To ask what poem you return to to lift your spirits

[bobbleb]

Just that really. Is there a poem that you love to read which inspires you, cheers you up or lifts your spirits. I will find a link to mine.

@Notwithittoday Really? That's interesting. I'm glad I didn't come across it in an exam context - probably would have spoiled it for me!

Love this thread!

Coming

• Philip Larkin

On longer evenings,
Light, chill and yellow,
Bathes the serene
Foreheads of houses.
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
It will be spring soon,
It will be spring soon —
And I, whose childhood
Is a forgotten boredom,
Feel like a child
Who comes on a scene
Of adult reconciling,
And can understand nothing
But the unusual laughter,
And starts to be happy.

Some lovely suggestions on here. Mine is Wizards, by Alfred Noyes (though I'm also very partial to his "Highwayman" poem and others"). Anyway:

Wizards.

By the one and only Alfred Noyes.

There’s many a proud wizard in Araby and Egypt
Can read the silver writing of the stars as they run;
And many a dark gypsy, with a pheasant in his knapsack,
Has gathered more by moonshine than wiser men have won;
But I know a Wizardry
Can take a buried acorn
And whisper forests out of it, to tower against the sun.

There’s many a magician in Bagdad and Benares
Can read you for a penny – what your future is to be;
And a flock of crazy prophets that by staring at a crystal
Can fill it with more fancies than there’s herring in the sea;
But I know a Wizardry
Can break a freckled egg-shell
And shake a thrush out of it, in every hawthorn tree.

There’s many a crafty alchemist in Mecca and Jerusalem;
And Michael Scott and Merlin were reckoned to be wise;
But I know a wizardry
Can take a wisp of sun-fire
And round it to a planet, and roll it through the skies,
With cities, and sea ports, and little shining windows,
And hedge-grows and gardens, and loving human eyes.

@melisma

Also Duvet by Brian Bilston never fails to make me smile!

DUVET

Duvet,
you are so groovet,
I'd like to stay under you
all of Tuesdet.

Love it!

Bear in there by Shel Silverstein
There's a polar bear
In our Frigidaire—
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there—
That polary bear
In our Fridgitydaire.

Have loves it since I was a kid!

I’m a soppy old fool.

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
BY E. E. CUMMINGS
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Louis MacNeice for me:

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold;
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

I know the truth, give up all other truths!
No need for people anywhere on earth to struggle
Look, it is evening, look, it is nearly night;
What do you speak of, poets, lovers, generals?

The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew,
The storm of stars in the sky will turn to quiet.
And soon all of us will sleep under the earth,
We who never let each other sleep above it.

Marina Tsvetaeva

“Hope” is the thing with feathers by
Emily Dickinson.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.

An Epilogue by John Masefield:
“I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races -
And so I trust, too.”

Wonderful thread!

Brighten the Corner Where You Are
-Helen Steiner Rice

We cannot all be famous
Or listed in “Who’s Who,”
But every person great or small
Has important work to do,

For seldom do we realize
The importance of small deeds
Or to what degree of greatness
Unnoticed kindness leads—

For it’s not the big celebrity
In a world of fame and praise,
But it’s doing unpretentiously
In undistinguished ways

The work that God assigned to us,
Unimportant as it seems,
That makes our task outstanding
And brings reality to dreams.

So do not sit and idly wish
For wider, new dimensions
Where you can put in practice
Your many good intentions

But at the spot God placed you
Begin at once to do
Little things to brighten up
The lives surrounding you.

For if everybody brightened up
The spot on which they’re standing
By being more considerate
And a little less demanding,

This dark old world would very soon
Eclipse the evening star
If everybody brightened up
The corner where they are!

Another one I love:

When You Are Old Launch Audio in a New Window
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Sea-Fever
BY JOHN MASEFIELD
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

@User7312019

My candle burns at both ends It will not last the night But oh my foes and oh my friends It gives a lovely light!

When things get hard with two under two it feels particularly relevant

I love this one too! Hang on in there

@Sparklesocks

The Orange

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

— Wendy Cope

Exactly the one that came to my mind when I read the thread title! That and Waterloo Bridge

Love this thread even though I am in pools of tears reading some of these.

Never Trust a Mirror

Never trust a mirror,
For the mirror always lies,
It makes you think that all your worth,
Can be seen from the outside.
Never trust a mirror,
It only shows you skin deep,
You can't see how your eyelids flutter,
When you're drifting off to sleep,
It doesn't show you what he sees,
When you're only being you,
Or how your eyes just light up,
When you're loving what you do,
It doesn't capture when you're smiling,
Where no one else can see,
And your reflection cannot tell you,
Everything you mean to me,
Never trust a mirror,
For it only shows your skin,
And if you think that it dictates your worth,
It's time you looked within.

Love lots of poems:

One I repeat often on the way to work at this time of year is:
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

Another I love is:

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Wonderful thread, Op, thank you x

"How do you do it?" said night
"How do you wake and shine?"
"I keep it simple." said light
"One day at a time"

Lemn Sissay

I also love Rupi Kaur, Brian Bilston and Christina Rossetti depending on how I want to feel- strong, funny, melancholy.

@Starlost

Love this thread even though I am in pools of tears reading some of these.

Hopefully healing

@TheBitchOfTheVicar

Another one I love:

When You Are Old Launch Audio in a New Window
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

I was just about to post this (through the tears that are accompanying this thread). It makes my heart soar and ache in equal measure.

Rd Thomas A day in Autumn. I remember looking outside on a clear Autumn day as this poem was being read to us. Forty years ago and it seems like yesterday.

Sailing to Byzantium
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
I

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees,
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

II

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

III

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

IV

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.