Poems

I am in a very random mood so don't mind these very random poems :)

Myself
I have to live with myself, and so I want to be fit for myself to know; always to look myself srtaight in the eye. I don't want to stand with the setting sun and hate myself for the things I've done. I want to go out with my head erect; I want to deserve all men's respect; but here in the struggle for fame and pelf I want to be able to like myself. I don't want to look at myself and know that I'm bluster and bluff and empty show. I never can fool mysel; and so whatever happens, I want to be self-respecting and conscience-free.
-Anonymous

Psalm 121:1-4
I will lift my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, who made the heaven and the earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold he who keeps Isreal will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Full Heart
Alone on the shore in the pause of night time I stand and hear the long wind blow light; I view the constellations quitely, quitely burning; I hear the wave fall in the hush of the night.
-Robert Nichols

Sand Castles
Build me a castle of sand down by the sea. Here on the edge of the strand build it for me. How shall a foeman invade, where may he land while we can raise with our spade. Castles of sand.
-W. Graham Robertson

Daffodils
I wander'd lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vallies and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils; beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
-William Wodsworth

A Thought to Remember
There is so much bad in the best of us and so mush good in the worst of us, that it ill behooves any of us to talk about the rest of us.
-Robert Louis Stevenson

Pencil and Paint
Winter has a pencil for her pictures clear and neat, she traces the black tree tops, upon a snowy sheet, But autumm has a palette and painting brush instead, and daubs the leaves for pleasure with yellow, brown and red.
-Anonymous

To the Fringed Gentian
Thou blossom bright with autumm dew, and colored with the heaven's own blue, that openest when the quiet light succeeds the keen and frosty night, thou comest not when violets lean o'er wandering brooks and spings unseen, or columbines in purple dressed, nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, when woods are bear and birds are flown, and frost and shortening days protend the aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye look through its fringes to the sky, blue-blue- as if that sky let fall a flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when shall I see, the hour of death draw near to me, hope, blossoming within my heart, may look to heaven as I depart.
-William Cullen Bryant
(I had to memorize this one, and now its one of my favorites :)

~Lady Florimel~