Lifes Paces: Lessons Of Life In Poetry
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Who plants a tree, - he doeth well! What does he plant who plants a tree? A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; - Joyce Kilmer, Trees TREES I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day And lifts her leafy arms to pray, A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair Upon whose blossom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.
22 Famous Poems about Life - Popular Classic Poems about Life
Poems were made by fools like me But only God can make a tree. Deep in the earth today, Safely the roots we lay, Tree of our love; Grow thou and flourish long! Every our grateful song Shall its glad notes prolong To God above. Let music swell the breeze And ring from all the trees On this glad day, Bless thou each student band O'er all our happy land; Teach them Thy love's command Great God, we pray. Our green leaves catch the raindrops That fall with soothing sound. Then drop them slowly, slowly down, Tis better for the ground. When, rushing down the hillside, A mighty fresher foams, Our giants trunks and spreading roots Defend your happy homes.
From burning heat in summer We offer cool retreat, Protect the land in winter storm From cold, and wind and sleet. Our falling leaves in autumn By breezes turned and tossed, Will rake a deep sponge-carpet warm, Which saves the ground from frost. We give you pulp for paper, Our fuel gives you heat; We furnish lumber for your homes, And nuts and fruit to eat.
With strong and graceful outline, With branches green and bare, We fill the land through all the year, With beauty everywhere. From the forest Each one a message sends To children this Arbor Day; "We trees are your best friends! He plants the friend of sun and sky; He plants the flag of breezes free; The shaft of beauty, towering high; He plants a home to heaven anigh For song and mother-croon of bird In hushed and happy twilight heard - The treble of heaven's harmony These things he plants who plants a tree.
The mystery of their growth, the movement of their leaves and branches, the way they seemed to die and come again to life in spring, the sudden growth of the plant from the seed - all these appeared to be miracles as indeed they still are, miracles of nature! But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust- Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm Now am I free to be poetical? I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows- Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer.
He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again.
Famous Life Poems
That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise So close to our dwelling place? We suffer them by the day Till we lose all measure of pace, And fixity in our joys, And acquire a listening air.
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They are that talks of going But never gets away; And that talks no less for knowing, As it grows wiser and older, That now it means to stay. My feet tug at the floor And my head sways to my shoulder Sometimes when I watch trees sway, From the window or the door. I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice Some day when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say, But I shall be gone.
Just see where they are around the next hard turn. Then drop them slowly, slowly down, Tis better for the ground. Be blessed for the ones who get on at the worst stops when no one is there. There was a little comet who lived near the Milky Way! I love the heights that are clean and free, where the lonely eagles fly, where the crane and the hawk can nest with me, and my friends, the geese, go by. I'd want the cub of a bear to call, and a porcupine, big, and a tree toad, small. The time will come when, with elation, you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror,.
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.
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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. If you verify some answers Then their future you might see. I loved this poem. The list of things that should be given to our children to have an amazing journey through this life, it's all here! This poem contains so much wisdom!
One night I saw a snowflake fall, Past memories it did recall, And as the snow fell to the ground,. Great style, honest writing.
This hit close to home for me and made me think Thank you very much, and please keep sharing your The past is the past for a reason. That is where it is supposed to stay, But some cannot let it go. In their heads it eats away. I really enjoyed this poem.
It's so very true. We all have certain regrets or circumstances in life we would give anything to change if we could. Sometimes that is just not possible, and even Menu Search Login Loving. Keep me logged in. Life Lesson Poems Email Share.
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