My November Guest
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise
poem by Robert Frost
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Related quotes
My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.
quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tendril’s Faith
Under the snow in the dark and the cold,
A pale little sprout was humming;
Sweetly it sang, ‘neath the frozen mold,
Of the beautiful days that were coming.
“How foolish your songs, ” said a lump of clay,
“What is there, I ask, to prove them?
Just look at the walls between you and the day,
Now, have you the strength to move them? ”
But under the ice and under the snow
The pale little sprout kept singing,
“I cannot tell how, but I know, I know,
I know what the days are bringing.”
“Birds, and blossoms, and buzzing bees,
Blue, blue skies above me,
Bloom on the meadows and buds on the trees,
And the great glad sun to love me.”
A pebble spoke next: “You are quite absurd.”
It said, “with your song’s insistence;
For I never saw a tree or a bird,
So of course there are none in existence.”
“But I know, I know, ” the tendril cried,
In beautiful sweet unreason;
Till lo! from its prison, glorified,
It burst in the glad spring season.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Winter rain
She comes as an uninvited guest
when she’s expected less
and in times of the year’s
cold misery
she falls like icicles
out of a grey winter sky.
Her coming when the faded earth
is at its bare rest
with stripped trees
and yellowed grass
and bare patches
where flowers should be;
vexes me, as nothing rise when she falls
and just more chill follows her drops.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Crosses We Bare
Some days seem longer than others,
depending on how many crosses
we have to bare.
Each of us has a cross to carry,
for guilt, we call our own.
When the crosses get heavy,
days seem to linger with out end.
We feel at times,
no one can help us
with the crosses that we bare,
but there is always someone.
They walk beside us everyday,
a simple prayer of forgiving,
and he will help us on our way.
We can tell him all our sorrows,
our guilt’s and woes to be.
He always listens to us
as he walks with us each day.
We all know his name,
and how to speak to him,
if the crosses that we carry,
ever get to weighty to bare.
poem by David Harris
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So Glad My Days Are Simple
I am so glad my days are simple.
So glad my sights are clear.
Viewing life nonjudgementally...
I'm free to express my cheer!
Materialistic wishes,
Are briefly satisfied.
I found a peace of mind I hold,
I have learned not to put my life aside!
I am not completely isolated,
From others who feel rushed with pursuits.
I was once caught up myself with quick endeavors...
Until I discovered a self I had to soothe.
And I am so glad my days have become simple,
I have time to enjoy other facets of life.
I don't look for rain when clouds appear.
And when they do,
I accept that as being alright!
I don't get uptight about it,
Like some who use these times to fight!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Days in Red
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
And moon of glowing dark
Sky deep and high
Days days days in red
Flowing on hours in night
Where love lost its flight
Once those were alright
Now they no more spark
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
Is there a horizon of ignite
Where hours go on by
Days days days in red
Flowing memories at sight
No feeling seems now right
But love's still inside
Come come babe now close abide
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
Is there a horizon of ignite
Where hours go on by
Days days days in red
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Autumn
When, with low moanings on the distant shore,
Like vain regrets, the ocean-tide is rolled:
When, thro' bare boughs, the tale of death is told
By breezes sighing, "Summer days are o'er";
When all the days we loved -- the days of yore --
Lie in their vaults, dead Kings who ruled of old --
Unrobed and sceptreless, uncrowned with gold,
Conquered, and to be crowned, ah! never more.
If o'er the bare fields, cold and whitening
With the first snow-flakes, I should see thy form,
And meet and kiss thee, that were enough of Spring;
Enough of sunshine, could I feel the warm
Glad beating of thy heart 'neath Winter's wing,
Tho' Earth were full of whirlwind and of storm.
poem by David MacDonald Ross
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Sunny Days
Sunny Days, Grandma would say
makes the birds sing, songs it brings
melodies of happier times, just for a dime
dancing and dressing fancy
a Symphony from the trees
a picnic under the tree
we sing, we dance
love the sunny days
from walks to talks
children play
to listen to the song of birds
bring love to the sun
enjoyable time
oh sunny days
poem by Michael Peterson
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVIII
HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE IS DEAD
My love is dead, dead and in spite of me,--
Dead while I lived,--while yet my blood was rife
With hope and pleasure and the pride of life.
For my love ended unexpectedly
During the Winter, stricken like a tree
By a night's cold, and frozen to the blood,
Whose leaves fell off and never were renewed
By any promise of the years to be.
And, when the Spring came, and the birds, to mate
Among its branches, lo! they found it bare,
Though all around was Summer in the wood.
Yet they took heart awhile, incredulous
That such a tree should be for ever dead.
``'Tis early yet,'' they cried. ``The Spring is late.
It shall still be as in the days that were.''
But Summer came and went while the tree stood
Bare in the sun like a deserted house.
--Then the birds suddenly despaired and fled.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Bird Sanctuary
Between the cliff-rise and the beach
A slip of emerald I own;
With fig and olive, almond, peach,
cherry and plum-tree overgrown;
Glad-watered by a crystal spring
That carols through the silver night,
And populous with birds who sing
Gay madrigals for my delight.
Some merchants fain would buy my land
To build a stately pleasure dome.
Poor fools! they cannot understand
how pricelessly it is my home!
So luminous with living wings,
So musical with feathered joy . . .
Not for all pleasure fortune brings,
Would I such ecstasy destroy.
A thousand birds are in my grove,
Melodious from morn to night;
My fruit trees are their treasure trove,
Their happiness is my delight.
And through the sweet and shining days
They know their lover and their friend;
So I will shield in peace and praise
My innocents unto the end.
poem by Robert William Service
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Oh Happy Days
Oh happy days,
Everyone likes you.
Oh happy days,
Please stay today.
Oh happy days,
Sweet like honey.
Oh happy days,
loving family ties.
Oh happy days,
Giving us strength.
Oh happy days,
Children out playing.
Oh happy days,
On the green grass.
Oh happy days,
With boundless optimism.
Oh happy days,
I give thanks.
Oh happy days,
Dreaming for more.
Oh happy days,
Warm and bright.
Oh happy days,
Like love eternal.
Oh happy days,
And glad memories.
Oh happy days,
New hope prayers.
Oh happy days,
With smiling faces.
Oh happy days,
Holidays and health.
Oh happy days,
With close friends.
Oh happy days,
Generous and giving.
Oh happy days,
Shiny rainbow dreams.
Oh happy days,
Till the very end.
Oh happy days,
Always and forever.
Amen.
poem by Rowina Mallick
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The Days Of Our Lives
Free are the simple days
that bring you no care.
Imprisoned are the hard days
that are difficult to bear.
But bare them we must
and keep hopes high
so none of them
will let hope die.
Ecstatic are the beauteous days
that spring forth with joy.
Hapless are the colorless days
that appear and then destroy
the freedom that
you thought was yours
because it came
and closed the doors
on the simple days
that were with you,
because you believed
they'd never be through.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Good Old days
In those days
The good old days
When I had nothing
to think but long
Black beautiful haired girls
Which once or twice
Looked at me and smiled
Of all these beauties, the one
That caught my attention
Was even the the most beautiful
As beautiful as a gazelle
She strolled into my life
And I became the happiest
One in earth
I can stay for days without food
This love can make one
Go crazy.
And I lost it all, no ambition
No aspiration, no future.
I just want to be with her
No matter what.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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George Jones Reflects
It's up an' down, as me father said,
An' his as went before him
Good days could never turn his head
Nor the worst of seasons floor him.
(Said old george Jones). I've heard him say
Full many a time an' often,
'The man who knows no evil day
Ain't toughened so he can out-stay
Good times, in which men soften.'
See-saw. 'Tis the older law
That's ruled the world since Adam.
If men ain't sipped the bitter cup,
How can the good days cheer 'em up?
They never know they had 'em.
So, by-an'-large, I'm sorter glad
I've had a chance to share 'em
These long, lean years we've lately had.
Now good years come we've got the bad
With which we can compare 'em.
I've heard men say the land is done
Because the hard times fool 'em.
Poor simple loons, they ain't begun
To know the laws wot rule 'em.
'Men ain't learned yet to live on air,'
I've hard my ole dad chuckle.
'Stick to the land. All wealth lies where
Earth bids all men to seek it, e'er
When life gets near the knuckle.'
See-saw. 'Tis the olden law;
An' laws help them as learned 'em.
An' us ole stagers wot held fast
To earth, now clear days down at last,
Why, praise the Lord, we've earned 'em.
Hard earned (said old George Jones) most ways
High prized. New loads is lighter,
Us, who held fast can well spare praise,
Aye, even for then strengthenin' days
That makes these good days brighter.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Beautiful Day
Tired of living like my days are bad
When I open up my eyes, I'm glad
And I can't complain 'bout yesterday
Cuz today's a brand new day
Comb my hair and though some like it wrong
Jump in my ride because it's on
And I'm gone, I'm gone
1 - I woke up this morning
Opened up my eyes and prayed, Lord
Cuz it's a beautiful day
No matter what nobody say
Even though it's cloudy
I can see the sun rays
Oh, cuz it's a beautiful day
No matter what nobody say
Cuz it's a beautiful day, a beautiful day
Life just can't get no better than this
Mother Nature's given us a kiss
Cuz tomorrow I'm glad I didn't miss
Let's take advantage of days like this
When the night time does finally hit
There'll be no reason for guns
It'll be fun, fun, fun, fun
Repeat 1
Everything is good because I'm living and I'm healthy
I'm not too concerned 'bout being poor or being wealthy
I feel really good about this blessing given to me
Nothing in this world could ever take all my joy from me
It's beautiful, it's beautiful
It's beautiful, it's beautiful
It's beautiful
A beautiful day, a beautiful day
A beautiful day, a beautiful day
Repeat 1
I don't have a complain in the world
I am doing so good
Without, without, without the money
Without, without, without the stress
Without, without, without the people, oh yeah
Repeat 1 until fade
song performed by by Mary J Blige
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shall Never Love the Snow Again
I never shall love the snow again
Since Maurice died:
With corniced drift it blocked the lane,
And sheeted in a desolate plain
The country side.
The trees with silvery rime bedight
Their branches bare.
By day no sun appeared; by night
The hidden moon shed thievish light
In the misty air.
We fed the birds that flew around
In flocks to be fed:
No shelter in holly or brake they found,
The speckled thrush on the frozen ground
Lay frozen and dead.
We skated on stream and pond; we cut
The crinching snow
To Doric temple or Arctic hut;
We laughed and sang at nightfall, shut
By the fireside glow.
Yet grudged we our keen delights before
Maurice should come.
We said, 'In-door or out-of-door
We shall love life for a month or more,
When he is home.'
They brought him home; 'twas two days late
For Christmas Day:
Wrapped in white, in solemn state,
A flower in his hand, all still and straight
Our Maurice lay.
And two days ere the year outgave
We laid him low.
The best of us truly were not brave,
When we laid Maurice down in his grave
Under the snow.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Old Days
Old days
Good times I remember
Fun days
Filled with simple pleasures
Drive-in movies
Comic books and blue jeans
Howdy doody
Baseball cards and birthdays
Take me back
To a world gone away
Memories
Seem like yesterday
Old days
Good times I remember
Gold days
Days Ill always treasure
Funny faces
Full of love and laughter
Funny places
Summer nights and streetcars
Take me back
To a world gone away
Boyhood memories
Seem like yesterday
Old days - in my mind and in my heart to stay
Old days - darkened dreams of good times gone away
Old days - days of love and feeling fancy free
Old days - days of magic still so close to me
Old days - in my mind and in my heart to stay
Old days - darkened dreams of good times gone away
Old days - days of love and feeling fancy free
Old days - days of magic still so close to me
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Colours of Autumn
Coppery red leaves,
Falling from trees,
That soon will be bare.
The colours of Autumn.
Piles of reddish brown,
Lying scattered on the ground.
And a chill in the air.
The colours of Autumn.
The sky is grey,
Shorter days,
And darker nights.
The colours of Autumn.
Evenings bathed in gold,
Thunderclouds so bold,
And weaker sun, not as bright.
The colours of Autumn.
poem by Amy Darnbrook
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It’s April
It’s April and the autumn rain
patters down for days long,
the Magalies Mountains are covered
by grey-black clouds
and later there are summer days
where the sun still hangs white-hot
and I long, want the summer
to last forever
but the years are already
leaving their marks on my face,
are drawing through my hair
and like some of the trees
in a winter I will also turn skeleton,
become stripped from my better days
and then at a time
will be part of the cold earth.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A late walk
i walk through the lane again
now all tarred, laterite
the gravel all gone
pieces of my life
all the days of the years
the stones too
they hit the soft spots
under the feet
aching the heart
the lengthy lane
now so short for the legs
once so short
childhood friends, neighbours
they flew back, stared, walked
laughed from all angles
back and fore of my eyes
the heart leapt to yesteryears
inspired by
A Late Walk
When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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