Poem of the day

Little Orphant Annie
by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups and saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;
An’ all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ’at Annie tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns ’at gits you
            Ef you
                  Don’t
                        Watch
⁠                              Out!

Onc’t they was a little boy wouldn’t say his pray’rs—
An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His mammy heerd him holler, an’ his daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all!
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly flue, an’ ever’wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an’ roundabout!
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
            Ef you
                  Don’t
                        Watch
⁠                              Out!

An’ one time a little girl ’ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;
An’ onc’t when they was “company,” an’ ole folks was there,
She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em, an’ said she didn’t care!
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ’fore she knowed what she’s about!
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
            Ef you
                  Don’t
⁠                        Watch
⁠                              Out!

An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,
You better mind yer parents, an’ yer teachers fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ’at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ’at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-un’ll git you
            Ef you
                  Don’t
                        Watch
⁠                                                            Out!

Views: 21

Poem of the day

Crossing the Bar
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

Sunset and evening star,
         And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
         When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
         Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
         Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
         And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
         When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
         The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
         When I have crost the bar.

Views: 14

Poem of the day

Kusslied
by Paul Fleming (1609-1640)

Nirgends hin als auf den Mund:
Da sinkt’s in des Herzens Grund;
Nicht zu frei, nicht zu gezwungen,
Nicht mit allzu trägen Zungen.

Nicht zu wenig, nicht zu viel:
Beides wird sonst Kinderspiel.
Nicht zu laut und nicht zu leise:
Nur im Mass ist rechte Weise.

Nicht zu hart und nicht zu weich,
Bald zugleich, bald nicht zugleich.
Nicht zu langsam, nicht zu schnelle,
Nicht stets auf die gleiche Stelle.

Halb gebissen, halb gehaucht,
Halb die Lippen eingetaucht,
Nicht ohn’ Unterschied der Zeiten,
Mehr allein denn vor den Leuten.

Küsse nun ein Jedermann,
Wie er weiss, will, soll und kann!
Ich nur und die Liebste wissen,
Wie wir uns recht sollen küssen.

Views: 16

Poem of the day

Ad amicum absentem suspiria
by Alcuin (c. 735-804)

Dulcis amor lacrymis absentem plangit amicum
      Quem longinqua negat terra videre oculis.
Rara fides hominum caros effecit amicos,
      Milia multa cient, pectore solus erit.
Argento melior, fulvo pretiosior auro,
      Omnibus et gazis clarior iste nitet,
Quem cupit et quaerit mentis sibi tota voluntas
      Ut habeat, teneat, diligat atque colat.
Iste eris ecce mihi magno coniunctus amore,
      Tu requies mentis, tu mihi dulcis amor.
Te deus aeterno conservat tempore semper,
      Tu memor Albini semper ubique vale.

Views: 25

Poem of the day

You Little Stars
by Fulke Greville (1554-1628)

You little stars that live in skies
And glory in Apollo’s glory,
In whose aspècts conjoinèd lies
The heaven’s will and nature’s story,
Joy to be likened to those eyes,
Which eyes make all eyes glad or sorry;
      For when you force thoughts from above,
      These overrule your force by love.

And thou, O Love, which in these eyes
Hast married Reason with Affection,
And made them saints of Beauty’s skies,
Where joys are shadows of perfection,
Lend me thy wings that I may rise
Up, not by worth, but thy election;
      For I have vowed in strangest fashion
      To love and never seek compassion.

Views: 26

Poem of the day

The Emperor of Ice-Cream
by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Views: 42

Poem of the day

“You are old, Father William”
by Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
In honor of the International Day of Older Persons

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
      “And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
      Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,
      “I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
      Why, I do it again and again.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,
      And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
      Pray, what is the reason of that?”

“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
      “I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
      Allow me to sell you a couple.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
      For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
      Pray, how did you manage to do it?”

“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,
      And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
      Has lasted the rest of my life.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose
      That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
      What made you so awfully clever?”

“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
      Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
      Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”

Views: 29

Poem of the day

Αφέντης μας
by Jalāl ad-Dīn Mohammad Rūmī (1207-1273)
I often try to celebrate a poet by posting one of their poems on their birthday and today is Rumi’s birthday. In addition to his native Persian, he wrote poetry in Turkish, Arabic, and Greek. Unfortunately, Greek is the only one of those languages that I can deal with at all adequately.

Αφέντης μας έν κι αγαπούμεν τον
Κι απ’ εκείνον έν καλή η ζωή μας.
Γιατί γύρισες γιατί βρώμισες;
Πέ με τι έπαθες, πέ με τι έχασες;
Άι καρδιά μου, άι ψυχή μου!
Άι το ετούτο μου, άι το εκείνο μου,
Άχ σπί τμου,άχ στέγη μου!
Άχ θησαυρέ μου, αχ χρυσοπηγή!
Έλα καλέ μου, έλα σάχη μου,
Χαρά δεν δίδεις, δός μας άνεμο!
Πού διψά πίνει, πού πονεί λαλεί,
Μηδέν τσάκωσες,καλέ, το γυαλί;

Views: 50

Poem of the day

Wanderlied
by Justinus Kerner (1786-1862)

Wohlauf, noch getrunken
Den funkelnden Wein!
Ade nun, ihr Lieben!
Geschieden muss sein.
Ade nun, ihr Berge,
Du väterlich Haus!
Es treibt in die Ferne
Mich mächtig hinaus.

Die Sonne, sie bleibet
Am Himmel nicht stehn,
Es treibt sie, durch Länder
Und Meere zu gehn.
Die Woge nicht haftet
Am einsamen Strand,
Die Stürme, sie brausen
Mit Macht durch das Land.

Mit eilenden Wolken
Der Vogel dort zieht,
Und singt in der Ferne
Ein heimatlich Lied.
So treibt es den Burschen
Durch Wälder und Feld,
Zu gleichen der Mutter,
Der wandernden Welt.

Da grüßen ihn Vögel
Bekannt überm Meer,
Sie flogen von Fluren
Der Heimat hieher;
Da duften die Blumen
Vertraulich um ihn,
Sie trieben vom Lande
Die Lüfte dahin.

Die Vögel, die kennen
Sein väterlich Haus,
Die Blumen, die pflanzt’ er
Der Liebe zum Strauss,
Und Liebe, die folgt ihm,
Sie geht ihm zur Hand:
So wird ihm zur Heimat
Das ferneste Land.

Views: 38

Poem of the day

The Berg (A Dream)
by Herman Melville (1819-1891)

I saw a ship of martial build
(Her standards set, her brave apparel on)
Directed as by madness mere
Against a stolid iceberg steer,
Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went down.
The impact made huge ice-cubes fall
Sullen, in tons that crashed the deck;
But that one avalanche was all—
No other movement save the foundering wreck.

Along the spurs of ridges pale,
Not any slenderest shaft and frail,
A prism over glass-green gorges lone,
Toppled; or lace of traceries fine,
Nor pendant drops in grot or mine
Were jarred, when the stunned ship went down.

Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled
Circling one snow-flanked peak afar,
But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed
And crystal beaches, felt no jar.
No thrill transmitted stirred the lock
Of jack-straw needle-ice at base;
Towers undermined by waves—the block
Atilt impending—kept their place.
Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges
Slipt never, when by loftier edges
Through very inertia overthrown,
The impetuous ship in bafflement went down.

Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast,
With mortal damps self-overcast;
Exhaling still thy dankish breath—
Adrift dissolving, bound for death;
Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one—
A lumbering lubbard loitering slow,
Impingers rue thee and go down,
Sounding thy precipice below,
Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls
Along thy dead indifference of walls.

Views: 37