A red, red rose

A Red, Red RoseBY ROBERT BURNSO my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June;O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune.So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I;And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.TillContinue reading “A red, red rose”

Crossing the bar

Crossing the Bar BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSONSunset and evening star, And one clear call for me!And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam,When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.Continue reading “Crossing the bar”

Live as if you were to die tomorrow

Hello Clovers! I hope your weekend was not as boring as mine. Throughout the previous month, I was emphasising on doing things for yourself and making yourself the best version you can be. I honestly hope you have done at least one thing for yourself that has made you feel excited or really great, ifContinue reading “Live as if you were to die tomorrow”

A quoi bon dire?

A Quoi Bon Dire?BY CHARLOTTE MEW Seventeen years ago you saidSomething that sounded like Good-bye;And everybody thinks that you are dead,But I.So I, as I grow stiff and coldTo this and that say Good-bye too;And everybody sees that I am oldBut you.And one fine morning in a sunny laneSome boy and girl will meet andContinue reading “A quoi bon dire?”

Diving into the wreck

Diving into the wreck BY ADRIENNE RICHFirst having read the book of myths,and loaded the camera,and checked the edge of the knife-blade,I put onthe body-armor of black rubberthe absurd flippersthe grave and awkward mask.I am having to do thisnot like Cousteau with hisassiduous teamaboard the sun-flooded schoonerbut here alone.There is a ladder.The ladder is alwaysContinue reading “Diving into the wreck”

Poetry by Marianne Moore

Poetry BY MARIANNE MOORE I too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers that there is in it after all, a place for the genuine. Hands that can grasp, eyes that can dilate, hair that can rise if itContinue reading “Poetry by Marianne Moore”

Love and the bird

Love and the Bird”BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSThe moments passed as at a play,I had the wisdom love can bring,I had my share of mother wit;And yet for all that I could say,And though I had her praise for it,And she seemed happy as a king,Love’s moon was withering away.Believing every word I saidI praised herContinue reading “Love and the bird”