Hope Is A Thing With Feathers
by Emily Dickinson
Hope is a thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings a tune without words
And never stops at all.
And sweetest, in the gale, is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That keeps so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet, never, in extremity
It ask a crumb of me.
by Christina Rossetti
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
“Is there magic in poetry?…
Words a few , in rhythms and metres
clasping hands with adjectives and imagination,
telling us a tale, so happy, so cute
making us think,making us feel
making us weep,making us long
Is there magic in poetry?… ”
The world is full of languages and the languages are full of poems and the poems are full of life… poetry made me feel the life in the language and here, i share the poems that i fell in love with…. what about you?… Is there a poem that you fell in love with?
A child is like a butterfly in the open……..
It flies swiftly around meadows , plants,flowers and follows the beautiful morning rays of sun shone on the little
It is not bound to any restrictions- As free as the blowing wind.
She flies happily in her own path…
A path she chooses on her own.
It remembers its days in the cocoon, gaining wings and strength to face the world.
Children in the early years are like the larvae in their cocoon.
And the cocoon, I believe, is EDUCATION, without which, a child is like a boat in the mighty ocean without an oar.
Bad education is a flawed cocoon. Luckily, the butterfly builds its own cocoon
but we ought to build one for our children and children’s children. Why not build a better one….?
By Christina Rossetti
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.