Sublime
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Year’s End - Richard Wilbur
Now winter downs the dying of the year,
And night is all a settlement of snow;
From the soft street the rooms of houses show
A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,
Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin
And still allows some stirring down within.
I’ve known the wind by water banks to shake
The late leaves down, which frozen wh
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As T. S. Eliot wrote, in a brilliant and painstaking way: I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope, For hope would be hope for the wrong thing: wait without love for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
David Whyte • The Heart Aroused: Poetry and the Preservation of the Soul in Corporate America
Death Is Nothing At All By Henry Scott-Holland, Famous Death Poem
Henry Scott-Hollandfamilyfriendpoems.com
I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.
J.R.R. Tolkien • The Lord of the Rings
I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
Joe Fassler • Light the Dark: Writers on Creativity, Inspiration, and the Artistic Process
Frost is the author of one of the greatest short poems in the English language, a poem that every American boy knows by heart, about the wintry woods, and the dreary dusk, and the little horsebells of gentle remonstration in the dull darkening air, and that prodigious and poignant end—two closing lines identical in every syllable, but one personal
... See moreVladimir Nabokov • Pale Fire (Vintage International)
But I shall follow the endless, winding way,—the flowing river in the cave of man; careless whither I be led, reckless where I land.