What Is Poetry

What Is Poetry

The basic language of the soul,
Through which dumb life is made
At last, articulate;
The strangled cry
Of world-democracy, new-born,
With wide-eyed vision, unafraid;
          Rhythmic stir
               Of the primal clod,
          To follow the flute-call
               Up to God.

~ Nellie Burget Miller

From my mother's poetry notebook

Contentment

John Burroughs Speaks of Contentment

I have loved the feel of the grass under my feet, and the sound of the running streams by my side.  The hum of the wind in the tree-tops has always been good music to me, and the face of the fields has often comforted me more than the faces of men.

I am in love with this world, by my constitution I have nestled lovingly in it.  It has been home.  It has been my point of outlook into the universe.  I have not bruised myself against it, nor tried to use it ignobly.

I have tilled its soil, I have gathered its harvest, I have waited upon its seasons, and always have reaped what I have sown.

While I delved I did not lose sight of the sky overhead.  While I gathered its bread and meat for my body, I did not neglect to gather its bread and meat for my soul.

I have climbed its mountains, roamed its forests, sailed its waters, crossed its deserts, felt the sting of its frosts, the oppression of its heats, the drench of its rains, the fury of its winds, and always have beauty and joy waited upon my goings and comings.

From my mother's poetry notebook

Anima Christi

Anima Christi, sanctifica me.
Corpus Christi, salva me.
Sanguis Christi, inebrai me.
Aqua lateris Christi, lava me.
Passio Christi, conforta me.
O Bone Jesu, exaudi me.
Intra tua vulnera absconde me.
Ne permittas me separari a te.
Ab hoste maligno defende me.
In hora mortis meae voca me,
et iube me venire ad te,
ut cum Sanctis tuis laudem te
in saecula saeculorum.  Amen.

Soul of Christ, sanctify me.
Body of Christ, save me.
Blood of Christ, inebriate me.
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
Passion of Christ, strengthen me.
O good Jesus, hear me.
Within thy wounds hide me.
Suffer me not to be separated from thee.
From the malicious enemy defend me.
In the hour of my death call me
and bid me come unto thee,
that with thy saints I may praise thee
for ever and ever.  Amen.