Poems you love and want to share

That is so beautiful and so sad. It says so much about a failed marriage or relationship.

Think of me at night when sleep is near,
And I who loved you am so far away;

Apparently this poem is by Patience Strong.

Winifred Emma May was a poet from the United Kingdom, best known for her work under the pen name Patience Strong. Her poems were usually short, simple and imbued with sentimentality, the beauty of nature and inner strength.
Born: June 4, 1907, Catford
Died: August 28, 1990, Sedlescombe

I remember Patience Strong bertie. She used to write in one of my mother's magazines, either Woman or Woman's Own.
I love poetry. Far too many to choose from. I enjoy Longfellow's various Tales from a Wayside Inn, and many passages from The Song of Hiawatha.
I like The Road not Taken, by Robert Frost and lots of the war poets which we studied for A level. Gray's Elegy is quite evocative too. If I'm on my own I read poetry aloud. It's been interesting reading other people's choices on here. Some lovely pieces.

So hard to choose when I love so many poems! One of them is William Wordsworth's "She dwelt among the untrodden ways"-

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid who were 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!

Another,more humorous,is by Walter Alexander Raleigh -

I wish I loved the human race,
I wish I loved its funny face,
And when I'm introduced to one,
I wish I thought "What jolly fun!"

I think this second one might well be appreciated by fellow Aspies and Autism sufferers!

There are some lovely poems on here. Thank you. Thanks also juggernaut. I didn't realise he was buried in this country. DH comes from Lincolnshire, so we'll make a special trip to Scopwick next time we go over.

Thanks for all your poems love them. Some old favourites but some I didn't know at all. GNHQ we need an anthology!!!

Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae sub Regno

LAST night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to you, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Ernest Dowson

The Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light;
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W. B. Yeats

Here is a poem I was taught at Primary School and I still remember it over sixty years ago!

Silver by Walter de la Mare

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

This is a poem/verse that means a lot to me.

I was brought up in a city and worked there too. When married we moved here which is a wonderful rural setting. Even although our children are married, have their own homes and families now. Unfortunately my beloved husband died very suddenly not long after that. Which is the worst thing imaginable. This the place for me.

There are places far from cities
where the spirit finds release
Where the mountains lochs and glens
speak eternally of peace.

I have this framed and up in the hall and I also have a copy in my bedroom.

I was taught this at Primary school and I've remembered it all my life.
I didn't know that one day it would by 'my' verse.

Can someone please put up one we have never heard of before?

Yes; why don't you do just that, jingle .

I am not going to do that jingle, but just mention my two favourites. "Oh to be in England now that April's there" (not long to wait now), and "Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" (my favourite season). I am sure you know them both.
The language of some of the older poets seems to be so much better for poetry, than the modern day language I think.

I notice we have had no William McGonagall yet!!

That's because I don't have the energy to type all of the Tay bridge disaster.
He was Scotland's best poet.

'Speaking' of William McGonagall, I'm not fussed on the 'Tay Bridge Disaster', and prefer the 'Wreck of the Barque "Wm. Paterson" of Liverpool'.
I particularly like the lines....
Poor souls, ’twas enough to have driven them frantic,
To be drifting about water-logged in the Atlantic.
The man was a genius, mad as a hatter of course, but a genius all the same!

Dust If You Must
by Rose Milligan

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb;
Music to hear, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.

My eyes aren't so good and I read that as the Wreck of the Barbecue. I was expecting a satirical poem about our lost summers.

Cheap Therapy
by Geoff Weilert

When a package arrives I quickly open it wide
And hastily remove all the stuff found inside.
I discard all items except the plastic wrapped
That piece with bubbles in which air is trapped.

I spread the sheet and look downward with glee.
And with two fingers, I pop one, two, then three.
I feel quite content and my face gets a glow
I pop some more and move on to the next row.

I'm feeling so good I can't think of stopping
As the room fills with the sounds of popping.
Every worry and care and each little trouble
Floats away with the pop of each air bubble.

When I finally reach the end I feel quite mellow
All that popping has made me a contented fellow.
If you are like me, and contentment is a rarity,
Get some bubble wrap: It's cheaper than therapy.

Love the last two!

Henry Reed's 'Naming of Parts', the first part of his 'Lessons of War'.

Pause for Enjoyment.

Between the things I do I like to pause,
I like the tiger to relax his claws.
Between the things I do I like to lapse,
I trust a space, encourage gaps.
But Jane Smith-Cropps,
Who's frightened she might miss
Out on something if she stops,
She goes from this to that, that to this.

I like to stay behind,
Hoping to avoid
That
So this can be enjoyed.

But Jane-Smith-Copps,
Who's frightened she might miss
Out on something if she stops,
She goes from this to that, that to this.
She jogs and she swims and her house is impeccable,
Constantly checks that her hair is in wreckage,
Children get driven to coaching and dancing
Between lunch in London and cocktails in Lancing.
She goes to a gallery, coffee in Pinner,
Visits her Ma and has fourteen to dinner.

If ever I see her
I hurtle away,
afraid she will trap me
with "Hi there" and "Hey!
You must come to drinks with us,
just say what day.

Should read 'that her hair is unwreckable'

Knew I wouldn't get it right. Not on Internet so couldn't copy and paste. But I love it.

Ok Tegan?

Rude

They call the police to a murder,
they call the police to a drunk,
they call the police to a prowler,
a smelly old tramp or a punk.
They call the police to a GBH
or a person who pinches food,
but I'd like to call a policeman
to a person who, for no apparent reason,
is downright, bloody well rude.