The Poet-poem

THE POET
By Yone Noguchi


Out of the deep and the dark,
A sparkling mystery, a shape,
Something perfect,
Comes like the stir of the day:
One whose breath is an odor,
Whose eyes show the road to stars,
The breeze in his face,
The glory of heaven on his back.
He steps like a vision hung in air,
Diffusing the passion of eternity;
His abode is the sunlight of morn,
The music of eve his speech:
In his sight,
One shall turn from the dust of the grave,
And move upward to the woodland.

The Donkey -poem

THE DONKEY
By G. K. Chesterton



When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood

Then surely I was born.
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,

The devil’s walking parody
On all four-footed things.


The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,

I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:


There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet. <

A Red, Red Rose-poem

A RED, RED ROSE

By Robert Burns



O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.


So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.


Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

A Barred Owl-poem

A BARRED OWL
By Richard Wilbur
The warping night air having brought the boom
Of an owl's voice into her darkened room,
We tell the wakened child that all she heard
Was an odd question from a forest bird,
Asking of us, if rightly listened to,
"Who cooks for you?" and then "Who cooks for you?"

Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear,
Can also thus domesticate a fear,
And send a small child back to sleep at night
Not listening for the sound of stealthy flight
Or dreaming of some small thing in a claw
Borne up to some dark branch and eaten raw.