maggie and milly and molly and may

E. E. Cummings, 1894 - 1962

              10

maggie and milly and molly and may 
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang 
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing 
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone 
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) 
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

from

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/maggie-and-milly-and-molly-and-may

Copyright © 1956, 1984, 1991 by the Trustees for the E. E. Cummings Trust 

from The Complete Poems: 1904-1962 by E. E. Cummings, 

Edited by George J. Firmage. 

Reprinted by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. 

All rights reserved.

A Parting Guest

What delightful hosts are they -- Life and Love! Lingeringly I turn away, This late hour, yet glad enough They have not withheld from me Their high hospitality. So, with face lit with delight And all gratitude, I stay Yet to press their hands and say, "Thanks. -- So fine a time! Good night. " by James Whitcomb Riley

found on
http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/18941/a_parting_guest

Temptation

Temptation

With downcast eyes go to work today,
Or you'll see the trees in their spring array.
Turn your cheek away from the teasing sun,
Think of yesterday's work you left undone;
Ignore the wind's whisper of distant miles,
Answer the call of your desk and files;
You sought a career -- now forget you're alive,
And enjoy your cage from eight to five.

~ Nancy Gibbons

From my mother's poetry notebook

I Saw God Wash The World

I Saw God Wash The World

I saw God wash the world last night
With His sweet showers on high;
And then when morning came
I saw Him hang it out to dry.
He washed each tiny blade of grass
And every trembling tree;
He flung His showers against the hills
And swept the billowy sea.
The white rose is a cleaner white;
The red rose is more red
Since God washed every fragrant face
And put them all to bed.
There's not a bird, there's not a bee
That wings along the way,
But is a cleaner bird or bee
Than it was yesterday.
I saw God wash the world last night;
Ah, would He had washed me
As clean of all my dust and dirt
As that old white birch tree!

~ Wm. L. Stidger

From my mother's poetry notebook

Song For Walking

Song For Walking

Often in sun or in starlight,
Often in fair or foul weather,
It is good, it is good to go choose a friend
And walk out a mile together.

Sometimes, in a stray little hour
When you've no desire for talking --
O, then it is good to discover a path
And take only yourself out walking.

And whether you follow a street,
Or a flagstone path or the sod,
It is good, I know, I know it is good
To go walking sometimes with God!

~ Elaine V. Emans

From my mother's poetry notebook

Wonder Of A Tree

Wonder Of A Tree

I never pause to look upon a tree
Without partaking of its mood
That reaching calmly forth, envelopes me
Within a tent of quietude.

A weathered oak or elm, a singing pine
That God has breathed on, lifts my heart
Until its mood has permeated mine
With something only trees impart:

A rugged sweep of strength and beauty won
From storms that I could never breast,
A stillness drawn from mist and rain and sun,
From sheltering a robin's nest;

The wonder of a tree against the sky
Whose mood is felt but never known,
Inalienable loveliness that I
Would gather close and make my own.

~ Marie Barton

From my mother's poetry notebook

He Who Loves The Winter

He Who Loves The Winter

He who loves the winter understands
The blue-white peace of forestlands.

He who walks a swamp-trail, soft with snow
Shall learn a secret which few men know.

He who climbs the contour of a hill
Shall commune with Time if his heart stands still.

He who hears the whir of partridge wings
Shall remember forever a number of things.

He who finds a willow, glowing red,
Shall flame with faith which quickens the dead.

He who loves the winter sufficiently
Shall tower toward heaven like a tall pine tree.

~ Harry Elmore Hurd

From my mother's poetry notebook

Trees In A Storm

Trees In A Storm

O, what must the tall trees
     Think of me for going
Off to find a sheltering place
     When a storm is blowing?

How must all the brave trees
     Wonder at my fright
When the tempest hurls a swift
     Jagged fork of light!

And must not the strong trees
     Laugh at me, perhaps,
In their beautiful delight
     Of the thunder-claps?

Tall and brave and strong trees,
     With your guidance, I
Soon shall meet a storm with arms
     Flung, laughing, to the sky!

~ Elaine V. Emans

From my mother's poetry notebook

The Spearhead Of The Spring

The Spearhead Of The Spring

In all this winter-weary world
     What lifts the heart so high
As the sound of wild geese flying north
     Against a starlit sky?

A warm south wind -- a cloudless night --
     And suddenly far and near,
The beat of wings for Canada
     Across a hemisphere!

Brave as a shower of bugle notes
     You hear their questing call --
And the leader's answer, bold and deep,
     Ringing over all!

Northward swinging through the night,
     Flying wing to wing,
A thousand miles they launch their flight --
     The Spearhead of the Spring!

~ Douglas Cary Wendell

From my mother's poetry notebook

Faith Is A Living Power

Faith Is A Living Power

Faith is a living power from heaven
Which grasps the promise God has given;
Securely fixed on Christ, alone,
A trust that cannot be overthrown.

Faith finds in Christ whatever we need
To save and strengthen, guide and feed;
Strong in his grace its joys to share
His cross, in hope his crown to wear.

Faith to the conscience whispers peace;
And bids the mourner's sighing cease;
By faith the children's right we claim
And call upon our Father's name.

Such faith in us, O God, implant,
And to our prayers thy favor grant
In Jesus Christ, thy saving Son,
Who is our font of health alone.

Author Unknown

From My Mother's Poetry Notebook

The Beatitude

The Beatitude

Blessed are the clean in motive,
for they shall find the God of Light.
Blessed are the transparent in thought,
for they shall behold the God of Truth.
Blessed are the unspotted in imagination,
for they shall discern the God of Beauty.
Blessed are the unstained in affection,
for they shall know the God of Love.
Blessed are the blameless in conscience,
for they shall be at home with the God Peace.
Blessed are the holy in word and deed,
for they shall be united with God of Strength.
Blessed are the unblemished in desire,
for they shall rejoice with the God of Hope.

Author Unknown

From My Mother's Poetry Notebook

Opportunity

Opportunity

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: --
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged
A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords
Shocked upon swords and shields.  A prince's banner
Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes,
A craven hung along the battle's edge,
And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel --
That blue blade that the king's son bears, -- but this
Blunty thing --!" he snapt and flung it from his hand,
And lowering crept away and left the field.
Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,
And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,
And saved a great cause that heroic day.

~ Edward Rowland Sill

From My Mother's Poetry Notebook

Faith

Faith

Faith is not merely praying
     Upon your knees at night;
Faith is not merely straying
     Through darkness to the light.

Faith is not merely waiting
     For glory that may be,
Faith is not merely hating
     The sinful ecstasy.

Faith is the brave endeavor
     The splendid enterprise,
The strength to serve, whatever
     Conditions may arise.

~ S. E. Kiser

The Joy Of Living

The Joy of Living

The south wind is driving
His splendid cloud-horses
Through vast fields of blue.
The bare woods are singing,
The brooks in their courses
Are bubbling and springing
And dancing and leaping,
The violets peeping.
I'm glad to be living;
Aren't you?

~ Gamaliel Bradford

From My Mother's Poetry Notebook

Stir Us

"Stir us, oh stir us, Lord we care not how,
But stir our hearts in passion for the world;
Stir us to give, to go, but most to pray;
Stir till the blood-red banner be unfurled
O'er lands that still in heathen darkness lie,
O'er deserts where no Cross is lifted high."
Amen

Untitled
Unknown Author

Inner Peace

It is the will of God for us that in the world's most crowded street, in the din of life, when the rush and hurry are at their most intense; ...in joy or sorrow, in love or in bereavement, in all that makes up our outer and inner life, we should have a place of retirement, a permanent retreat, ever at hand for renewal and peace.  It is God's will for us that we should possess an Interior Castle, against which the storms of life may beat without being able to disturb the serene quiet within; as a spiritual life so firm and so serene that nothing can overthrow it.
~ F. Underhill

From My Mother's Poetry Notebook

Submission

Submission
By Kenneth Robinson

I wanted to do great deeds of fame,
Something of worth for God;
I scorned the service that often coes
By walking where servants trod.

I craved the place where the highest sit,
I wanted to do and dare;
But the job that needed the grace and grit
Was ignored with the utmost care.

One day I sought the face of the Lord
For the plan He had for me;
And I earnestly searched His precious Word
To know what His will could be.

I opened my heart to hear His voice,
And He searched me through and through
And He showed me that my selfish choice
Was neither wise nor true.

So I yielded all, and I really died
To my selfish heart's desire;
And the carnal man was crucified
In a Pentecostal fire.

Ah, now I cry, "Lord, let me be
But a cog in Life's great wheel;
Only let me work that the world may see
The light of the Spirit's seal."

I do not ask for the highest way,
I'll walk where the servants trod;
I only ask that my path each day
Shall lead me close to God.

From My Mother's Poetry Notebook