Do not mention the name of love,
O my simple-minded companion.
WHEN dawn's first cymbals beat upon the sky,
Rousing the world to labour's various cry,
From the Third Voyage of Hart Crane
Remember thee! remember thee!
Till Lethe quench life's burning stream
Si tú me dices ven, lo dejo todo… No volveré siquiera la mirada
As the Sun withdrew his rays from the garden, and the moon threw cushioned beams upon the flowers, I sat under the trees pondering upon the phenomena of the atm
Make me, O Lord, Thy spinning-wheel complete.
Thy holy word my distaff make for me.
When first Thou on me, Lord, wroughtest Thy sweet print,
My heart was made Thy tinder-box,
A Curious Knot God made in Paradise,
And drew it out inamled neatly Fresh.
This that you see, the false presentment planned With finest art and all the colored shows
There are two kinds of intelligence: one acquired,
as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts
Let me do my work each day; and if the darkened hours of despair
overcome me, may I not forget the strength that comforted me
O Lord, we come this morning Knee-bowed and body-bent
Lord, can a crumb of dust the earth outweigh,
Outmatch all mountains, nay the crystal sky?
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
If heaven the grateful liberty would give
That I might choose my method how to live,
This we have now
is not imagination.
O God, whose thunder shakes the sky,
Whose eye this atom globe surveys,
_*Original*_: Urdu
lab pe aatii hai duaa banake tamannaa merii
Do not leave me alone, a helpless woman.
My strength, my crown,
TELL me, Brother, how can I renounce Maya? When I gave up the tying of ribbons, still I tied my garment about me:
by Kabir
7 lines, 4 comments
Lift ev'ry voice and sing,
Till earth and heaven ring,
O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man, Silent distiller of the balm of rest,
And what would I do in heaven pray,
Me with my dancing feet?
ONCE in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
So Eden was deserted, and at eve
Into the quiet place God came to grieve.
God made them very beautiful, the trees:
He spoke and gnarled of bole or silken sleek
Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?
Spring The year's first poem done,
My dear, dear Lord, I know not what to say:
Speech is too coarse a web for me to clothe
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