Since my early teens, I have been an avid reader of poetry. There are so many beautiful forms of verse that have been written by poets of today and the past. Words of expression written into verse is an art. From the wonderful works of our poets of the past, poetry lives forever. The talented poets of today, will continue to keep this tradition alive. On this page, you will read the verses that are a few of my personal favorites.

'False though She Be to Me and Love'


False though she be to me and love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met;
They could not always last;
And though the present I regret,
I'm grateful for the past.


William Congreve  (1670-1729)


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Love's Secret


Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind doth move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. 
Ah! she did depart!

Soon after she was gone from me,
A traveller came by,
Silently, invisibly:
He took her with a sigh.


William Blake  (1757-1827)


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'You Smiled, You Spoke, and I Believed'


You smiled, you spoke, and I believed,
By every word and smile deceived.
Another man would hope no more;
Nor hope I what I hoped before:
But let not this last wish be vain;
Deceive, deceive me once again!


Walter Savage Landor  (1775-1864)


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Did Not


'Twas a new feeling---something more
Than we dared to own before,
Which then we hid not;
We saw it in each other's eye,
And wished, in every half-breathed sigh,
To speak, but did not.

She felt my lips' impassioned touch--
'Twas the first time I dared so much,
And yet she chid not;
But whispered o'er my burning brow,
'Oh, do you doubt I love you now?'
Sweet soul! I did not.

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill,
I pressed it closer, closer still,
Though gently bid not;
Till--oh! the world hath seldom heard
Of lovers, who so nearly erred, 
And yet, who did not.


Thomas Moore  (1779-1852)


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'Oh, When I Was in Love with You'


Oh, when I was in love with you,
Then I was clean and brave,
And miles around the wonder grew
How well did I behave.

And now the fancy passes by,
And nothing will remain,
And miles around they'll say that I
Am quite myself again.


A. E. Housman  (1859-1936)


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Untitled


Grieve not for me, though I am gone,
For I am with you still.
God grant you strength to carry on
And understand His will.

A soft tear shed from time to time,
Will ease your sorrowed mind.
But live your life as fully
As you helped me live mine.

Time will heal the hurting heart,
Faith will see you through.
There's still a life left for you to live,
With courage, I leave you.

Remember me with thoughts of peace.
Live each day with your heart.
Grieve not for me, though I am gone,
We're never far apart.


Author Unknown


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A Dream within a Dream


Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow---
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep---while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


Edgar Allan Poe  (1809-1849)


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Eldorado


Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old--
This knight so bold--
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow--
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be--
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied,--
"If you seek for Eldorado."


Edgar Allan Poe  (1809-1849)


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Don't Quit


When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low, and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
Don't Quit!
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but you don't quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
It's when things seem worse, that you must not quit.


John Greenleaf Whittier 


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The Wreck of the Hesperus


IT WAS the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintery sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughter,
To bear him company.


Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bossom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.


The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now west, now south.


Then up spake an old Sailor,
Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
"I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane."


"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And tonight, no moon we see."
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.


Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the northeast,
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.


Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessell in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed,
Then leaped hear cable's length.


"Come hither, come hither, my little daughter,
And do not tremble so;
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."


He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat
Against the stinging blast;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.


"Oh Father I hear the chruch bells ring,
Oh say, what may it be?"
"Tis a fog bell on a rock bound coast."
And he steered for the open sea.


"Oh Father I hear the sound of guns,
Oh say, what may it be?"
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea!"


"Oh Father I see a gleaming light,
Oh say what may it be?"
But the Father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.


Lashed to the helf, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.


Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
That saved she might be;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,
On the lake of Galilee.


And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.


And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and the bard sea sand.


Ile breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.


She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.


Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! Ho! the breakers roared!


At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.


The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;
And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed,
On the billows fall and rise.


Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow!
Christ save us all from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman's Woe.




Henry Wadsworth Longfellow