Stress Free Poetry

Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As ‘twixt a miser and his wealth is found: Now proud as an enjoy'er and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, Now counting best to be with you alone, Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure; Sometime all full with feasting on your sight And by and by clean starved for a look; Possessing or pursuing no delight Save what is had or must from you be took.     Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,      Or glut toning on all, or all away. By ( William Shakespeare )

Pope’s Ode to solitude  "How happy he, who free from care  The rage of courts, and noise of towns;  Contented breaths his native air,  In his own grounds.  "Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,  Whose flocks supply him with attire,  Whose trees in summer yield him shade,  In winter fire.  "Blest! who can unconcern'dly find  Hours, days, and years slide swift away,  In health of body, peace of mind,  Quiet by day "Sound sleep by night; study and ease  Together mix'd; sweet recreation,  And innocence, which most does please,  With meditation.  "Thus let me live, unheard, unknown;  Thus unlamented let me die;  Steal from the world, and not a stone  Tell where I lie." (Pope, it is said, wrote this gem of a poem at the age of 12. It is undoubtedly one of the 100 best poems of the English language during the last five hundred years). My ...

In the midst of night I lie, awake, Unable to share what comes to my mind, In the midst of all these thoughts You come, With elation does ecstasy come. You say You are always by my side, Nearer to me than my jugular vein, Tell me then the untold truth, Tell me how one in heaven abides. You say You made me in the best of moulds, Then, reduced me to the lowest low, You say You are the Creator Best, That You are Unique from all the rest. You say everything has been destined, What for then is my daily grind, What is this promise of heaven and hell, Why do You speak from a hiding blind? The perfect man You sent for us, To save us from your Hell's abyss, You say You are Most Merciful, Then who stole my rest and peace? By ( Emmenay )