*"*My Favourite Poetries*"*

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Poetry 1! *SMS* ~ Muhabbat ki thi ham nay jafa honay say phelay, Toth gayee sansoon ki doad wafa honay say pehlay. ------------------------------- Pied Beauty Glory be to God for dappled things— For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough; And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him.
Poetry (2) *Adam Posed* Could our first father, at his toilsome plow, Thorns in his path, and labor on his brow, Clothed only in a rude, unpolished skin, Could he a vain fantastic nymph have seen, In all her airs, in all her antic graces, Her various fashions, and more various faces; How had it posed that skill, which late assigned Just appellations to each several kind! A right idea of the sight to frame; T'have guessed from what new element she came; T'have hit the wav'ring form, or giv'n this thing a name. --------------------- The Gallery Clora, come view my soul, and tell Whether I have contrived it well. Now all its several lodgings lie Composed into one gallery; And the great arras-hangings, made Of various faces, by are laid; That, for all furniture, you'll find Only your picture in my mind. Here thou art painted in the dress Of an inhuman murderess; Examining upon our hearts Thy fertile shop of cruel arts: Engines more keen than ever yet Adornèd tyrant's cabinet; Of which the most tormenting are Black eyes, red lips, and curlèd hair. But, on the other side, thou'rt drawn Like to Aurora in the dawn; When in the east she slumb'ring lies, And stretches out her milky thighs; While all the morning choir does sing, And manna falls, and roses spring; And, at thy feet, the wooing doves Sit perfecting their harmless loves. Like an enchantress here thou show'st, Vexing thy restless lover's ghost; And, by a light obscure, dost rave Over his entrails, in the cave; Divining thence, with horrid care, How long thou shalt continue fair; And (when informed) them throw'st away, To be the greedy vulture's prey. But, against that, thou sit'st afloat Like Venus in her pearly boat. The halcyons, calming all that's nigh, Betwixt the air and water fly: Or, if some rolling wave appears, A mass of ambergris it bears: Nor blows more wind than what may well Convoy the perfume to the smell. These pictures and a thousand more, Of thee, my gallery do store; In all the forms thou canst invent Either to please me, or torment: For thou alone to people me, Art grown a num'rous colony; And a collection choicer far Than or Whitehall's, or Mantua's were. But, of these pictures and the rest, That at the entrance likes me best; Where the same posture, and the look Remains, with which I first was took: A tender shepherdess, whose hair Hangs loosely playing in the air, Transplanting flowers from the green hill, To crown her head, and bosom fill.
Poetry "3". Birthday Song The canary yellow envelope at mail call aroused the other seminarians, “What’s the occasion?” “Ya got me,” I lied and peeked in at two Mallards landing on a Blessed Virgin blue pond with a largemouth bass leaping to greet them under the swirling script in the sky— Happy Birthday To A Wonderful Son— the only reminder that tomorrow, just another day in the sem, was my birthday, the seventh since any celebration with Mom and Sarah, my sister, the seventh away from Winthrop Street in Detroit, half a continent west, my third birthday with my new family the Congregation of the Holy Ghost whom I adopted with vows of poverty, chastity, obedience a family but no gifts, not even a handkerchief, no three-layer cake lathered with angel-white icing, lipstick-red roses, first slice for the birthday boy, no candles, family, friends to sing Happy Birthday to You ---------------------------------------- from Paradise Lost, Book I Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, Heav'nly Muse, that, on the secret top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed In the beginning how the Heav'ns and Earth Rose out of Chaos; or, if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flow'd Fast by the oracle of God, I thence Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer Before all temples th' upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, Dovelike sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark Illumine; what is low, raise and support; That, to the height of this great argument, I may assert Eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men. ------------------------------- Kubla Khan Or a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.