Favorite Poem Friday (#8)

Good morning swooners!

Today i'm posting a poem that I recently discovered in a book that was given to me over the holidays. It's new to me but it's so beautiful that I know i'll always go back to it when I just need to hear (or read) the words. The book is called Love Her Wild by Atticus and each page is a different poem with no name. So today's poem has no name to it but you can tell me what you think it should be called. I have my theories, tell me yours!

What of the firefly,

the one I love to chase?

The old man smiled

Love her

he said

but leave her wild,

and the old oak tree I love to climb?

Love her, he said, but leave her wild

the bird that sings that song I love?

Love her, he said, but leave her wild

and the wolf that cries to the old joke moon?

Love her, he said, but leave her wild

and the horse that loves to run with storms?

Love her, he said, but leave her wild.

And what of her,

the one I love most?

And the old man smiled.

Yes, he said,

you must love her too

but love her wild

and she'll love you.

Favorite Poem Friday (#7)

Morning Swooners!

So today i'm posting one of my absolute favorite poems of all time. This particular poem speaks to me on so many levels and it gives me such a good feeling whenever I read it. It's one of those poems that I always go back to because no mater what kind of day i'm having, it just works its' magic on me and I instantly feel better (even if it's short lived lol). I hope this one resonates with you as well.

Hope is the Thing With Feathers by Emily Dickinson 

Hope is the thing with feathers 

That perches in the soul, 

And sings the tune without the 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 kept so many warm. 

I’ve heard it in the chillest land, 

And on the strangest sea; 

Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Favorite Poem Friday (#5)

Morning Swooners,

I haven't fully recovered from the recent loss of my grandpa so my posts are still going to reflect those feelings that i'm going through. I promise i'll buck up to my old self soon, but today just isn't that day. I hope you enjoy today's poem by Charlotte Brontë. Please don't run away just yet, my poem choices will be bubbly soon enough, I promise!

On the Death of Anne Brontë by Charlotte Brontë

There’s little joy in life for me,

And little terror in the grave;

I’ve lived the parting hour to see

Of one I would have died to save.

Calmly to watch the failing breath,

Wishing each sigh might be the last;

Longing to see the shade of death

O’er those belovèd features cast.

The cloud, the stillness that must part

The darling of my life from me;

And then to thank God from my heart,

To thank Him well and fervently;

Although I knew that we had lost

The hope and glory of our life;

And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,

Must bear alone the weary strife.

Favorite Poem Friday (#4)

Today's poem is an oldie but a goodie and kind of hits home for me today. I live with my grandparents and they've both had a lot of health issues recently. In a way it's been a little reminder of their mortality and the fact that they won't be in my life forever. They have both been so strong for so long and they continue to "rage against the dying of the light." They wont be overcome by the darkness and I love them for showing grace and strength during times when they are expected to be scared and angry. So here's to my grandparents, my favorite warriors!

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas 

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Favorite Poem Friday (#3)

Morning Swooners!

Today's poem is a popular one but it's always been one of my favorites. I hope you love it as much as I do. Dare I say it will bring back memories long forgotten...Enjoy!

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe 

It was many and many a year ago, 

   In a kingdom by the sea, 

That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

   By the name of Annabel Lee; 

And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

   Than to love and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child, 

   In this kingdom by the sea, 

But we loved with a love that was more than love— 

   I and my Annabel Lee— 

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven 

   Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 

   In this kingdom by the sea, 

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

   My beautiful Annabel Lee; 

So that her highborn kinsmen came 

   And bore her away from me, 

To shut her up in a sepulchre 

   In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, 

   Went envying her and me— 

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, 

   In this kingdom by the sea) 

That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

   Of those who were older than we— 

Of many far wiser than we— 

   And neither the angels in Heaven above 

Nor the demons down under the sea 

   Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 

   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, 

In her sepulchre there by the sea— 

   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Favorite Poem Friday (#2)

Happy Friday Swooners!

This week's favorite poem is by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I'd be surprised if you haven't seen it before but then again I know some people aren't into poetry. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I do. 

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. 

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 

For the ends of being and ideal grace. 

I love thee to the level of every day’s 

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. 

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. 

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. 

I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, 

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death.

Favorite Poem Friday (#1)

Morning Swooners! So i've decided to do something new and fun. I've always loved reading and writing poetry and now I want to share that love with you. So every Friday i'll have a different poem posted for you guys to read. Maybe you've seen them before and maybe you haven't but either way they are all beautiful. So here's the first of many. Hope you enjoy! 

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know

one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine