Poetry Recital Contest

Poetry Recital Contest

A Poison Tree

By William Blake

I was angry with my friend;

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

    And I waterd it in fears,

    Night & morning with my tears:

    And I sunned it with smiles,

    And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night.

Till it bore an apple bright.

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine.

    And into my garden stole,

    When the night had veild the pole;

    In the morning glad I see;

    My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

 
 

A LYRIC DAY
by Robert William Service

I deem that there are lyric days
So ripe with radiance and cheer,
So rich with gratitude and praise
That they enrapture all the year.
                                                           

                                                               And if there is a God b\above,
                                                               (As they would tell me in the Kirk,)
                                                               How he must look with pride and love
                                                               Upon his perfect handiwork!

To-day has been a lyric day
I hope I shall remember long,
Of meadow dance and roundelay,
Of woodland glee, of glow and song.
                                                           

    Such joy I saw in maidens eyes,
    In mother gaze such tender bliss . . .
    How earth would rival paradise
    If every day could be like this!

Why die, say I? Let us live on
In lyric world of song and shine,
With ecstasy from dawn to dawn,
Until we greet the dawn Devine.
                                                           

     For I believe, with star and sun,
                 With peak and plain, with sea and sod,
                 Inextricably we are one,
                 Bound in the Wholeness - God.

 

A Dream
    by Edgar Allan Poe

 

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

        Ah! what is not a dream by day
        To him whose eyes are cast
        On things around him with a ray
        Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream - that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

         What though that light, thro' storm and night,
         So trembled from afar
         What could there be more purely bright
          In Truth's day-star?

 

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost

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's 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's 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.

 

ALONE
By Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
                                                                        I came up with one thing
                                                                        And I don't believe I'm wrong
                                                                        That nobody,
                                                                        But nobody
                                                                        Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
                                                                        There are some millionaires
                                                                        With money they can't use
                                                                        Their wives run round like banshees
                                                                        Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.
                                                                        Alone, all alone
                                                                        Nobody, but nobody
                                                                        Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
                                                                        The race of man is suffering
                                                                        And I can hear the moan,
                                                                        'Cause nobody,
                                                                        But nobody
                                                                        Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

If You Forget Me
by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
 one thing.
 You know how this is:
 if I look
 at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
                                                           

    if I touch
                near the fire
                the impalpable ash
                or the wrinkled body of the log,

 everything carries me to you, 
 as if everything that exists,
 aromas, light, metals,
 were little boats
 that sail
 toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
                                                           
                                                               Well, now,
                                                                if little by little you stop loving me
                                                                I shall stop loving you little by little.
                                                                If suddenly
                                                                you forget me
                                                                do not look for me,
                                                                for I shall already have forgotten you.


If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
 remember
 that on that day,
at that hour,
 I shall lift my arms
 nd my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
                                                           

    ah my love, ah my own,
                                                    in me all that fire is repeated,
                                                    in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
                                                    my love feeds on your love, beloved,
                                                    and as long as you live it will be in your arms
                                                    without leaving mine.