
Gas
smells awful
you
might as well live!
Day
Dreams
We'd
build a little bungalow
If you and I were one,
And carefully we'd plan it so
We'd get the morning sun.
I'd rise each morn at rosy dawn
And bustle gaily down;
In evening's cool, you'd spray the lawn
When you came back from town.
A little cookbook I should buy,
Your dishes I'd prepare,
And though they came out black and dry,
I know you wouldn't care.
How valiantly i'd strive to learn,
Assured you'd not complain!
And if my finger I should burn,
You'd kiss away the pain.
I'd buy a little scrubbing-brush
And beautify the floors;
I'd warble gaily as a thrush
but tho i'd cook and sew and scrub
A higher life I'd find:
I'd join a little women's club
And cultivate my mind.
If you and I were one, my dear,
A higher life we'd lead;
We'd travel on, from year to year,
At no increase of speed.
Ah, clear to me the vision of
The things that we should do!
And so I think it best, my love,
To string along as two.
----
Woman
wants monogamy;
Man
delights in novelty.
Love
is a woman's moon and sun;
Man
has other forms of fun.
Woman
lives but in her lord;
Count
to ten, and a man is bored.
With
this the gist and sum of it,
What
earthly good can come of it?
EMILY
DICKINSON
HE
touched me, so I live to know
That
such a day, permitted so,
I
groped upon his breast.
It
was a boundless place to me,
And
silenced, as the awful sea
Puts
minor streams to rest.
And
now, I ’m different from before,
As
if I breathed superior air,
Or
brushed a royal gown;
My
feet, too, that had wandered so,
My
gypsy face transfigured now
To
tenderer renown.
----
MY
worthiness is all my doubt,
His merit all my fear,
Contrasting
which, my qualities
Do lowlier appear;
Lest
I should insufficient prove
For his beloved need,
The
chiefest apprehension
Within my loving creed.
So
I, the undivine abode
Of his elect content,
Conform
my soul as ’t were a church
Unto her sacrament.
----
MY
river runs to thee:
Blue
sea, wilt welcome me?
My
river waits reply.
Oh
sea, look graciously!
I
’ll fetch thee brooks
From
spotted nooks,—
Say,
sea,
Take
me!
----
IF
you were coming in the fall,
I
’d brush the summer by
With
half a smile and half a spurn,
As
housewives do a fly.
If
I could see you in a year,
I
’d wind the months in balls,
And
put them each in separate drawers,
Until
their time befalls.
If
only centuries delayed,
I
’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting
till my fingers dropped
Into
Van Diemen’s land.
If
certain, when this life was out,
That
yours and mine should be,
I
’d toss it yonder like a rind,
And
taste eternity.
But
now, all ignorant of the length
Of
time’s uncertain wing,
It
goads me, like the goblin bee,
That
will not state its sting.
ANDREW
MARVELL
Dialogue Between the Body & Soul:
SOUL
O
who shall, from this dungeon, raise
A
soul enslav'd so many ways?
With
bolts of bones, that fetter'd stands
In
feet, and manacled in hands;
Here
blinded with an eye, and there
Deaf
with the drumming of an ear;
A
soul hung up, as 'twere, in chains
Of
nerves, and arteries, and veins;
Tortur'd,
besides each other part,
In
a vain head, and double heart.
BODY
O
who shall me deliver whole
From
bonds of this tyrannic soul?
Which,
stretch'd upright, impales me so
That
mine own precipice I go;
And
warms and moves this needless frame,
(A
fever could but do the same)
And,
wanting where its spite to try,
Has
made me live to let me die.
A
body that could never rest,
Since
this ill spirit it possest.
SOUL
What
magic could me thus confine
Within
another's grief to pine?
Where
whatsoever it complain,
I
feel, that cannot feel, the pain;
And
all my care itself employs;
That
to preserve which me destroys;
Constrain'd
not only to endure
Diseases,
but, what's worse, the cure;
And
ready oft the port to gain,
Am
shipwreck'd into health again.
BODY
But
physic yet could never reach
The
maladies thou me dost teach;
Whom
first the cramp of hope does tear,
And
then the palsy shakes of fear;
The
pestilence of love does heat,
Or
hatred's hidden ulcer eat;
Joy's
cheerful madness does perplex,
Or
sorrow's other madness vex;
Which
knowledge forces me to know,
And
memory will not forego.
What
but a soul could have the wit
To
build me up for sin so fit?
So
architects do square and hew
Green
trees that in the forest grew.
EDNA
ST. JOHN MILLAY
Passer
Mortuus Est
Death
devours all lovely things:
Lesbia
with her sparrow
Shares
the darkness,--presently
Every
bed is narrow.
Unremembered
as old rain
Dries
the sheer libation;
And
the little petulant hand
Is
an annotation.
After
all, my erstwhile dear,
My
no longer cherished,
Need
we say it was not love,
Just
because it perished?
Lament
Listen,
children,
Your
father is dead.
From
his old coats
I'll
make you little jackets;
I'll
make you little trousers
From
his old pants.
There'll
be in his pockets
Things
he used to put there:
Keys
and pennies
Covered
with tobacco.
Dan
shall have the pennies
To
save in his bank;
Anne
shall have the keys
To
make a pretty noise with.
Life
must go on
And
the dead be forgotten;
Life
must go on
Though
good men die.
Anne,
eat your breakfast;
Dan,
take your medicine.
Life
must go on;
I
forget just why.
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