By Joyce Kilmer I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prestAgainst the sweet earths flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
By Walt Whitman O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
By Christopher Marlowe Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures proveThat valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields. And we will sit upon rocks,Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant poises, A cap of flowers, and a kirtleEmbroidered all with leaves of myrtle; A gown made of the finest woolWhich from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.The shepherdss swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love.
By Sir Walter Raleigh If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherds tongue,These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complain of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancys spring, but sorrows fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love.But could youth last and love still breed, Had joys no date nor age no need,Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy love.
Prepared by:“Live to express, not to impress.”