Sorrow Poems
Life Is A Privilege
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Life is a privilege. Its youthful days
Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays.
To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire,
To feed with dreams the heart’s perpetual fire,
To thrill with virtuous passions, and to glow
With great ambitions – in one hour to know
The depths and heights of feeling – God! in truth,
How beautiful, how beautiful is youth!
Life is a privilege. Like some rare rose
......
The Power Of The Dog
by Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
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Realisation
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Hers was a lonely, shadowed lot;
Or so the unperceiving thought,
Who looked no deeper than her face,
Devoid of chiselled lines of grace –
No farther than her humble grate,
And wondered how she bore her fate.
Yet she was neither lone nor sad;
So much of love her spirit had,
She found an ever-flowing spring
......
Womanhood
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
She must be honest, both in thought and deed,
Of generous impulse, and above all greed;
Not seeking praise, or place, or power, or pelf,
But life’s best blessings for her higher self,
Which means the best for all.
She must have faith,
To make good friends of Trouble, Pain, and Death,
And understand their message.
She should be
As redolent with tender sympathy
......
The Mylora Elopement
by Banjo Paterson
By the winding Wollondilly where the weeping willows weep,
And the shepherd, with his billy, half awake and half asleep,
Folds his fleecy flocks that linger homewards in the setting sun
Lived my hero, Jim the Ringer, "cocky" on Mylora Run.
Jimmy loved the super's daughter, Miss Amelia Jane McGrath.
Long and earnestly he sought her, but he feared her stern papa;
And Amelia loved him truly -- but the course of love, if true,
Never yet ran smooth or duly, as I think it ought to do.
Pondering o'er his predilection, Jimmy watched McGrath, the boss,
......
Leegte
by Mario Odekerken
Je stoel staat er nog,
alsof je elk moment terugkomt.
De stilte draagt je naam,
fluistert in kamers
waar je niet meer bent.
Tijd schuift voorbij,
maar jij blijft
tussen ademhalingen
......
Tussen die gemis
by Mario Odekerken
Gelukkig is soms nie altyd nie,
en daarom het die pyn van jou verlies
dragbaar geword.
In die stilte van gewone dae
asem jou afwesigheid,
maar ook die herinnering
an wie jy was.
Ek dra jou saam
......
Zwischen dem Fehlen
by Mario Odekerken
Glücklich ist manchmal nicht immer,
und so ist der Schmerz über deinen Verlust
tragbar geworden.
In der Stille gewöhnlicher Tage
atmet dein Fehlen,
doch auch die Erinnerung
an das,was du warst.
Ich trage dich
......
Between the absence
by Mario Odekerken
Happiness is not always,
and so the pain of losing you
has become bearable.
In the silence of ordinary days
your absence breathes,
but so does the memory
of who you were .
I carry you
......
Tussen het gemis
by Mario Odekerken
Gelukkig is soms niet altijd,
waardoor de pijn door het verlies van jou
draagbaar geworden is.
In de stilte van gewone dagen
ademt jouw afwezigheid
maar ook de herinn
aan wie je was.
Ik draag je mee
......
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Frances Ellen Wat Harper (14 poems about Sorrow)
24 September 1825 – 22 February 1911 / Baltimore, Maryland -
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