To Autumn (John Keats)

To Autumn

by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Dear diary,

I went outside to go for a walk today, as I needed to get away from all the work I’ve been getting lately. Autumn has arrived, along with its mists and fruit-laden vines which grow next to the houses in this village. Below the aging sun all the apples, blackberries and pears are growing and ripening. As I was walking, I passed a pumpkin patch where round gourds lay on the ground and I walked past flower patches full of late flowers in bloom. I sat on a bench and watched the bees, still full of summer, flying around me whilst looking for nectar to use once they got back to their hives. After a while I continued walking and found myself imagining the autumn as a goddess sitting on the floor of the granary that I had just passed. Or maybe not sitting, but working and collecting the wheat in the poppy-filled fields which surrounded me at the time. This is not the first time I have imagined this: previously I could almost see Autumn standing by a cider-press hour after hour, patiently trying to get all the juice out of the freshly picked apples. I continued my walk, but every thought I had somehow led me to the thought of spring. I tried not to think of those few months at the start of the year, because a long time will have passed before they arrive. Besides, why think of spring when autumn has just started in all its glory? I decided to head back home, because the night was starting to fall. The sun shone on the once full wheat fields with a rosy hue one last time before disappearing into the dark. Clouds started rolling over the hills and bugs rose from the riverbanks in gigantic swarms. The lambs, which have grown significantly since last spring, were bleating, the crickets were singing, the birds were silently whistling. And as I am falling asleep the swallows are twittering, gathering themselves for their winter migration.

by Anonymous


On the Beach at Night Alone (Walt Whitman)

On the Beach at Night Alone

by Walt Whitman

On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.

A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
All distances of place however wide,
All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d,
And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.


My beloved stars,

Often, when I’m on my own at night watching your bright light shining I have millions of thoughts. If only I could philosophize with you… So high in the sky you must see everything. Do you see the waterdrops that tranquilly lay on the grass, and the bug crawling through it? And those clouds, do they look like flying dragons to you too?

O stars, if only I could speak with you, I could chat with you for hours.

Maybe it was your bright light that shined upon me that night, maybe you whispered wise words in my ear, but it was that night when I thought of the key of universes and of the future. And while I was thinking, the gap between everything seemed to increase.

I saw the beauty of singing birds and silent sunflowers and the ugliness of Trumps ‘great America’.

I thought of refugees on the wild see and of big grey fences.

I philosophized about other planets with other suns and moons.

And although similarities were hard to find, it was that night I found some of them in totally different things. When you open your mind, you can always find them. Sometimes they can hide incredibly good, but if you search for them, you can discover them in everything. Those little resemblances connect everything, and they always will.

Do you agree with me, o beautiful stars? Even if you don’t, there must be something similar to me and you.

I look forward to speaking with you!
Lots of love,

by Anonymous

When I have fears that I may cease to be (John Keats)

When I have fears…

by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Dear George,

I am so afraid, George. I think I can be one of the greatest poets in English literature. Can you see it in front of you? Rows and rows of books, only from me, the fulfilment of my potential that I think I have, and people are buying them! But what if I die before I can show the world how much potential I have!? What if I don’t have enough time!?

When I look around me, I see so much that I can transform into sonnets, ballads or epics. I see romances and nature that I can write about. But I am so afraid I won’t have enough time to write about everything I now see around me. I am so afraid I will not have enough days left.

And then of course before I forget, the love of my life: what if I lose her, what if I can never look upon her anymore? I do not know what I would do then!

I think about all these things, and see myself on this big earth alone, seemingly the only one thinking about this. But while I was thinking about this, I found out that love and fame are not important in life; only to live is. When I die, love and fame have no function anymore.

Best wishes and hoping to see you soon.

Your brother,

John Keats

by Anonymous

The Haunted Palace (Edgar Allan Poe)

The Haunted Palace

by Edgar Allan Poe

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion,
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A wingèd odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute’s well-tunèd law,
Round about a throne where, sitting,
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate;
(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh—but smile no more.


I wandered through the most graceful valley of all, with angels guiding my way. I stood still as I beheld a magnificent palace, or at least what it used to be. A display of greatness, still making it’s mark. So grand, not even god had ever made such beauty.

The palace was decorated with bright banners, gold and yellow, flowing and dancing with the wind. I felt the air, a tender breeze, flooding from the soaring walls. What once used to be, was still breathing. The winds carried a pleasant aroma, as if touched by angels. A faint music could be heard, a lovely hymn, and drawing one’s curiosity. Where two large windows broke the walls, I could see reflections moving in tune, dancing. I ventured inside, something was pulling me. My mind following the music I found my way into a large hall. Now I could see it was a dance ‘round a throne with rhythm and harmony. On the throne sat a king, who can easily be recognised as one born to purple, with greatness and glory surrounded. My mind overflowing with all I saw, his subjects came singing and celebrating, echoing in the halls, parading through the palace doors. Through the enchanting doors glowing red and white of gems and jewels they came, singing harmoniously to wit and wisdom of their king. It was a display of balance and light, it felt eternal.

But it seems nothing lasts, as shadows came, in cloaks of evil. The demons assaulted the glory and harmony, painting it dark and dim. Any mortal witnessing such despair would feel grief for a fallen king of greatness robbed.

The palace is now just a memory of old, with lapses of glory seeping through. It became a forgotten story of darkness and shadows.

Where now travellers trek through the valley, the two large windows can be seen. But no harmony lays behind, just shadows moving in discord and melancholy. Wherever one may look, nothing pleasant can be found. All of its magic had been lost. Even the large doors now house only dreadful swarms, laughing loud and eerie.

by Anonymous

Time (Percy Bysshe Shelley)


by  Percy Bysshe Shelley

Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality!
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea?


My brother was the best brother a girl could ever want. He always intimidated any boy that came near me, stood up for me when girls were being mean, and put in a good word for me when I had another fight with our parents. He was so smart, so motivated. He even got into Harvard University.  He did so by getting a scholarship, seeing as he was the top football player of his high school. Everybody loved him, he was a true peoples person. He was beloved. He was… That sounds weird, doesn’t it? He was loved, he was smart.

I love him, no past tense, present tense. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. Shelley, you will forever be in my heart. You left way too soon. You were taken away from me too soon. I will never meet your children, and they will never meet their father. But I guess that is life. We can’t control it. We are just given time, and we are to use it to the fullest. Some people just get way less time, you got way less time. You couldn’t control it, you couldn’t tame it. It slipped through your fingers just like water. Your life was like one long shower, all the minutes just slipping away. No that’s not a good comparison, because you can plug the shower. But we can’t plug life, we can’t plug time, it has no boundaries. It hits you, it hits you with a majestic force, like a wave hitting the shore. And just like that wave, as soon as it hits you, it starts separating, it breaks.

All those waves are the years you live. You didn’t have many waves. You had one big wave, I wish you had more, I wish I could bottle that wave, keep it with me, keep you with me. But you’re gone. Gone, finished, dead. Not here anymore. And it makes me cry. It makes me howl like the sound of a ship in the storm, blowing its horn in search for the shore. It makes me cry like the rain falling from the sky.

Seconds seem like years, years without you. And the years spend with you feel like seconds. All those memories, slipping through my hands, dripping through my mind. Clouding my head, making it rage, making me rage. I wish I could hold you, even just for a second. But every time I try, it’s like hugging air, like hugging water… They won’t be held, it just makes you cold. I feel cold, cold in my heart. You took all the warmth, all the love. And only you can give it back. Only you can make me warm again, happy again. So please wait for me. Wait for my waves to run out, for my time to be up, for my life to be over. Wait for me.

by Anonymous

Speak Gently (David Bates)

Speak Gently

by  David Bates

Speak gently! — It is better far
To rule by love, than fear —
Speak gently — let not harsh words mar
The good we might do here!

Speak gently! — Love doth whisper low
The vows that true hearts bind;
And gently Friendship’s accents flow;
Affection’s voice is kind.

Speak gently to the little child!
Its love be sure to gain;
Teach it in accents soft and mild: —
It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear —
Pass through this life as best they may,
‘T is full of anxious care!

Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not the care-worn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run,
Let such in peace depart!

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor;
Let no harsh tone be heard;
They have enough they must endure,
Without an unkind word!

Speak gently to the erring — know,
They may have toiled in vain;
Perchance unkindness made them so;
Oh, win them back again!

Speak gently! — He who gave his life
To bend man’s stubborn will,
When elements were in fierce strife,
Said to them, ‘Peace, be still.’

Speak gently! — ‘t is a little thing
Dropped in the heart’s deep well;
The good, the joy, which it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.


Talk with kindness and consideration, for it is more desirable to be adhered out of trust given freely than out of trust taken by threat or force. Do so and let no crude or jagged remark unmake any progress which could be made.

Talk with calmness and tenderness, for those sacred promises are said in sureness and sincerity, not achieved through volume, but through honesty and openheartedness. And just as companionship and fellowship are felt most distinctively through intimacy and understanding, so too are affection and affinity conveyed most effectively with serenity and tranquility.

Talk with patience and understanding, for those youngest of age will then surely embrace you in amity and cheer. Let their lessons be learned from voices steady and at peace, and their embrace, finite as it is, may last just a little longer.

Talk with levity and joyfulness, for those not yet of age shall have their share of woes in all the days to come. Is youth not the cache of joy unmarred by sorrow or smart? Their journey will be long no doubt and full of twists and turns, all they can, with careful steps, is bravely soldier on.

Talk with consciousness and civility, for those who time passed by have felt and weathered each blow and each wrong that life doled out at will. Leave not another scar or bruise to join the motley crowd, the tock ticks its final tocks, let midnight pass in peace. For all the years that touched their hearts and all the hearts they touched in turn, is peacefulness at last not the least that they deserve?

Talk with sympathy and friendliness, for those who hit bedrock bear unfairly bigger burdens than those with greater luck. Let their ears not hear any thorn filled barbs or eyes glance any a wicked tongue. Solitude and destitution, desolation and scarcity. Are throes and woes begot of these burdens not terrible torment enough? More than enough if not too much too start with, without slights said without thought.

Talk with tolerance and leniency, for those who strayed the path might have forged ahead trudging, doomed to fail this way and that. As likely as not, assuming or not, a shortage sentiment veered them off course, a little or lots of endearment like shots of motherly care may keep them adrift, but strengthened assurance of having their back like ferroconcrete or a weathered wolf pack could possibly, plausibly, for all one knows bring them back on track.

Talk with serenity and decency, for the one to give last full measure, in hopes to curb or change the source feeding both Man’s every rise and fall, when all great components of life moved in chaos, simply spoke, “let naught be in disarray but exist in harmony, let all rise to equilibrium and let there be tranquility.

Talk with gentleness and good heartedness, for these are but ways winds blow past tooth and lip and mouth muscle flip, verily the simplest trick, learned within the day long seconds between life’s clock first great ticks. Even so, as light as they, these voice box birthed sounds, could ever have possibly been, like the ripple effect, the residual of (sci-fi) temporal treks they alter, affect, transform and upset monumentally far beyond the reach of what any sense may hope to perceive. The good brought forth, the hopes surely seeded, the strength awakened, the goals succeeded, all inspired by airborne vibrations, these outcomes seen only gazing back passed the long haul at the picture comprised of more than all life in this ‘verse, so who is to say it’s a blessing or curse.

by Zaël J. Maipauw

When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be (John Keats)

When I have Fears That I May

Cease to Be

by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.


Dear beloved,

I write to you this letter, because I fear we will not see each other again. I fear that my time will come soon and therefore I want you to know my final thoughts.

I am afraid I will die before I have harvested my full ripened grain. I feel that I  am not fully developed as a poet yet. I reckon that in ten years’ time I will be much more mature and that only then I will be able to write to the best of my ability. In other words: I am afraid to die before I have written to the best of my ability.

When it is late and I can’t sleep, I look at the radiant stars and my eyes are then filled with tears, such beauty will never disappear, but I, I am transient and will one day disappear forever. Nature is full of surprises, full of miracles, things I want to transform into poetry, when I still have the chance.

There is of course the fear of losing you, my dearest Girl. We fell in love and got engaged, although we both know we will not see each other again. Love is just like you and me mortal and will not last.

And finally I am alone trying to understand these fears and to cope with them. But let me be honest, my dear Fanny, I am not managing so well. It may take a while before I die, but I will always be anxious and worried till the day I leave this earth forever.

Yours forever
John Keats

by Anonymous

Come, walk with me (Emily Brontë)

Come, walk with me

by Emily Brontë

Come, walk with me,
There’s only thee
To bless my spirit now –
We used to love on winter nights
To wander through the snow;
Can we not woo back old delights?
The clouds rush dark and wild
They fleck with shade our mountain heights
The same as long ago
And on the horizon rest at last
In looming masses piled;
While moonbeams flash and fly so fast
We scarce can say they smiled –

Come walk with me, come walk with me;
We were not once so few
But Death has stolen our company
As sunshine steals the dew –
He took them one by one and we
Are left the only two;
So closer would my feelings twine
Because they have no stay but thine –

‘Nay call me not – it may not be
Is human love so true?
Can Friendship’s flower droop on for years
And then revive anew?
No, though the soil be wet with tears,
How fair soe’er it grew
The vital sap once perished
Will never flow again
And surer than that dwelling dread,
The narrow dungeon of the dead
Time parts the hearts of men -‘


Time parts the hearts of men                                    

I arrived at the funeral covered in snow. Someone took my coat, and I rushed to one of the last seats that were not yet taken at the back of the church. They had already begun saying some nice words about her that would never be nice enough. She was one of the kindest and last people I knew. I looked around me and saw countless faces I didn’t recognise. New friends, I imagined. I eventually recognised her family on the right end of the first row. I recognised her husband and her two kids I had once seen on Facebook. I didn’t see her parents, so they must have passed away a while ago. It was about time they did. Not that I didn’t love them, but I think they both had dementia and were living in an elderly home. They’re “in a better place now,” they would have said.

After the service had ended, everyone went outside to the graveyard through the door at the front. I didn’t feel like watching tears of people I didn’t even know wet the soil and went out through the back door. That’s when I saw him. At first, I thought it was just wishful thinking, but he was still standing there a few seconds later, so I knew it couldn’t be my mind playing tricks with me. Seeing him again felt as if someone had finally lifted a weight that had been on my shoulders for years, and I could feel my whole body relax. I didn’t feel alone for the first time in forever. He looked up at me, and for a second he had the same look on his face as I did: relief combined with a little bit of grief. I couldn’t help but think about all of the times we had wandered through the snow on winter nights together, and I longed for that feeling of being understood that I had felt back then. He now was the only one I had left. Without hesitation, I approached him and said, “It’s sad how Death has stolen our company. At least I still have you. Come walk with me like we did when we were younger.” For a moment, I saw only the relief in his eyes as he opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but the relief quickly turned into grief, and he took a moment before saying, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let’s not reopen wounds that were so difficult to heal.” “But we could pick up right where we left off! It could be the same as long ago, but this time sadly just you and me,” I said. “Time parts the hearts of men, Emily. I’m sorry, I just can’t,” he said before turning around and making his way to the graveyard.

And so there I was, all alone, left looking out from the mountain towards the dark and wild clouds that were rushing my way.

by Esther Anderson

Annabel Lee

Annabel Lee

By Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
   In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
   By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
   Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
   I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
   Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
   In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
   My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
   And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
   In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
   Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
   In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
   Of those who were older than we—
   Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
   Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
   In her sepulchre there by the sea—
   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Dear Annabel Lee,

It has merely been days, so why does it feel like a lifetime since I last saw you. Our love so pure and so strong, that heaven could not compete. I long for the light of your touch. I yearn for the love of your sweet lips, which have now turned ashen-grey. I wish I could hear your soft breath next to mine one last time.

But all I hear now are the torturing sounds of the sea. God’s fury, which we have come to know so well, reflected in the water that moves fiercely alongside your tomb. He and His angels are mocking me. I hear their scoffing laughter in every new wave that crashes down beside you and transforms into an avalanche of pure, white sea foam which conceals their jealousy and hate.

People must be wrong about divinity. How can heaven take away something that is even more sacred than itself? Why would a God, with all his holiness, chill the heart of the little girl with the most love to give in the entire human kingdom? No deity I could ever think of would do something so foul and awful. I have come to loathe God and his spiritless slaves they call angels.

Our souls shall never part ways, my dearest Annabel Lee, even though our bodies have been separated. My body has become nothing but a shell, containing the hunger for your love. A shell which sole purpose is to find its way back through the darkness that surrounds it, towards the lights that shine from your eyes.

Now I see it. A dim light, glimmering through the dark fog, barely meeting my eyes. I have found you, love of my life, now I can join you. At last.

Eternally yours,

Edgar Allan Poe

by Simone Flipse

She walks in Beauty

She Walks in Beauty

By Lord Byron (George Gordon)

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!


Dear diary,
Today she asked me why I loved her, once again. Those thoughts tugging at her heartstrings like a sickening virus got a hold of her once more and left her feeling like she wasn’t worthy of the love I am willing to give to her, the love she deserves. I didn’t have the strength to explain it to her, nor is my eloquence sufficient to put my feelings into words. Only now the words are starting to appear in my mind, leaving me able to visualise every concept that was once abstract.

But oh dear diary, she is so much more gorgeous than she believes she is. She walks in beauty, every step as simple and yet stunning as the night of cloudless climes and starry skies. She is not pure, yet her imperfections and darkness are what make her shine only brighter. All the best of dark and bright, both the light enough to make any ordinary soul avert their eyes, and that suffocating darkness which leaves her unable to get out of bed on some days, meet in her aspect and her eyes, where they are mellowed to that mild glow, so simple that it is even overlooked by some who don’t bother to look past the walls she has built, and which heaven to gaudy day denies.

No other bit of shade, no other ray of light can change that nameless grace, which is visible in every raven lock that casts shadows over her olive complexion, or that glow that makes her eyes glimmer every time she smiles and makes it seem as if her face emits the most heavenly light that makes all the angels turn to ash; that face where she expresses her thoughts, serenely sweet. How pure, how dear their dwelling place, and what I’d give to get even a glimpse into the small piece of heaven she calls her mind.

Though perhaps an inner war might be raging where no one but her notices it, on those rosy cheeks, over her perfectly shaped brow, in her smile, in ever other aspect of her body that is shaped with such utmost care that every sculptor on earth would give up their masterpieces to be able to create something like that, there is nothing but peace. A peace that can only come from a heart whose love is innocent.

That is what I wanted to tell her at that time, dear diary. The way she gazed at me with such hopelessness in her amber-tinted irises left me at a loss for words. All I could do was stare back and wonder how such an angel could not see herself the way I see her. Perhaps I will show her this if she ever asks me that question again, or perhaps I will leave her wondering, for I believe true love cannot be explained. This was only a fraction of what I truly feel for her, and I will never be able to convey my love in something as simple as words.  I hope there won’t be a next time she asks me that feared question, instead I pray that it might be in my power, by actions rather than words, to convince her that I love her.

by Aranka van der Post

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (William Wordsworth)

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


Dear diary,

Today began as a very boring day and again I totally didn’t know what to do.
The holidays started and everyone was gone. That made me feel quite lonely, but then  I read a little article in the newspaper about a national park: Lake District. I had nothing
better to do and I had never been there before. So it seemed like a good plan to go there
today.   Meanwhile I did asked to myself that moment: ‘What am I doing with my life? What’s the meaning of life?’ But then I still took my car and drove to the park.

After I arrived I parked my car and went into the park. I walked along the road without a real purpose. And then I saw the lake. It was very beautiful and, when I stood there at the shore, I suddenly saw a group of yellow daffodils. The sun was shining and that made them look almost golden. Then I had to stand still for a moment to look at the beautiful flowers underneath a tree. It looked as if angels threw some sunrays over them.

But there still was a little breeze that made the daffodils flutter and dance in the wind. I looked further and I discovered more groups of daffodils along the margin of the lake. It was an elongated row of daffodils! They were with more than I thought. I couldn’t even see where the row stopped anymore. It was like watching the night sky, or a beautiful sunrise; There’s so much they hold. They made me so happy that i secretly did a little dance of joy with them.

Like I already said there was a breeze. So it was a very little stormy day. That made the
waves in the lake look like they danced with us. It was a sparkling spectacle. I think that at that moment there wasn’t even one girl as happy as this one with the cheery flowers as her company. But did she also realized that when she was there? I was participating just like the waves in the lake and nothing more. It was only later, when I was back home and I lay my the couch again, thinking of all myfriends who are on holiday and when the
feeling of loneliness started to come back, that I thought back on the golden daffodils and I realized how much happiness they had brought to me. I knew what I was doing with
my life and so I stood up from the couch and I danced with those daffodils in my mind.
And as I’m writing this in my diary, I have to smile again.

I’ll see you tomorrow, Diary!

Lots of love,
Dorothy Cloud

by Anonymous

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (William Wordsworth)

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


So there I was, sitting in front of my house, looking at people walking home from work.
The sun goes down. I looked at the joint in my left hand, there’s not much left. I took a hit and looked at sun. Yellow, orange, purple, red. I wondered how such a simple thing, that we see everyday, could suddenly become so beautiful.

I took another hit. Now all at once I saw a crowd. I have never noticed them before, because of their  height. The breeze that came along, made them dance a little.  A little group of daisies, colored  yellow and white, now looked so human, in the beginning of the night.

Then something else caught my eye, a little bird flying in the sky. All alone in the big sea of colors. His  Red breast struck me the most, it made him look so grand. So there I sat just staring at the robin for  a couple of minutes, wondering how such a small bird, could look so grand.

After staring at the bird for so long, I took the last hit and threw all that was left away. I now looked at the other side of the road. There they were, beautiful red ones, the ones my beloved used to love.

I looked at them. Their heads hung down. The condensation created little tears on their red faces. It  made them look like as if they were crying.  Then I saw the last person, fast walking home. All those people, I thought by myself, they are too  busy.  Never thinking about the real world, only the one we created ourselves.

by Anonymous