All that is gold does not glitter

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

I Sit and Think

I sit beside the fire and think

of all that I have seen,

of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer

in autumns that there were,

with morning mist and silver sun

and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think

of how the world will be

when winter comes without a spring

that I shall never see.

For still there are so many things

that I have never seen:

in every wood in every spring

there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think

of people long ago,

and people who will see a world

that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think

of times there were before,

I listen for returning feet

and voices at the door.

One-Man-One-Vote by Henry Lawson

“ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE!” You hear the people shouting.
    The walls of Mammon tremble ere they fall.
ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! Is this a time for doubting?
    The poets have been prophets after all.

ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! The cry is growing stronger!
    ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! It echoes o’er the wave!
ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! The Wealthy dead no longer
    Shall rule us through their children from the grave!

ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! The knell of Retrogression!
    The greatest triumph of the tongue and pen!
ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! The right of long possession
    Is right no longer in the minds of men!

ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! There’s lightning in the thunder!
    ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! The reign of Greed is o’er!
ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! The cursed Vote of Plunder
    Shall rule the plundered slaves of earth no more.

ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! We’re waking from our slumbers—
    ONE-MAN-ONE-VOTE! To rule the fields we farmed!
If thus we triumph with diminished numbers,
    What will the triumph be when all are armed?

The Water Lily by Henry Lawson

A lonely young wife
        In her dreaming discerns
        A lily-decked pool
        With a border of ferns,
        And a beautiful child,
        With butterfly wings,
Trips down to the edge of the water and sings:
        ‘Come, mamma! come!
        ‘Quick! follow me—
‘Step out on the leaves of the water-lily!’
        And the lonely young wife,
        Her heart beating wild,
        Cries, ‘Wait till I come,
        ‘Till I reach you, my child!’
        But the beautiful child
        With butterfly wings
Steps out on the leaves of the lily and sings:
        ‘Come, mamma! come!
        ‘Quick! follow me!
‘And step on the leaves of the water-lily!

        And the wife in her dreaming
        Steps out on the stream,
        But the lily leaves sink
        And she wakes from her dream.
        Ah, the waking is sad,
        For the tears that it brings,
And she knows ’tis her dead baby’s spirit that sings:
        ‘Come, mamma! come!
        ‘Quick! follow me!
‘Step out on the leaves of the water-lily!’

I Am Going To Sleep (Suicide Poem)

Teeth of flowers, hairnet of dew,

hands of herbs, you, perfect wet nurse,

prepare the earthly sheets for me

and the down quilt of weeded moss.

I am going to sleep, my nurse, put me to bed.

Set a lamp at my headboard;

a constellation; whatever you like;

all are good: lower it a bit.

Leave me alone: you hear the buds breaking through . . .

a celestial foot rocks you from above

and a bird traces a pattern for you

so you'll forget . . . Thank you. Oh, one request:

if he telephones again

tell him not to keep trying for I have left . .

Tyger Tyger....

The Tyger

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry

In what distant deeps or skies.

Burnt the fire of thine eyes!

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare sieze the fire!

And what shoulder, & what art.

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand! & what dread feet!

What the hammer! what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain

What the anvil, what dread grasp,

Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spear

And water'd heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see

Did he who made the Lamb make thee!

Tyger Tyger burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry.

William Blake

Love’s Secret

Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart;
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,
Ah! she did depart!

Soon as she was gone from me,
A traveler came by,
Silently, invisibly
He took her with a sigh.

Work without hope.......

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.