Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room,
  And hermits are contented with their cells,
  And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
  High as the highest peak of Furness fells,
  Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison unto which we doom
Ourselves no prison is: and hence for me,
  In sundry moods, ’twas pastime to be bound
  Within the Sonnet’s scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
  Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

In a moment of daily thought,
the words can often say;
For one heart to seek another,
in the magic of the day.

Blissful now yet unaware,
how thoughts turn into love;
When letting all the feelings fly,
like birds following the sun.

A waterfall of golden dreams,
connects with soulful essence;
And once cascading to the heart,
true love reveals its presence.

No longer left in solitude,
the flight of Cupid's stance;
Belongs to someone else who knows,
the warmth of a lover's glance.

Eternal brood the shadows on this ground,
Dreaming of centuries that have gone before;
Great elms rise solemnly by slab and mound,
Arched high above a hidden world of yore.
Round all the scene a light of memory plays,
And dead leaves whisper of departed days,
Longing for sights and sounds that are no more.

Lonely and sad, a specter glides along
Aisles where of old his living footsteps fell;
No common glance discerns him, though his song
Peals down through time with a mysterious spell.
Only the few who sorcery's secret know,
Espy amidst these tombs the shade of Poe.

Little Tiger, burning bright
With a subtle Blakeish light,
Tell what visions have their home
In those eyes of flame and chrome!
Children vex thee - thoughtless, gay -
Holding when thou wouldst away:
What dark lore is that which thou,
Spitting, mixest with thy meow?  

The cloudless day is richer at its close;
A golden glory settles on the lea;
Soft, stealing shadows hint of cool repose
To mellowing landscape, and to calming sea.

And in that nobler, gentler, lovelier light,
The soul to sweeter, loftier bliss inclines;
Freed form the noonday glare, the favour'd sight
Increasing grace in earth and sky divines.

But ere the purest radiance crowns the green,
Or fairest lustre fills th' expectant grove,
The twilight thickens, and the fleeting scene
Leaves but a hallow'd memory of love!

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
      Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

Today, beloved, I have beheld
Thy Consternation. I have watched
Thy child-gaze as it raised
From the fragments of thy beloved toy.
I have watched the agony of thy empty hands,
And known the ache within thy empty heart;
For the stones of the day have dashed
Thy most precious treasure. Oh beloved!
Hast thou looked unto the sky?
Hast thou seen the threading circlet moon?
And the promise-star? Hast thou,
Oh my beloved? Then let me pledge to thee,
That in the witchery of God's magic
Thy beloved treasure shall be assembled,
And thou shalt play upon the sands of Eternity;
With renewed faith picking up
The breaked things, and weeping, that thou
Didst e'en doubt the fidelity of atoms.
Today, beloved, take my hand, and we shall
Labour together, making the fragments whole.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

Her sadness hung around her
Like a suit of tailored tears.
And her vision started to blur
Knowing she lost someone dear.
Goodbyes always hurt the most
When the story wasn't finished
When opportunities were missed
And potential is diminished.
She gazed into the black abyss
Thinking about what could have been.
The abyss gazed back into her
Its loneliness crawled under her skin.
But she heard a whisper in the wind
Saw the sun's diamond glints on snow
A lonely lark appeared to sing
A song that only she could know.
It made her step back from the brink
Of the river never conquered twice
For she was never left behind;
on his way to paradise.

The sky lights up with sunny smiles,
that shower rays for many miles;
And Nature prospers from its powers,
as gardens bloom with fragrant flowers.

But what still waits in the world beyond ?
a sun that glows can't be undone;
Yet in the darkest hours we see,
the moon replace day's reverie.

In galaxies across the universe,
expanding time repeats its verse;
Of words that gently touch the soul,
while finding truth's commanding role.

So in the space that guides our way,
we seek to live another day;
Beyond the sun where heaven shines,
we'll sit and wait for dreams divine.