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  • 8/8/2019 Lit poems set a

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    Psalm 23

    King David (New American Bible)

    The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

    In verdant pastures he gives me repose;

    Beside restful waters he leads me;

    he refreshes my soul.

    He guides me in right paths

    for his name's sake.

    Even though I walk in the dark valley

    I fear no evil; for you are at my side

    With your rod and your staff

    that give me courage.

    You spread the table before me

    in the sight of my foes;

    You anoint my head with oil;

    my cup overflows.

    Only goodness and kindness follow meall the days of my life;

    And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD

    for years to come.

    Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

    Robert Frost

    Whose woods these are I think I know.

    His house is in the village though;

    He will not see me stopping hereTo watch his woods fill up with snow.

    My little horse must think it queer

    To stop without a farmhouse near

    Between the woods and frozen lake

    The darkest evening of the year.

    He gives his harness bells a shake

    To ask if there is some mistake.The only other sound's the sweep

    Of easy wind and downy flake.

    The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

    But I have promises to keep,

    And miles to go before I sleep,

    And miles to go before I sleep.

    Fable

    Ralph Waldo Emerson

    THE MOUNTAIN and the squirrel

    Had a quarrel;

    And the former called the latter "Little Prig."

    Bun replied,"You are doubtless very big;

    But all sorts of things and weather

    Must be taken in together,

    To make up a year

    And a sphere.

    And I think it no disgrace

    To occupy my place.

    If I'm not as large as you,You are not so small as I,

    And not half so spry.

    I'll not deny you make

    A very pretty squirrel track;

    Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;

    If I cannot carry forests on my back,

    Neither can you crack a nut."

    I'm nobody! Who are you?

    Emily Dickinson

    I'm nobody! Who are you?

    Are you nobody, too?

    Then there's a pair of us -don't tell!

    They'd banish us, you know.

    How dreary to be somebody!

    How public, like a frog

    To tell your name the live long day

    To an admiring bog!

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    The Passionate Shepherdto His Love

    Christopher Marlowe

    COME live with me and be my Love,

    And we will all the pleasures prove

    That hills and valleys, dale and field,

    And all the craggy mountains yield.

    There will we sit upon the rocks 5

    And see the shepherds feed their flocks,

    By shallow rivers, to whose falls

    Melodious birds sing madrigals.

    There will I make thee beds of roses

    And a thousand fragrant posies, 10

    A cap of flowers, and a kirtle

    Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.

    A gown made of the finest wool

    Which from our pretty lambs we pull,

    Fair lind slippers for the cold, 15

    With buckles of the purest gold.

    A belt of straw and ivy buds

    With coral clasps and amber studs:

    And if these pleasures may thee move,

    Come live with me and be my Love. 20

    Thy silver dishes for thy meat

    As precious as the gods do eat,

    Shall on an ivory table be

    Prepared each day for thee and me.

    The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 25

    For thy delight each May-morning:

    If these delights thy mind may move,

    Then live with me and be my Love.

    The Nymph's Reply tothe Shepherd

    WalterRaleigh

    If all the world and love were young,

    And truth in every shepherd's tongue,

    These pretty pleasures might me move

    To live with thee and be thy love.

    Time drives the flocks from field to fold,

    When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;

    And Philomel becometh dumb;

    The rest complains of cares to come.

    The flowers do fade, and wanton fields

    To wayward winter reckoning yields:

    A honey tongue, a heart of gall,

    Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

    The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,

    Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies

    Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,

    In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

    Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,

    Thy coral clasps and amber studs,

    All these in me no means can move

    To come to thee and be thy love.

    But could youth last and love still breed,

    Had joys no date nor age no need,

    Then these delights my mind might move

    To live with thee and be thy love.

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    The Listeners

    Walter de la Mare

    'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller,

    Knocking on the moonlit door;

    And his horse in the silence champ'd the

    grasses

    Of the forest's ferny floor:

    And a bird flew up out of the turret,

    Above the Traveller's head:

    And he smote upon the door again a second

    time;

    'Is there anybody there?' he said.

    But no one descended to the Traveller;

    No head from the leaf-fringed sill

    Lean'd over and look'd into his grey eyes,

    Where he stood perplex'd and still.

    But only a host of phantom listeners

    That dwelt in the lone house then

    Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

    To that voice from the world of men:

    Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the

    dark stair,

    That goes down to the empty hall,

    Hearkening in an air stirr'd and shaken

    By the lonely Traveller's call.

    And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

    Their stillness answering his cry,

    While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

    'Neath the starr'd and leafy sky;

    For he suddenly smote on the door, even

    Louder, and lifted his head:--

    'Tell them I came, and no one answer'd,

    That I kept my word,' he said.

    Never the least stir made the listeners,

    Though every word he spake

    Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still

    house

    From the one man left awake:

    Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

    And the sound of iron on stone,

    And how the silence surged softly backward,

    When the plunging hoofs were gone

    Songto Celia

    Ben Jonson

    Drink to me, only with thine eyes

    And I will pledge with mine;

    Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

    And I'll not look for wine.

    The thirst that from the soul doth rise

    Doth ask a drink divine:

    But might I of Jove's nectar sup

    I would not change for thine.

    I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

    Not so much honouring thee

    As giving it a hope that there

    It could not withered be

    But thou thereon didst only breath

    And sent'st it back to me:

    Since, when it grows and smells, I swear,

    Not of itself but thee.

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    Trees

    oyce Kilmer

    I THINK that I shall never see

    A poem lovely as a tree.

    A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

    Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

    A tree that looks at God all day, 5

    And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

    A tree that may in summer wear

    A nest of robins in her hair;

    Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

    Who intimately lives with rain. 10

    Poems are made by fools like me,But only God can make a tree.

    Break Break Break

    Alfred Lord Tennyson

    Break, break, break,

    On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

    And I would that my tongue could utter

    The thoughts that arise in me.

    O, well for the fisherman's boy,

    That he shouts with his sister at play!

    O, well for the sailor lad,

    That he sings in his boat on the bay!

    And the stately ships go on

    To their haven under the hill;

    But O for the touch of a vanished hand,

    And the sound of a voice that is still!

    Break, break, break,

    At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

    But the tender grace of a day that is dead

    Will never come back to me.

    Sonnet 29

    William Shakespeare

    When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

    I all alone beweep my outcast state

    And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries

    And look upon myself and curse my fate,

    Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,

    Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,

    With what I most enjoy contented least;

    Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

    Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

    Like to the lark at break of day arising

    From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

    For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth

    brings

    That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

    Blowin' In The Wind

    Bob Dylan

    How many roads must a man walk down

    Before you call him a man?

    Yes, n how many seas must a white dove sail

    Before she sleeps in the sand?

    Yes, n how many times must the cannonballs fly

    Before theyre forever banned?

    The answer, my friend, is blowin in the windThe answer is blowin in the wind

    How many years can a mountain exist

    Before its washed to the sea?

    Yes, n how many years can some people exist

    Before theyre allowed to be free?

    Yes, n how many times can a man turn his head

    Pretending he just doesnt see?

    The answer, my friend, is blowin in the wind

    The answer is blowin in the wind

    How many times must a man look up

    Before he can see the sky?

    Yes, n how many ears must one man have

    Before he can hear people cry?

    Yes, n how many deaths will it take till he knows

    Tha