'Teach me I am forgotten' by the dead by Ralph Waldo Emerson | Poets.org
Teach me I am forgotten by the dead
And that the dead is by herself forgot
And I no longer would keep terms with me.
To honor our brave soldiers and their families.
Leaving the Family Behind The very roots are torn from the tree. The soldier must soldier on with heart, mind and soul 9,000 miles away. The very roots are torn from the tree. While families left behind live a daily palpable drama hoping to avoid the tragedy of the reaper rapping the death knell knock....
Spring Song by Sherwood Anderson | Poets.org
In the forest, amid old trees and wet dead leaves,
a shrine.
Men on the wet leaves kneeling.
Song by James Joyce | Poets.org
My love is in a light attire
Among the apple trees,
To My Mother, by Christina Rossetti | Poets.org
Christina Rossetti's best-known work, Goblin Market and Other Poems, was published in 1862. The collection established Rossetti as a significant voice in Victorian poetry. She died in 1894.
Seattle Symphony musicians free chamber music May 15
WHAT: The public and media are invited to a free lunchtime chamber music performance in Benaroya Hall’s Samuel & Althea Stroum Grand Lobby at 12:45 p.m Wednesday, May 15.
Before the Birth of One of Her Children by Anne Bradstreet | Poets.org
Anne Bradstreet was born in Northamptonshire, England in 1612, but emigrated to Ipswich, Massachusetts at the age of 18 with her husband and parents.
The Paltry Nude Starts on a Spring Voyage by Wallace Stevens | Poets.org
But not on a shell, she starts,
Archaic, for the sea.
But on the first-found weed
My Lady Is Compared to a Young Tree by Vachel Lindsay | Poets.org
Vachel Lindsay was born in Springfield, Illinois on November 10, 1879. He was known as the Prairie Troubadour because he integrated music into his poems and performed them theatrically. He died in 1931.
Cloud Shadows
I saw cloud shadows Atop rolling hills Dusty green and hazy In the mid-day sun Cruising straight ahead On a never ending road I sit and see Life passing by me Cloud after cloud Shadow after shadow A feeling of uneasiness Rises and fades away The mind misses the train White cloud misses the rain...
We never know how high we are (1176) by Emily Dickinson | Poets.org
We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
