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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Summer Dawn, by William Morris
PRAY but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips,
Think but one thought of me up in the stars.
The summer night waneth, the morning light slips
Faint and gray 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the
cloud-bars,
I'm Selfish And In Love With God, by Brother De Buff
it really alright you see i have peace in side
something that a make a sad man happy
joy of knowing who i am
it a real blessing from the father up above
i feel my lord carrying me
Balow, by Anonymous
BALOW, my babe, lie still and sleep!
It grieves me sore to see thee weep.
Wouldst thou be quiet I'se be glad,
Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad:
Balow my boy, thy mother's joy,
Aubade, by Sir William Davenant
THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings.
He takes this window for the East,
And to implore your light he sings--
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise
Too solemn for day, too sweet for night, by William Sidney Walker
TOO solemn for day, too sweet for night,
Come not in darkness, come not in light;
But come in some twilight interim,
When the gloom is soft, and the light is dim.
Harps hung up in Babylon, by Arthur Colton
The harps hung up in Babylon,
Their loosened strings rang on, sang on,
And cast their murmurs forth upon
The roll and roar of Babylon:
"Forget me, Lord, if I forget
To Mistress Margery Wentworth, by John Skelton
WITH margerain gentle,
The flower of goodlihead,
Embroidered the mantle
Is of your maidenhead.
Plainly I cannot glose;
Willie and Helen, by Hew Ainslie
'WHAREFORE sou'd ye talk o' love,
Unless it be to pain us?
Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love
Whan ye say the sea maun twain us?'
'It 's no because my love is light,
The Clematis, by Alexander Bathgate
Fair crown of stars of purest ray,
Hung aloft on Mapau tree,
What floral beauties ye display,
Stars of snowy purity;
Around the dark-leaved mapau's head
To Mr. Lawrence, by John Milton
LAWRENCE of vertuous Father vertuous Son,
Now that the Fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help wast a sullen day; what may be won
From the hard Season gaining: time will run
Where My Books go, by William Butler Yeats
ALL the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
Serenading to Heavens, by Madan G. Gandhi
From far-off realms come light beams
by eternity of silence propelled
irradiating a light of million suns.
The lights set in a circle
blazing symphonically
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The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly attempt to assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors.
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