She Walks in Beauty
by Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

ref. url: She Walks in Beauty

Hear it being read by Bill Berkson

Rest
by Neal Carman

Sunset; the river calm.
Afar, half-visible, the valley’s cleft containers.
The whole, a scene of rest.
Rest?
A mill, a bridge, a railway, trees, a river ?
What restful thing is there?
The mill?
A place of roaring waters,
Of belts that flap and clatter round their pulleys,
Of rollers crushing the germ of life
That those who strain to move its mangled weight
May strain the more.
The bridge?
A burden-bearer, that lately was
Crushed rock, and sacked cement, and twisted rods of iron
And lines upon a sheet of paper.
The railway?
Bald and stark manifestation
Of motion, weight, and grimy toil,
Where shovels, with ballast laden
And rhythmic striking mauls
Have served fire-gutted gods of steam and steel.
The trees?
Yes! fed on by insects,
Beat by the winds,
Robbed every year of light-transforming leaves,
Strangling their weak and small,
Strugglers — chained to their place till dead and rotted.
The river?
Bank-guawer, flood-begetter,
Carrier of filth and cannibalic life,
And mountains,
Riding toward the all-receptive sea.
A restful scene?
Yes, such throughout the world is peace and rest.

ref. url: Rest

Keep A Poem In Your Pocket
By Beatrice Schenk de Regniers

Keep a poem in your pocket
And a picture in your head
And you’ll never feel lonely
At night when you’re in bed.

The little poem will sing to you
The little picture bring to you
A dozen dreams to dance to you
At night when you’re in bed.

So
Keep a picture in your pocket
And a poem in your head
And you’ll never feel lonely
At night when you’re in bed.

ref. url: Poem In Your Pocket

As Winds That Blow Against A Star
by Joyce Kilmer

Now by what whim of wanton chance
Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
And feet that shod in light should dance
Walk weary and laborious ways?

But rays from Heaven, white and whole,
May penetrate the gloom of earth;
And tears but nourish, in your soul,
The glory of celestial mirth.

The darts of toil and sorrow, sent
Against your peaceful beauty, are
As foolish and as impotent
As winds that blow against a star.

ref. url: Trees and Other Poems – As Winds That Blow Against A Star

Smudged Glass
by Michael Schroll

Almost thought I saw unreal,
A moon so bright and clear.
Was in the East and hung so low,
It seemed so very near.

I think on back long years ago,
When you and I were new.
Lookin’ through a nose smudged glass,
A moon just seen by two.

That night was calm as I recal,
Was tender and so slow.
The candles burned and music flowed,
Our love we came to know.

I miss the look, deep in your eyes,
That smile you always had.
Not much in this old cowboys life,
Has turned so very bad.

It’s missin’ now, that naked truth,
We had it once upon.
The moon we saw and wondered at,
Has darkened, and it’s gone.