Dream within a dream

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand —

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep — while I weep!

O God! Can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

 

Edgar Allan Poe

Keep your head

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

Verse from Rudyard Kipling's 'If'

Burns Night

'I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion
An’ fellow-mortal!'

 

Robert Burns - To a Mouse

Drawing - Beatrix Potter

Dog

... 'a real realist

with a real tale to tell

and a real tail to tell it with'..

LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

To a Louse

Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie? 
Your impudence protects you sairly; 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 
Owre gauze and lace; 
Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely 
On sic a place. 

.....

Robert Burns 

Wild nights - Wild nights!

                                                              

Wild nights - Wild nights!

Were I with thee

Wild nights should be

Our luxury !

Futile - the winds -

To a heart in a port -

Done with the compass -

Done with the chart !

Rowing in Eden - 

Ah - the Sea!

Might I but moor - tonight -

In Thee!

EMILY DICKINSON

                                            

Poem

I abandon Rome
The Peasants
abandon the land
The swallows
abandon my town
The faithful
abandon the churches
The milliers
abandon the mills
The people of the mountains
abandon the mountains
Grace
abandons men
Some
abandon everything

TONINO GUERRA

Come into the Garde

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."


Alfred Lord Tennyson

"L'Allegro"

Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and Wreathed Smiles,
such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crue
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free


John Milton, 1632

Insomnia

The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she'd tell it to go to hell,
and she'd find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.


Elizabeth Bishop

THE WHITE BIRDS

WOULD that we were, my beloved,
white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight,
hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved,
a sadness that may not die.

A weariness comes from those dreamers,
dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved,
the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low
in the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds
on the wandering foam: I and you!

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us,
and Sorrow come near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily,
and fret of the flames would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved,
buoyed out on the foam of the sea!

By W.B. Yeats

Chanson d’automne

Les sanglots longs
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon cœur
D'une langueur
Monotone.

Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l'heure,
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure;

Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deçà, delà,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.

Paul Verlaine