The Props assist the House Until the House is built And then the Props withdraw And adequate, erect, The House support itself And cease to recollect The Auger and the Carpenter— Just such a retrospect Hath the perfected Life— A past of Plank and Nail And slowness—then the Scaffolds drop...
O my Lord, the stars glitter and the eyes of men are closed. Kings have locked their doors and each lover is alone with his love. Here, I am alone with you. Reality In love, nothing exists between heart and heart. Speech is born out of longing, True description from...
Carl Sandburg I Am the People, the Mob I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me? I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes. I am the audience that witnesses history. The...
Jalaluddin Rumi My Hart Is In Constant Fervour Now sleeping, now awake, my hart is in constant fervour. It is a covered saucepan, placed on fire. O you! who have offered us from a cup a silencing wine; Each moment a new tale is shouting to be told in silence....
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since...
A Guide has entered this life, in silence. His message is only heard, in silence. Take a sip of His precious wine And lose yourself. Don’t insult the greatness of His love, for he helps all those who suffer, in silence. Polish the mirror between the breaths. Go with Him,...
Beat! beat! drums!–blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows–through doors–burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation, Into the school where the scholar is studying; Leave not the bridegroom quiet–no happiness must he have now with his bride, Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his...
Because I cannot sleep I make music at night. I am troubled by the one whose face has the color of spring flowers. I have neither sleep nor patience, neither a good reputation nor disgrace. A thousand robes of wisdom are gone. All my good manners have moved a thousand...
Matthew Arnold Growing Old What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form, The lustre of the eye? Is it for beauty to forego her wreath? Yes, but not for this alone. Is it to feel our strength – Not our bloom only, but...
Allama Muhammad Iqbal THE WITHERED ROSE O withered rose! How can I still call you a rose? How can I call you the longing of nightingale’s heart? Once the zephyr’s movement was your rocking cradle In the garden’s expanse joyous rose was your name The morning breeze acknowledged your benevolence...
Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; But O too fond, when have I answer’d thee? Ask me no more. Ask me no more: what answer should I...
Love is not condescension, never that, nor books, nor any marking on paper, nor what people say of each other. Love is a tree with branches reaching into eternity and roots set deep in eternity, and no trunk! Have you seen it? The mind cannot. Your desiring cannot. The longing...
Always it happens when we are not there — The tree leaps up alive in the air, Small open parasols of Chinese green Wave on each twig. But who has ever seen The latch sprung, the bud as it burst? Spring always manages to get there first. Lovers of wind,...
I have come so that, tugging your ear, I may draw you to me, unheart and unself you, plant you in my heart and soul. Rosebush, I have come a sweet springtide unto you, to seize you very gently in my embrace and squeeze you. I have come to adorn...
O SUN of real peace! O hastening light! O free and extatic! O what I here, preparing, warble for! O the sun of the world will ascend, dazzling, and take his height—and you too, O my Ideal, will surely ascend! O so amazing and broad—up there resplendent, dart-ing and burning!...
This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each...
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved,...
Thank God the door of the Tavern is open and I am needy at His door. The vats are all boiling and crying out of drunkenness. Only the wine of truth can be found there. Not that of falsehood. From Him comes drunkenness, pride and aloofness. From us comes helplessness,...
WHEN I consider how my light is spent E’re half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide, Lodg’d with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, least he returning chide,...
Elevation bestows the sky’s nearness to my abode I am the mountain’s cloud, my skirt sprinkles roses Now the wilderness, now the rose garden is my abode City and wilderness are mine, ocean is mine, forest is mine If I want to return to some valley for the night The...
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