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I just love poetry and thought I'd share some of my favorites below. Email me with your favorite poems and I'll put them on here. They can be from famous authors, unknown authors, or your own work. And if you have any poems about Bernadette, that's even better!

I Should Not Dare

By Emily Dickinson

I should not dare to leave my friend,

Because if he should die

While I was gone and I -too late,

Should reach the heart that wanted me,

If I should disappoint the eyes

That hunted, hunted so, to see

And could not bear to shut until

He noticed me, -he noticed me,

If I should stab the patient faith

So sure Id come -so sure I’d come

It listening, listening went to sleep

Reciting my tardy name.

My heart would wish it broke before

Since breaking then, since breaking then,

Is useless as next mornings sun

To erase a midnights tear.

I Arise From Dreams Of Thee

By Percy Shelley

I arise from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep or night,

When the winds are breathing low,

And the stars are shining bright.

I arise from dreams of thee,

And a spirit in my feet

Has led me-who knows how? –

To thy chamber-window, sweet!

The wandering airs they faint

On the dark, the silent stream,-

The champak odors fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream;

The nightingale's complaint,

It dies upon her heart,

As I must die on thine,

O, beloved as thou art!

O, lift me from the grass!

I die, I faint, I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.

My cheek is cold and white, alas!

My heart beats loud and fast:

Oh! press it close to thine again,

Where it will break at last!

She Walks In Beauty

By Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair;

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, And I-

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.

O Captain! My Captain!

By Walt Whitman

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Hear Captain! dear father!

The arm beneath your head!

It is some dream your head!

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

Exult O shore, and ring O bells!

But I with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O me! O life!

By Walt Whitman

O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring.

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish.

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew'd.

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring -- What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer That you are here--that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Sonnet 18

By William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

To The Virgins, Make Much Of Time

By Robert Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying,

And this same flower that smiles today,

To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he's a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

and while ye may, go marry;

For having lost just once your prime,

You may for ever tarry.

The Ballad of William Bloat

By Raymond Calvert

In a mean abode on the Skankill Road

Lived a man named William Bloat;

He had a wife, the curse of his life,

Who continually got his goat.

So one day at dawn, with her nightdress on

He cut her bloody throat.

With a razor gash he settled her hash

Oh never was crime so quick

But the drip drip drip on the pillowslip '

Of her lifeblood made him sick.

And the pool of gore on the bedroom floor

Grew clotted and cold and thick.

And yet he was glad he had done what he had

When she lay there stiff and still

But a sudden awe of the angry law

Struck his heart with an icy chill.

So to finish the fun so well begun

He resolved himself to kill.

He took the sheet from the wife's coul' feet

And twisted it into a rope

And he hanged himself from the pantry shelf,

'Twas an easy end, let's hope.

In the face of death with his latest breath

He solemnly cursed the Pope.

But the strangest turn to the whole concern

Is only just beginning.

He went to Hell but his wife got well

And she's still alive and sinning.

For the razor blade was German made

But the sheet was Belfast linen.

When the Lamp Is Shattered

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

When the lamp is shattered

The light in the dust lies dead

When the cloud is scattered

The rainbow's glory is shed.

When the lute is broken,

Sweet tones are remembered not.

When the lips have spoken,

Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour

Survive not the lamp and the lute.

The heart's echoes render

No song when the spirit is mute—

No song but sad dirges,

Like the wind through a ruined cell,

Or the mournful surges

That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled

Love first leaves the well-built nest.

The weak one is singled

To endure what it once possessed.

Oh Love! who bewailest

The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest

For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee

As the storms rock the ravens on high.

Bright reason will mock thee,

Like the sun from a wintry sky.

From thy nest every rafter

Will rot, and thine eagle home

Leave thee naked to laughter,

When leaves fall and cold winds come.

Under the Harvest Moon

By Carl Sandburg

Under the harvest moon,

When the soft silver

Drips shimmering

Over garden nights,

Death, the gray mocker,

Comes and whispers to you

As a beautiful friend

Who remembers.

Under the summer roses

When the flagrant crimson

Lurks in the dusk

Of the wild red leaves,

Love, with little hands,

Comes and touches you

With a thousand memories,

And asks you

Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

Wind and Window Flower

By Robert Lee Frost

Lovers, forget your love,

And list to the love of these,

She a window flower,

And he a winter breeze.

When the frosty window veil

Was melted down at noon,

And the caged yellow bird

Hung over her in tune,

He marked her through the pane,

He could not help but mark,

And only passed her by

To come again at dark.

He was a winter wind,

Concerned with ice and snow,

Dead weeds and unmated birds,

And little of love could know.

But he sighed upon the sill,

He gave the sash a shake,

As witness all within

Who lay that night awake.

Perchance he half prevailed

To win her for the flight

From the firelit looking-glass

And warm stove-window light. But the flower leaned aside

And thought of naught to say,

And morning found the breeze

A hundred miles away.

A Friend Like You

By Author Unknown

There's lots of things

With which I'm blessed,

My problems have been few,

But of all, this one's the best:

To have a friend like you.

In times of trouble

Friends will say,

"Just ask, I'll help you through it."

But you don't wait for me to ask,

You just get up and do it!

And I can think

of nothing more

That I could wisely do,

Than know a friend,

And be a friend,

And have a friend like you.

One Day I Wrote Her Name

By by Edmund Spenser

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,

But came the waves and washed it away:

Again I wrote it with a second hand,

But came the tide and made my pains his prey.

"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain essay

A mortal thing so to immortalize;

For I myself shall like to this decay,

And eke my name be wiped out likewise."

"Not so," quoth I; "let baser things devise

To lie in dust, but you shall live by fame;

My verse your virtues rare shall eternize,

And in the heavens write you glorious name:

Where, whenas Death shall all the world subdue,

Our love shall live, and later life renew."