Bee

THROUGH that pure virgin shrine, That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon, That men might look and live, as glow-worms shine, And face the moon : Wise Nicodemus saw such light As made him know his God by night. Most blest believer he ! Who in that land of darkness and blind eyes Thy long-expected healing wings could see When Thou didst rise ! And, what can never more be done, Did at midnight speak with the Sun ! O who will tell me, where He found Thee at that dead and silent hour ? What hallow'd solitary ground did bear So rare a flower ; Within whose sacred leaves did lie The fulness of the Deity ? No mercy-seat of gold, No dead and dusty cherub, nor carv'd stone, But His own living works did my Lord hold And lodge alone ; Where trees and he...

In youth, it was a way I had To do my best to please, And change, with every passing lad, To suit his theories. But now I know the things I know, And do the things I do; And if you do not like me so, To hell, my love, with you! Dorothy Parker

The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here. Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions. I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses And my history to the anaesthetist and my body to surgeons. They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut. Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in. The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble, They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps, Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another, So it is impossible to tell how many there are. My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently. They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep. Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage ---- My pat...

'The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.' I There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; - Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. II The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth. III Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance g...

A garden saw I, full of blossomy boughs Upon a river, in a green mead, There as sweetness evermore enough is, With flowers white, blue, yellow, and red, And cold well-streams, nothing dead, That swimming full of small fishes light, With fins red and scales silver bright. On every bough the birds heard I sing, With voice of angels in their harmony; Some busied themselves birds forth to bring; The little coneys to here play did hie. And further all about I could see The dread filled roe, the buck, the hart and hind, Squirrels, and beasts small of gentle kind. Of instruments of strings in accord Heard I so play a ravishing sweetness, That God, that maker is of all and lord, Had heard never better, as I guess. Therewith a wind, scarcely it might be less, Made in the leaves green a noise soft Accordant to the fowls' song aloft. Th'air of that place so a-temperate was That never was grievance of h...

to a Young Child Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? Ah! as the heart grows older It will come to such sights colder By and by, nor spare a sigh Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; And yet you will weep and know why. Now no matter, child, the name: Sorrow's springs are the same. Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed: It is the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for. Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing: A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies, If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries, Hey ho. Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; And Jove hath made it of a kind, Not well, nor full nor fasting. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies If not enjoyd, it sighing cries, Hey ho. Samuel Daniel (1562-1619) ** from Hymen's Triumph

NO HAY PÁJAROS EN LOS NIDOS DE ANTAÑO. Spanish Proverb. THE sun is bright,—the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing, And from the stately elms I hear The blue-bird prophesying Spring. So blue yon winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky, Where waiting till the west wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new ;—the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves ;— There are no birds in last year's nest ! All things rejoice in youth and love, The fulness of their first delight ! And learn from the soft heavens above The melting tenderness of night. Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For O ! it is not always May ! Enjoy the ...