Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Monday, September 30, 2019

Death, be not proud

5. Death, be not proud is written by John Donne.

Death, be not proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’s thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’s thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

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4. Daffodils is written by William Wordsworth.

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed ‘and gazed ‘but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
by William Wordsworth

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The Lotus

3. The Lotus is written by Toru Dutt.

The Lotus
Love came to Flora asking for a flower
That would of flowers be undisputed queen,
The lily and the rose, long, long had been
Rivals for that high honour. Bards of power
Had sung their claims. “The rose can never tower
Like the pale lily with her Juno mien”-
“But is the lily lovelier?” Thus between
Flower-factions rang the strife in Psyche’s bower.
“Give me a flower delicious as the rose
And stately as the lily in her pride”-
“But of what colour?”- “Rose-red,” Love first chose,
Then prayed, -“No, lily-white,-or, both provide”;
And Flora gave the lotus, “rose-red” dyed,
And “lily-white,”- the queenliest flower that blows.
~Toru Dutt

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The Soul's Prayer

1. The Soul's Prayer is Written by Sarojini Naidu.

The Soul's Prayer

In childhood’s pride I said to Thee:
‘O Thou, who mad’st me of Thy breath,
Speak, Master, and reveal to me
Thine inmost laws of life and death.

‘Give me to drink each joy and pain
Which Thine eternal hand can mete,
For my insatiate soul would drain
Earth’s utmost bitter, utmost sweet.

‘Spare me no bliss, no pang of strife,
Withhold no gift or grief I crave,
The intricate lore of love and life
And mystic knowledge of the grave.’

Lord, Thou didst answer stern and low:
‘Child, I will hearken to thy prayer,
And thy unconquered soul shall know
All passionate rapture and despair.

‘Thou shalt drink deep of joy and fame,
And love shall burn thee like a fire,
And pain shall cleanse thee like a flame,
To purge the dross from thy desire.

‘So shall thy chastened spirit yearn
To seek from its blind prayer release,
And spent and pardoned, sue to learn
The simple secret of My peace.

‘I, bending from my sevenfold height,
Will teach thee of My quickening grace,
Life is a prism of My light,
And Death the shadow of My face

Critical Appreciation Click Here...

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Where the Mind is Without Fear Poem

1. Where the Mind is Without Fear Poem written by Rabindranath Tagore.


“Where the mind is without fear 
and the head is held high, 
where knowledge is free. 
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls. 
Where words come out from the depth of truth, 
where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection. 
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way 
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit. 
Where the mind is led forward by thee 
into ever widening thought and action. 
In to that heaven of freedom, my father, 

Critical Appreciation Click Here

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