Thomas Bailey Aldrich
I
BIRTHDAY VERSES
Dear Aldrich, now November's mellow days
Have brought another Festa round to you,
You can't refuse a loving-cup of praise
From friends the fleeting years have bound to you.
Here come your Marjorie Daw, your dear Bad Boy,
Prudence, and Judith the Bethulian,
And many more, to wish you birthday joy,
And sunny hours, and sky caerulean!
Your children all, they hurry to your den,
With wreaths of honour they have won for you,
To merry-make your threescore years and ten.
You, old? Why, life has just begun for you!
There's many a reader whom your silver songs
And crystal stories cheer in loneliness.
What though the newer writers come in throngs?
You're sure to keep your charm of only-ness.
You do your work with careful, loving touch, --
An artist to the very core of you, --
You know the magic spell of "not-too-much ":
We read, -- and wish that there was more of you.
And more there is: for while we love your books
Because their subtle skill is part of you;
We love you better, for our friendship looks
Behind them to the human heart of you.
November 24, 1906.
II
MEMORIAL SONNET
THIS is the house where little Aldrich read
The early pages of Life's wonder-book:
With boyish pleasure, in this ingle-nook
He watched the drift-wood fire of Fancy spread
Bright colours on the pictures, blue and red:
Boy-like he skipped the longer words, and took
His happy way, with searching, dreamful look
Among the deeper things more simply said.
Then, came his turn to write: and still the flame
Of Fancy played through all the tales he told,
And still he won the laurelled poet's fame
With simple words wrought into rhymes of gold.
Look, here's the face to which this house is frame, --
A man too wise to let his heart grow old!
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Related quotes
Barnes And Noble Days
Working at Barnes and Noble
was interesting indeed,
I had managed to succeed
in doing many book readings.
I had my books short listed by Kim,
she was sweet and let my books in.
In Barnes and Noble for the first time,
so I could read my books that really do rhyme.
In reading my book "Sarah's Special Birthday"
children got to sit in the chair by a tray.
singing "Happy Birthday" with their very own name.
Tray had on it a cake that did very much light,
it lit up from UniCandle unicorn right on site.
Blowing out the "fake cake" the kids were amazed,
How could the cake light up
was the question they had raised.
Many older kids knew the trick,
They rubbed the white lever they did click.
Now, kids loved Melodie and UniCandle unicorn too,
I would sign their books with their names and Sue.
Now I will go by Suzae instead,
at the end of my show when I have read,
my books for when you go to bed.
They are dream books about
Adventures to be told,
hopefully I will get them
in major bookstores
before I am really old.
Written by Suzae Chevalier
poem by Christina Sunrise
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The Quarrel
Our quarrel seemed a giant thing,
It made the room feel mean and small,
The books, the lamp, the furniture,
The very pictures on the wall--
Crowded upon us as we sat
Pale and terrified, face to face.
"Why do you stay?" she said, "my room
Can never be your resting place."
"Katinka, ere we part for life,
I pray you walk once more with me."
So down the dark, familiar road
We paced together, silently.
The sky--it seemed on fire with stars!
I said:--"Katinka dear, look up!"
Like thirsty children, both of us
Drank from the giant loving cup.
"Who were those dolls?" Katinka said
"What were their stupid, vague alarms?"
And suddenly we turned and laughed
And rushed into each other's arms.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Sonnet: My Poetic Evolution
From simple Rhymes that Kinder-gardens teach,
And little songs that children love to sing,
I worked my way, up to what Poets reach,
And tried to soar the Skies with my own Wing!
And then I came to know what metre was;
And Rhythm melody of words and sounds;
And soon I was some kind of Poetic-Boss;
And tried my skill of words in newer grounds!
The old was gold but people wanted new;
I had to write 'free verses' now and then;
My Sonnets sprung with speed and divine hue;
My Wings were strong enough to reach Heaven!
Believe-it-or-not, I'm World's Sonnet-King!
Each Sonnet was just a ten- minute thing!
poem by John Celes
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Happy Birthday, Dear Octogenarian Poet! May You Live Longer!
We heard today 'tis your happy birthday!
Eighty-one years had slipped away smoothly;
Thank God, you are just what you are today;
Our life must go on as per destiny!
Despite all strife, life has been kinder still;
What you had done, not many can ev'r do;
The good thing is you are not very ill!
God's wisdom and blessings reach but a few.
Each one's life-span is set by God Himself;
He gives us freedom to reduce/ prolong;
Man's work is judged not by his accrued pelf;
Ev'n now, your life just stays a blissful song!
Yet, none prevent the changes around us;
The strongest man has weaknesses galore;
God's work that's prime, if you do without fuss,
Can open yet, another wider door!
Age does not matter but your mind and heart;
Health will be good if your soul stays quite pure;
And if you'd been righteous right from the start,
To ripe old age, God helps you well endure!
"Happy Birthday, Dear Uncle Poet R.R.!
May You Live Longer! "
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-07-'12
poem by John Celes
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Happy Birthday My Love
Happy Birthday, wish you were here,
Happy Birthday, wish I was there,
Happy Birthday, my dear,
Happy Birthday, I say with care.
Happy Birthday My Love
I love you,
Happy Birthday,
I miss you,
Happy Birthday,
Wish I could see you.
Happy Birthday My Love
Happy Birthday, wish I could give you a kiss,
Happy Birthday, wish I could give you a hug,
Happy Birthday, if only you, I didn’t have to miss,
Happy Birthday, I wish I could hold you all snug.
Happy Birthday My Love
War is around us,
Happy Birthday,
I miss us,
Happy Birthday,
Wish you didn’t have to leave us,
Happy Birthday My Love
I can’t believe I’m losing you!
You can’t leave me!
Please come back, we can’t be through!
My heart is still with thee!
Happy Birthday My Love
Happy Birthday My Love,
I still love you,
Happy Birthday My Love,
You’re in my heart,
Happy Birthday My Love,
I know that’s where you’ll stay,
Happy Birthday My Love,
I’ll stay alive for you,
Happy Birthday My Love
poem by Ocean Myranda
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The Diary
Dot the I's, cross the T's
and read this once again.
Close it up. Take the key.
Lock it. Put down the pen.
This diary I will always keep
bringing to my mind
all the endless things I do
that I leave behind.
All the meaningless, tireless words
that sum up all my days
never seem to express my dear
the costly price one pays
for loving someone much too much
like I loved you.
No one will ever find your name
if some day they view
what I've written in this book,
what I did impart.
Your name ny love, I could not write.
I kept it in my heart.
So when my life is finished dear
if they come upon this book,
they won't even know you existed
for they won't know where to look.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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New Year's Eve
I
The other night I had a dream, most clear
And comforting, complete
In every line, a crystal sphere,
And full of intimate and secret cheer.
Therefore I will repeat
That vision, dearest heart, to you,
As of a thing not feigned, but very true,
Yes, true as ever in my life befell;
And you, perhaps, can tell
Whether my dream was really sad or sweet.
II
The shadows flecked the elm-embowered street
I knew so well, long, long ago;
And on the pillared porch where Marguerite
Had sat with me, the moonlight lay like snow.
But she, my comrade and my friend of youth,
Most gaily wise,
Most innocently loved, --
She of the blue-grey eyes
That ever smiled and ever spoke the truth, --
From that familiar dwelling, where she moved
Like mirth incarnate in the years before,
Had gone into the hidden house of Death.
I thought the garden wore
White mourning for her blessed innocence,
And the syringa's breath
Came from the corner by the fence,
Where she had made her rustic seat,
With fragrance passionate, intense,
As if it breathed a sigh for Marguerite.
My heart was heavy with a sense
Of something good forever gone. I sought
Vainly for some consoling thought,
Some comfortable word that I could say
To the sad father, whom I visited again
For the first time since she had gone away.
The bell rang shrill and lonely, -- then
The door was opened, and I sent my name
To him, -- but ah! 't was Marguerite who came!
There in the dear old dusky room she stood
Beneath the lamp, just as she used to stand,
In tender mocking mood.
"You did not ask for me," she said,
"And so I will not let you take my hand;
"But I must hear what secret talk you planned
"With father. Come, my friend, be good,
"And tell me your affairs of state:
"Why you have stayed away and made me wait
"So long. Sit down beside me here, --
"And, do you know, it seemed a year
"Since we have talked together, -- why so late?"
Amazed, incredulous, confused with joy
I hardly dared to show,
And stammering like a boy,
I took the place she showed me at her side;
And then the talk flowed on with brimming tide
Through the still night,
While she with influence light
Controlled it, as the moon the flood.
She knew where I had been, what I had done,
What work was planned, and what begun;
My troubles, failures, fears she understood,
And touched them with a heart so kind,
That every care was melted from my mind,
And every hope grew bright,
And life seemed moving on to happy ends.
(Ah, what self-beggared fool was he
That said a woman cannot be
The very best of friends?)
Then there were memories of old times,
Recalled with many a gentle jest;
And at the last she brought the book of rhymes
We made together, trying to translate
The Songs of Heine (hers were always best).
"Now come," she said,
"To-night we will collaborate
"Again; I'll put you to the test.
"Here's one I never found the way to do, --
"The simplest are the hardest ones, you know, --
"I give this song to you."
And then she read:
Mein kind, wir waren Kinder,
Zei Kinder, jung und froh.
* * * * * * * * * *
But all the while a silent question stirred
Within me, though I dared not speak the word:
"Is it herself, and is she truly here,
"And was I dreaming when I heard
"That she was dead last year?
"Or was it true, and is she but a shade
"Who brings a fleeting joy to eye and ear,
"Cold though so kind, and will she gently fade
"When her sweet ghostly part is played
"And the light-curtain falls at dawn of day?"
But while my heart was troubled by this fear
So deeply that I could not speak it out,
Lest all my happiness should disappear,
I thought me of a cunning way
To hide the question and dissolve the doubt.
"Will you not give me now your hand,
"Dear Marguerite," I asked, "to touch and hold,
"That by this token I may understand
"You are the same true friend you were of old?"
She answered with a smile so bright and calm
It seemed as if I saw new stars arise
In the deep heaven of her eyes;
And smiling so, she laid her palm
In mine. Dear God, it was not cold
But warm with vital heat!
"You live!" I cried, "you live, dear Marguerite!"
Then I awoke; but strangely comforted,
Although I knew again that she was dead.
III
Yes, there's the dream! And was it sweet or sad?
Dear mistress of my waking and my sleep,
Present reward of all my heart's desire,
Watching with me beside the winter fire,
Interpret now this vision that I had.
But while you read the meaning, let me keep
The touch of you: for the Old Year with storm
Is passing through the midnight, and doth shake
The corners of the house, -- man oh! my heart would break
Unless both dreaming and awake
My hand could feel your hand was warm, warm, warm!
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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November in Ireland
November days in Ireland
The skies are dull and grey,
But Oh! The clear strong flame of love,
That burns by night and day.
As swift and bright the whispered prayers fly to the Heavens O'erhead,
From faithful hearts in Ireland, remembering their dead.
No primroses or cowslips now,
But cold November rain,
No hawthorns in the hedges,
Till Spring comes round again,
But roses bloom in chapels lone and cabins far apart
Dear rosaries of remembrance said to Mary's loving heart.
"For all the Holy Souls we pray,
God give them peace and light
For the brave boys that died for us,
We pray both day and night.
We can feel their presence near us-we can hear their voices call,
For the dead folk in Ireland are the 'livest' of us all"
November days in Ireland
Are just one round of prayer,
Of loving help, and sacrifice,
For those who claim our care.
And Oh! Look up with hope to Heaven: the starry, shining dome,
Is vibrant with the beating wings of glad souls going home.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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My Special Birthday Card to You
No words could be found that could
tell you how delighted I am spending
this special day telling you how lucky
and privileged I am to be sharing this
day with you, my husband!
I could find no words in the store that said, “you’re
My friend in good times, my rock in
times of sorrow-my reason for all the
wonderful yesterdays, and my promise for tomorrows!
Too, I found no words that said to you: “honey
I feel the same love for you today, your birthday,
that I felt for you the many days before-even
before becoming your wife, and promise to make
this year, and every year the best in your life!
I couldn’t even find final words to tell you: that this year’s
betters and worst, pains and sorrows, we stayed by each
other’s side sharing the laughter and tears through
those uncertain hours and days. Still not knowing
what the future has in store for you and me,
but this I know, without a doubt, the best is yet to come.
Happy birthday, my dear sorry I didn’t have a birthday card
Lying on your pillow when you awaken-but sometimes, we must “have our say”
Here, wishing you a Happy Birthday! We’ll celebrate this weekend!
Perhaps, it wasn’t such a great idea getting married on your birthday. LOL
By
Almedia Knight-Oliver
November 7,2011
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Sonnet I: Loving In Truth
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain:
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain;
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain:
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn'd brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay,
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,
And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite--
"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."
poem by Philip Sidney
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To Genevieve On Her Twenty Ninth Birthday
Happy Birthday to you Genevieve today you are twenty nine
And with age you have grown mellow like the good expensive wine
And on looking back a decade the years simply seemed to fly
And hope this tenth day of August is a day you will enjoy.
I remember in your teen years you had dreadlocks in your hair
And when things were going against you at your mum you used to swear
But the years have made you mellow and you see things differently
And now with you and mummy dearest it's mostly love and harmony.
Happy Birthday Genevieve Ladds you are twenty nine years old
And you are a special person and your's is a heart of gold
And your friends to you important and they seem to multiply
And hope this tenth day of August is a day you will enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Old Love
I
You love me, only me. Do I not know?
If I were gone your life would be no more
Than his who, hungering on a rocky shore,
Shipwrecked, alone, observes the ebb and flow
Of hopeless ocean widening forth below,
And is remembering all that was before.
Dear, I believe it, at your strong heart's core
I am the life; no need to tell me so.
And yet--Ah, husband, though I be more fair,
More worth your love, and though you loved her not,
(Else must you have some different, deeper name
For loving me), dimly I seem aware,
As though you conned old stories long forgot,
Those days are with you--hers--before I came.
II
The mountain traveller, joyous on his way,
Looks on the vale he left and calls it fair,
Then counts with pride how far he is from there,
And still ascends. And, when my fancies stray,
Pleased with light memories of a bygone day,
I would not have again the things that were.
I take their thought like fragrance in the air
Of flowers I gathered in my childish play.
And thou, my very soul, can it touch thee
If I remember her or I forget?
Does the sun ask if the white stars be set?
Yes, I recall, shall many times, maybe,
Recall the dear old boyish days again,
The dear old boyish passion. Love, what then?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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At play
Play that you are mother dear,
And play that papa is your beau;
Play that we sit in the corner here,
Just as we used to, long ago.
Playing so, we lovers two
Are just as happy as we can be,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
"I love you" we both shall say,
All in earnest and all in play.
Or, play that you are that other one
That some time came, and went away;
And play that the light of years agone
Stole into my heart again to-day!
Playing that you are the one I knew
In the days that never again may be,
I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
I love you!" my heart shall say
To the ghost of the past come back to-day!
Or, play that you sought this nestling-place
For your own sweet self, with that dual guise
Of your pretty mother in your face
And the look of that other in your eyes!
So the dear old loves shall live anew
As I hold my darling on my knee,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
Oh, many a strange, true thing we say
And do when we pretend to play!
poem by Eugene Field
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Astrophel and Stella: I
ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: I
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,--
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,--
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe;
Studying inventions fine her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburn'd brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting invention's stay;
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows;
And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way.
Thus great with child to speak and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite,
"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart, and write."
poem by Philip Sidney
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A Trifle
I know not why, but ev'n to me
My songs seem sweet when read to thee.
Perhaps in this the pleasure lies -
I read my thoughts within thine eyes.
And so dare fancy that my art
May sink as deeply as thy heart.
Perhaps I love to make my words
Sing round thee like so many birds,
Or, maybe, they are only sweet
As they seem offerings at thy feet.
Or haply, Lily, when I speak,
I think, perchance, they touch thy cheek,
Or with a yet more precious bliss,
Die on thy red lips in a kiss.
Each reason here - I cannot tell -
Or all perhaps may solve the spell.
But if she watch when I am by,
Lily may deeper see than I.
poem by Henry Timrod
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The Burial in the Snow
How well do I remember
Of a burial in the snow,
On a winter's evening
Some fifteen years ago;
The ground was covered over
With the beautiful crystal snow,
And it glistened in the moonlight,
Like diamonds all aglow.
It was a pleasant evening,
That merry Christmas eve;
And I never can forget, how
The frost hung on the tree.
The moon was shining clearly,
And the sleigh-bells rang so sweet;
Ah, it was splendid sleighing,
The snow was two feet deep.
My grandparents were living
Some two miles then away,
My parents went to see them,
To spend the holiday.
I went with my kind parents,
For the evening was sublime,
To see dear aunts and uncles,
And have a merry time,
I saw the beaming faces
Of my grandparents dear,
As they met us on the door-step,
With welcome words of cheer.
In fancy I can see them
As in the days of yore,
When they welcome home their children
Through the old familiar door.
The banquet board that evening,
Was filled with cake and wine,
Delicious fruits and oysters
That came from foreign clime.
It was a merry party
That met once more to roam,
My grandparents were happy,
Their children were all home.
Grandpapa said, "dear children,
Lay the tea things aside,
And some of you get ready
To take a pleasant ride.
The moon is shining clearly,
The evening is sublime,
O'er the crystal snow we'll glide,
And have a jolly time."
Hats and cloaks were soon put on,
By those who wish to go,
They were wrapped up snug and warm,
For a sleigh ride o'er the snow.
Their hearts were light and gleeful,
They rode away with ease,
I never can forget them,
Or that merry Christmas eve.
On that beautiful evening,
They rode five miles away,
O'er hills, and dales, and frozen snow,
With prospects bright and gay.
They came to their journey's end,
And soon were homeward bound,
A more joyous, happy band
Was nowhere to be found,
The merry sleigh bells ringing
Out on the midnight air,
And merry voices singing
All "right side up with care! "
The horses were high-spirited,
They ran away, and lo!
Broke loose from the sleigh, and left
It buried in the snow.
The people of that party
Lay scattered all around,
Some were frightened, others laughed,
To think it happened so,
That the end of their sleigh ride
Was a burial in the snow.
Yet they were gay and happy,
The bright moon o'er them shone,
And laughing o'er their sleigh ride,
They all went trudging home.
Some of those friends are dead and gone,
That met in that old home,
And never will we meet again,
Around that dear hearth stone.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Loving In Truth, And Fain In Verse My Love To Show
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That She, dear She, might take some pleasure of my pain,
—Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain—
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburnt brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows;
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite—
"Fool!" said my Muse to me "look in thy heart, and write!"
poem by Philip Sidney
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Happy Birthday Song
Every year, once a year
There is a special day
A happy, happy holiday
Thats filled with love and cheer
Happy birthday, happy birthday
Happy birthday to all of you
Now we get your name and we wish you the same
Happy birthday to you
Spiel:
Lea:
Say lets wish happy birthday to all the kids
Out there wherever they may be.
Bibeth:
But we dont know all their names.
Lea:
Sure, we do bibeth.
Oh, theres angela, mickey, bernard, arsil, cynthia
Siopsie, danny, ronnie, elvie and vivian. how bout
You, lilian? can you think of any names?
Lilian:
Sure, lea. theres lulu, ferdinand, sheryl,
Carol, gino, imelda, ritchie, maria and lily and mike.
Bibeth:
How bout me? malou, jerome and norma
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you all
Happy birthday to you
Heres a happy birthday cake
Happy, happy birthday cake
Mommy made it just for you
Happy, happy birthday cake
Now you blow the candles out (yehey!)
Blow and blow the candles out
All your wishes will come true
When you blow the candles out
Now its time to cut the cake (wow!)
Happy, happy birthday cake
Give a piece to all your friends
Now its time to cut the cake
Golly gee it taste so good
Golly gee it taste so good
Its the best we ever had
Happy, happy birthday cake
Spiel:
Lea:
Say you at home playing this recording
Maybe youre having a birthday party
And you would like to sing happy birthday to someone
So were going to leave a blank
Where we come to the part that says
Happy birthday dear so and so
And you put in whatever name you want, okay?
Happy birthday to you (repeat 2x)
Happy birthday dear ______
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you (repeat 2x)
Happy birthday dear...
Lea:
Happy birthday to all the kids out there
Happy birthday to one and all
Happy birthday to you!
song performed by by Lea Salonga
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy Belated Birthday Andy
For my friend Andrew Mark Wilkinson
To Andy, I call him a friend,
but some friend I seem to be,
when I let his birthday pass by,
without saying Happy Birthday.
Therefore, I must apologise
for my oversight my friend.
Although this is nine days late,
May I take this time to say
I hope you had a wonderful Birthday.
I have no excuses for overlooking
a friend from my Birthday poem list.
As I read Andy’s poems almost daily,
I feel guilty that I overlooked his Birthday.
Andy is our resident Romantic poet,
whose poems of love and passion
fills quite a few with joy,
and whose friendship I value.
He writes from the heart
of loves entanglement there,
sometimes mirroring at times his own life.
A great poet and a great friend to all.
Therefore, from this friend who sadly forgot
a Happy Belated Birthday my friend, nine days late.
poem by David Harris
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Have a Happy Blessed Birthday
Its yo' birthday,
I wanna wish u,
This day, its somehow special,
its yo' birthday,
A remarkable day,
filled with cheer,
smile for today,
hope its fun,
thank God for today,
for today, its a gleeful day,
may u stay and live,
till another years and more birthdays.
Celebrate today,
Enjoy the fullest today,
Butta also some for us,
the dead and gone.
Its yo' birthday,
Happy birthday to you,
Some years back you was brought to this Earth today,
Yo' mum and daddy are,
Great people towards today,
Pray for them.
Grasp that and gift of wishes,
Behold the sky,
Today it's yo' birthday,
And all yours,
I found the birds whistling, singing,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear ma friend,
Happy birthday to you.
Also hope you lite the candles,
For a brighter tomorrow,
Than today.
poem by Kiyaga Lyttle Cephas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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