The Garden

THIS Garden does not take my eyes,
Though here you show how art of men
Can purchase Nature at a price
Would stock old Paradise again.

These glories while you dote upon,
I envy not your spring nor pride,
Nay, boast the summer all your own,
My thoughts with less are satisified.

Give me a little plot of ground,
Where might I with the Sun agree,
Though every day he walk the round,
My Garden he should seldom see.

Those Tulips that such wealth display,
To court my eye, shall lose their name,
Though now they listen, as if they
Expected I should praise their name.

But I would see my self appear
Within the Violet's drooping head,
On which a melancholy tear
The discontented morn hath shed.

Within their buds let Roses sleep,
And virgin Lilies on their stem,
Till sighs from lovers glide, and creep
Into their leaves to open them.

I'th'center of my ground compose
Of Bays and Yew my summer room,
Which may so oft as I repose,
Present my arbor, and my tomb.

No woman here shall find me out,
Or if a chance do bring one hither,
I'll be secure, for round about
I'll moat it with my eyes' foul weather.

No bird shall live within my pale,
To charm me with their shames of art,
Unless some wandering Nightingale
Come here to sing and break her heart.

Upon whose death I'll try to write
An epitaph in some funeral stone,
So sad, and true, it may invite
My self to die, and prove mine own.
----James Shirley

{A beautiful e.g of a poem of sombre mood...again by Shirley....}

Death the Leveler

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:

Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:

Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.

Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.
------ By James Shirley

[Loved this poem, when I learnt it in school..... We also had another poem with an opposite view on Death....I think it was "Death thou be not proud".... It feels nice to read these poems again after so many years....They bring back those school days.. ]

Reeds of Innocence

Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:

``Pipe a song about a Lamb!''
So I piped with a merry chear.
``Piper, pipe that song again;''
So I piped: he wept to hear.

``Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy chear:''
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

``Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.''
So he vanish'd from my sight,
And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.
---- William Blake

I loved this poem in my school days!! ... I love it even now... I had by hearted it for our school's English orals. Thanks to those orals, I keep mumbling many poems in my leisure!!

Jerusalem (by Blake)

AND did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
----William Blake

"I said to Love"

I said to Love,
"It is not now as in old days
When men adored thee and thy ways
All else above;
Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One
Who spread a heaven beneath the sun,"
I said to Love.

I said to him,
"We now know more of thee than then;
We were but weak in judgment when,
With hearts abrim,
We clamoured thee that thou would'st please
Inflict on us thine agonies,"
I said to him.

I said to Love,
"Thou art not young, thou art not fair,
No faery darts, no cherub air,
Nor swan, nor dove
Are thine; but features pitiless,
And iron daggers of distress,"
I said to Love.

"Depart then, Love! . . .
- Man's race shall end, dost threaten thou?
The age to come the man of now
Know nothing of? -
We fear not such a threat from thee;
We are too old in apathy!
Mankind shall cease.--So let it be,"
I said to Love.
---Thomas Hardy

WHEN PRESENT ENVIES THE PAST.....

So wonderful were those 22 years ;
When my nearest were actually near,
and each of those days went by with a happy cheer ;
I had enough food in my belly--courtesy my mother,
and my dearest were so near,I had nothing to bother;

For every single moment spent in that tinsel town,
I was the prince with a golden crown;

But alas! The prince embraced a guy called "ambition";
And saying buy to my hometown was hell of a perturbation;

For the new place,though extremely beautiful and grand;
And though it housed the wisest of the crew,
every face made me imagine Katherine the Shrew;

for the crew ranked high on ego,low on emotion;
And regional groupism was an accepted supposition;

The transformation that I underwent was so quick and fast;
Adieu my old self and away I cast;

Protecting the trunk of my thoughts with a strong lock,
now I became Cindrella post 12 O'clock;

Now I am lesser a man,more a tortoise;
And my face is opaque like the stone turquoise;

So,even if I am amongst the many,
Looking cheerful and sipping an evening tea,
I am lesser in that group and more in that tea;

Now,I have some forced food in my belly--courtesy the mess;
And now,how I am--is anyone's guess;

My ears await dearly for the welcome sound of "Bell's invention";
And if its a friend at the other end,it feels like a divine intervention;

Friendship...

On the eve of Friendship day,I wrote a small poem, which I dedicate it to my best friends!!!!

Friendship is a thread which connects the souls;
Friendship gives a boost to achieve nobler goals;
Friendship has but a language unknown,
for one needn't speak to convey his moan;

Friendship speaks through eyes and friendship speaks through touch,
for a caring pat on the back can comfort much;
With a fabric of friendship our lives are woven,
and friendship takes nothing back for that which is given;

Moving back and forth, two needles meet and part,
and the one knows that the other will always do its part;
For under thousand suns and thousand moons,
the needles carry on under the shadow of a celestial boon;

Finally,when the garment called "Life" is ready,
It is so beautiful a thing that even the gods envy;
Through summer and through winter the needles reached their goal,
'Cause in two bodies there resided a single soul;