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

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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

The World Is Too Much With Us (William Wordsworth)

The World Is Too Much With Us

By William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

_____________________________________________________

They throw plastic in nature like sunflowers spreading their beautiful seeds into the wide world. A wild world which is reduced by hypocrite creatures. They shape traffic jams in the busy places where this creatures used to live. Inefficiently moving, lay wasting our powers and gasses who fill lungs of little ones. The world is too much with them. They fear and hope it will be solved one day, but doing something for this rotten clod starts in their own hands. Risks are clear but they are honoured to play the game. Already lost in the very beginning when you creatures intend to be independent to nature. Ocean tides are affected by moon, winds starts to blow like up-gathering communities in my tribe. Rational thinking is included laws of nature. For this, for everything, we are out of balance.

O Aphrodite, mother of nature, stirring the right way is difficult for herd animals. Herd animals brainwashed by self-seeking leaders of this gruel world. I’d rather be a snowdrop, hope, spring forecast, peace. So might I, nailed to this rotten clod, have glimpses of resistance against a world warming up when winter said her last words. When the wind is howling through de communities of these ‘people’ and blowing away the blanket resting on the skyscrapers not letting any beam of the great fire inside. The blanket which is formed by these creatures in this traffic jams.

Having sight of Poseidon who is ascending from the sea. Or Aeolus who is wearer for the clouds. The world is too much with them. Them who are ruining this world and spike my precious leaves.

by Anonymous

Ozymandias (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Ozymandias

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said-“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert….Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Work, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

_____________________________________________________

A letter from the sculptor of the monument from Ozymandias

Dear Cleo,

Hi, how are you? I miss you so much! I hope I am able to come home soon… But you know what kind of person Ozymandias is. Is everything ok with the baby? I will send you all the money I earn immediately.
You know I got another job at Ozymandias’ palace, right? Turns out: I have to sculpt a huge monument for him. This crazy project will take years to finish. To make it even more fun: it will be standing in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere!
The only reason that he wants this monument to be made is that he wants to be remembered.
Till the end of time. Isn’t being the mightiest and most well-known king in this century not enough? How arrogant can you be?

He wants a statue of his whole body with, of course, a really ‘unselfish’ text on the pedestal:

“My name is Ozymandias, King of kings; Look on my Work, ye Mighty, and despair!”

But doesn’t he know no one can beat the test of Time? Everybody will eventually be forgotten! Even Ozymandias! You can be as rich, mighty, famous and powerful as you want, but over thousands and thousands of years, nobody will even ever have heard of his name. People will find this statue in the middle of the desert and, hopefully, see what an arrogant person he was.

Wow, now I am writing you, I got an idea! A really good idea, though I say so myself. Since I have the power of presenting Ozymandias any way I want… I will give his face the ice-cold expression he always has! Maybe even with his signature frown and a little sneer on his lips. Then they will understand what kind of personality Ozymandias had, don’t you think?

I’m sorry, Ozymandias demands me to start right now with the statue. The block of stone is ready to work with. My next letter will be longer, I promise!

I hope to be hearing from you soon!
Lots of love,

Marcus

by Anonymous

I Hid My Love (John Clare)

I Hid my Love

By John Clare

I hid my love when young till I
Couldn’t bear the buzzing of a fly;
I hid my love to my despite
Till I could not bear to look at light:
I dare not gaze upon her face
But left her memory in each place;
Where’er I saw a wild flower lie
I kissed and bade my love good-bye.

I met her in the greenest dells,
Where dewdrops pearl the wood bluebells;
The lost breeze kissed her bright blue eye,
The bee kissed and went singing by,
A sunbeam found a passage there,
A gold chain round her neck so fair;
As secret as the wild bee’s song
She lay there all the summer long.

I hid my love in field and town
Till e’en the breeze would knock me down;
The bees seemed singing ballads o’er,
The fly’s bass turned a lion’s roar;
And even silence found a tongue,
To haunt me all the summer long;
The riddle nature could not prove
Was nothing else but secret love.

_____________________________________________________

To my secret love,

I need to stop running back to you in my mind all the time, but I have never been able do that since I saw you for the first time, in the wild flower fields on that summer night. I tried to stop loving you, I really did, but those flies buzzing in the sky, waking me on those sleepless nights where only the beams of the sun could give me a sense of real life, just these simple things, you’re not easy to forget. How could I forget you with your eyes that could swallow stars, universes and galaxies. How am I supposed to hide my love? But all those times I actually did,  I was too shy to tell you how I felt, sometimes even  to scared to look upon your  lovely face, so instead I hid my love behind soft smiles and hopeful hellos. And with each wild flower that would grow, I would say to myself that I should let you go.

Do you actually remember the first time we actually talked without your crowd of friends? I reckon you don’t, because in my mind it was the foremost chapter of my story, yet for you just another page. You see, I didn’t fall in love with you once, but I fall in love with every single time you look at me. But even harder that summer morning, when the sun just started to rise, the dewdrops pearled the wood bluebells and the bees started to sing their hymn. And you asked, ‘how do I look?’ While combing nervously a hand through your golden hair. And I said, ‘the way the summer breeze kisses your bright blue eyes and how these morning sunbeams light up your hair and just the fact that you are so unknowing of your alluring appearance, makes you the most beautiful. But it only came out as ‘you look fine’.

And here I am now, writing this letter in the wild flower fields, not knowing that this spark inside my frozen body could turn into a burning fire. I never thought I would love you this much, and I never planned to have you in my mind this often. And all those twirling thoughts in my head, it makes me go mad. It’s like the breeze, – that once kissed your eyes – could knock me down. And the bees – that once sang a pleasing song –  could make me a deaf man blinded by love. This whole summer I’ve been wondering what you’d hear in the silence between us.

You were both everything I could ever want, and nothing I could ever have.

I really wish you all the happiness in the world, but if there’s any chance I could be that happiness, let me know.

Yours sincerely,

John

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.

_____________________________________________________

Dear Caitlyn, my sweetest love,

I have been meaning to tell you about this amazing experience I had.  A few days ago I decided to go for a walk. I walked through a forest and a field of corn, alongside a road and finally I went over the hills and through the valley near a lake, which was surrounded by another forest. That’s where I saw the most beautiful field of flowers, a field of golden daffodils, reflecting the sunlight. This field stretched forever in every direction. When I saw this I decided to stop and just lay down in the middle of those daffodils for a while and close my eyes. I listened to the breeze passing through the daffodils and it sounded like beautiful music, the music became louder and louder. Louder than the sounds of the singing birds and falling leaves, even louder than the small waves on the lake, rolling to shore. As I was listening I sunk into a very deep sleep. So deep that I thought I was in the Milky Way itself, looking at the billion stars shining so bright in there. I always imagine you being one of those and that I am a star right next to you. I miss you. I miss you so much. And there are times when I feel like I can’t live without you, that I want to be next to you back at our house in London. But whenever I feel like this when I’m in the sofa watching the open fire, I think of those golden daffodils. They remind me of you and how beautiful you can sing and dance. I did not realize that these flowers would bring me so much comfort when I’m feeling alone and yet they do bring me comfort when I miss you. They make me happy and put I smile on my face even though I feel lonely without you. And when I come back I will stay with you forever and I will take you to see those daffodils, near the hills and valley, near the forest and the lake. I’ll take you to see them, because want you to enjoy them just as much as I do. My dearest Caitlyn: I love you so much.

Yours Sincerely,

Edward

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.

_____________________________________________________

Dear diary,

Today was the craziest day of my life. My wife is just separated from me and I have just lost my job. They said I am too old. But that isn’t the reason. I though all things goes wrong. Why happens this to me and why not another person. But fifteen minutes ago dear diary I realized why this things happen to me. I was getting worse for a long time. My wife was just busy with earing money and more money and more. But she was not the only person who was thinking about money also in the rest of the society. Everyone is get into money. I was not different from the rest of the people. What I understand that we forget to enjoy of your life and we are never satisfied. And now I have lost everything I understand what I had. I should be the happiest person of the life. I had everything what I want. I had a wife a nice job and a beautiful house with a garden, but I wasn’t happy. I was realizing what I had when I was walking through the nature. I came totally to rust. I saw the daffodils in nature and I enjoyed thekm. I was walking through trees. There was a lake beside me. The water was calm and there were no waves. I couldn’t hear anything, except the birds who are chirping. What I felt was so long time ago! The beauty of the nature was amazing and everyone should one time a week walk into the nature. We have to protect our nature and be careful with it. I am now happy and I feel me a new person. So dear diary remember to enjoy of the life and enjoy of the nature.

by Anonymous

The Dying Child (John Clare)

The Dying Child

by John Clare

He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o’er the green.

His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.

Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?

He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood’s sweet delight.

And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds’ nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.

When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.

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My young little boy; he was only four, when he first got ill. It was a beautiful day last May, last spring. Wherever he would go, he was surrounded by trees that were just growing their first blossoms, and beautiful flowers – his favourites being the bluebells that grew in the field just behind our house – which he would try to grasp as he was carried through the field.

In his last months, when he had his good days, and we were out on the paddock, he would love to see the bees up in the sky, and he would hold one in his hands and sing a song, that cheered him up immediately. It melted my heart to see that the joy of spring was of such great importance to him.

These little children, meant to be enjoying their youthful time in spring, how could they possibly die, when the butterflies flutter all around, when the grass is green and the sky is blue as never seen before? How could they die during spring?

My little son would pick the flowers that grew in the fields, every single year. He picked the white daisies, and the blue violets, and took them all up to his room. Such little things can mean so much, it’s the joy that childhood brings.

And then he closed his little eyes, yet everything outside stayed the same. The flowers kept dancing in the wind, and the birds still quietly sat in their nests, watching over their eggs, while my son was missing the spirit of life.

But when winter came, it was cold outside – the flowers were dead, the trees without blossom – and he peacefully lay in his bed. And when he last glanced up to me, his eyes seemed to say “I’m free to go with the spirit of spring” and so he let out his very last breath.

by Anonymous