Poems that I love

by Khwajeh Shams al-Din Muhammad Hafez-e Shirazi (Hafiz) When The violin Can forgive the past It starts singing When the violin can stop worrying About the future You will become such a drunk laughing nuisance That God Will lean down And begin combing you into her hair When the violin can forgive Every wound caused by Others, The heart starts singing Daniel Ladinsky, translator Thanks to Morgan Zo-Callahan who found this poem after the murder of five Amish girls.

by Khwajeh Shams al-Din Muhammad Hafez-e Shirazi (Hafiz) Though wine gives delight, and the wind distills the perfume of the rose, Drink not the wine to the strains of the harp, for the constable is alert. Hide the goblet in the sleeve of the patchwork cloak, For the time, like the eye of the decanter, pours forth blood. Wash the wine stain from your dervish cloak with tears, For it is the season of piety, and the time for abstinence. Translation by Edward Browne

by Robert Frost The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to the ocean— Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition. My thanks to Michael Sierchio Please click here to go to a page I created for more of Frost’s poems.

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 planned: 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.

by Jane Kenyon Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves down. Let the cricket take up chafing as a woman takes up her needles and her yarn. Let evening come. Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned in long grass. Let the stars appear and the moon disclose her silver horn. Let the fox go back to its sandy den. Let the wind die down. Let the shed go black inside. Let evening come. To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to air in the lung let evening come. Let it come, as it will, and don't be afraid. God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come.

by Gaius Valerius Catullus Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque, et quantum est hominum venustiorum: passer mortuus est meae puellae, passer, deliciae meae puellae, quem plus illa oculis suis amabat. nam mellitus erat suamque norat ipsam tam bene quam puella matrem, nec sese a gremio illius movebat, sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc ad solam dominam usque pipiabat. qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum illuc, unde negant redire quemquam. at vobis male sit, malae tenebrae Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis: tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis o factum male! o miselle passer! tua nunc opera meae puellae flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli. Click here for an English translation of this love poem

by Yehuda Amichai An Arab shepherd is searching for his goat on Mount Zion And on the opposite hill I am searching for my little boy. An Arab shepherd and a Jewish father Both in their temporary failure. Our two voices met above The Sultan's Pool in the valley between us. Neither of us wants the boy or the goat To get caught in the wheels Of the "Had Gadya" machine. Afterward we found them among the bushes, And our voices came back inside us Laughing and crying. Searching for a goat or for a child has always been The beginning of a new religion in these mountains.