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