Poem for the Soul

A Psalm of Life

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

   Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

   And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

   And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

   Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

   Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

   Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

   And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

   Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

   In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

   Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

   Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,— act in the living Present!

   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

   We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

   Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

   Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

   With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

   Learn to labor and to wait.

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning – My Kate

The world is an angry place these days.  I needed some beauty even if it is bathed in sadness.  Ms. Browning, I thank ye.

My Kate.

She was not as pretty as women I know,

And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow

Drop to shade, melt to nought in the long-trodden ways,

While she’s still remembered on warm and cold days—

My Kate.

Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace;

You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face:

And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth,

You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth—

My Kate.

Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke,

You looked at her silence and fancied she spoke:

When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone,

Though the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone—

My Kate.

I doubt if she said to you much that could act

As a thought or suggestion: she did not attract

In the sense of the brilliant or wise: I infer

’T was her thinking of others made you think of her—

My Kate.

She never found fault with you, never implied

Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side

Grew nobler, girls purer, as through the whole town

The children were gladder that pulled at her gown—

My Kate.

None knelt at her feet confessed lovers in thrall;

They knelt more to God than they used,—that was all:

If you praised her as charming, some asked what you meant,

But the charm of her presence was felt when she went—

My Kate.

The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude,

She took as she found them, and did them all good;

It always was so with her—see what you have!

She has made the grass greener even here . . . with her grave—

My Kate.

My dear one!—when thou wast alive with the rest,

I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best:

And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part

As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart—

My Kate?

Fugly Friday

So today I didn’t get to have lunch because work was crazy. Then they hypoglycemia kicked in. Then the nasty bitch took over and that was it. I couldn’t think and my personality went all Sybil. Ah Fridays! They blow!!!

I’m feeling all crappy and after I ate something I started the beer. Ah…sweet frothy beer, God Bless You!

So this is the poem that sums up my mood tonight!

RICHARD CORY

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him;
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.


And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.


And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.


So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head. ~ Edwin Arlington Robinson.

And for anyone who worries about me…I don’t own a gun 🙂

A Melody In My Heart

On my way to get a very unhealthy lunch I was stuck in traffic and on the CD player I had Sarah McLachlan’s Mirrorball playing. Her songs have such incredible lyrics. Those of you who know me, know that I’m a SM freak and listen to her all the time. I take a lot of ribbing from my BFF’s because they think her music is depressing but I can’t get enough of it. Her lyrics are poetry…which of course is what Songs are…poetry set to music but something just strikes me about her lyrics.

” The lamp is burnin’ low upon my table top
The snow is softly fallin’
The air is still within the silence of my room
I hear your voice softly callin'” ~ Song For A Winter’s Night

Or these lines….

“I have a smile
stretched from ear to ear
to see you walking down the road

we meet at the lights
I stare for a while
the world around disappears” ~ I Love You

“And I would be the one
to hold you down,
kiss you so hard,
I’ll take your breath away” ~ Possession

I guess it’s just my obsession with poetry that attracts me to this kind of music. I just can’t help myself I love it!!!

Last night I was reading some Rainer Maria Rilke. Which I find I prefer in German than in English….is that weird? Storms also appear quite frequently in what I’m reading right now…or that would be Sturm. One can not live by Shakespeare and Shelley alone!