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At the bottom of my garden

There’s a hedgehog and a frog

And a lot of creepy-crawlies

Living underneath a log,

There’s a baby daddy long legs

And an easy-going snail

And a family of woodlice

All are on my nature trail.

 

There are caterpillars waiting

For their time to come to fly,

There are worms turning the hearth over

As ladybirds fly by,

Birds will visit, cats will visit

But they always chose their time

And I’ve even seen a fox visit

This wild garden of mine.

 

Squirrels come to nick my nuts

And busy bees come buzzing

And when the night time come buzzing

And when the night time comes

Sometimes some dragonflies come humming,

My garden mice are very shy

And I’ve seen bats that growl

And in my garden I have seen

A very wise old owl.

 

My garden is a lovely place

There’s always something happening,

There’s this constant search for food

And then there’s all flowering,

When you have a garden

You will never be alone

And I believe we all deserve

A garden of our own.

 

 

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I have been urged by earnest violins

And drunk their mellow sorrows to the slake

Of all my sorrows and my thirsting sins.

My heart has beaten for the brave drum’s sake.

Huge chords have wrought me mighty: I have hurled

Thuds of gods’  thunder. And with old winds pondered

Over the curse of this chaotic world,-

With low lost winds that maundered as they wandered.

 

I have been gay with trivial fifes that laugh;

And songs more sweet than possible things are sweet;

And gongs, and oboes. Yet I guessed not half

Life’s symphony till I had made hearts beat,

And touched Love’s body into trembling cries,

And blown my love’s lips into laughs and sighs.

Escape me?

Never—

Beloved!

While I am I, and you are you,

So long as the world contains us both,

Me the loving and you the loth

While the one eludes, must the other pursue.

My life is a fault at last, I fear:

It seems too much like a fate, indeed!

Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed.

But what if I fail of my purpose here?

It is but to keep the nerves at strain,

To dry one’s eyes and laugh at a fall,

And, baffled, get up and begin again,—

So the chase takes up one’s life, that’s all.

While, look but once from your farthest bound

At me so deep in the dust and dark,

No sooner the old hope goes to ground

Than a new one, straight to the self-same mark,

I shape me—

Ever

Removed!

And what is life? An hour-glass on the run,

A mist retreating from the morning sun,

A busy, bustling, self-repeated dream.

Its length? A minute’s pause, a moment thought.

And happiness? A bubble on the stream,

That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.

 

And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn,

That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,

And robs each flow’ret of its gem-and dies;

A cobweb, hiding disappointment’s thorn,

Which stings more keenly in thin disguise.

 

And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?

That dark mysterious name of horrid sound?

A long and lingering sleep the weary crave.

And Peace? Where can its happiness abound?

Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave.

 

Then what is Life? when stripped of its disguise,

A thing to be desired it cannot be;

Since everything that meets our foolish eyes

Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.

‘Tis but trial all must undergo,

To teach unthankful mortals how to prize

That happiness vain man’s denied to know,

Until he’s called to claim it the skies.

 

Love’s aftermath! I think the time is now

That we must gather in, alone, apart

The saddest crop of all the crops that grow,

Love’s aftermath.

Ah, sweet,–sweet yesterday, the tears that start

Can not put back the dial; this is, I trow,

Our harvesting! thy kisses thy kisses chill my heart,

Our lips are cold; averted eyes avow

The twilight of poor love: we can but part,

Dumbly and sadly, reaping as we sow,

Love’s aftermath.

 

 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God, choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

 

 

 

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to earth,

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days

Of all the unhealthy and o’er darkn’d ways

Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,

Same shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,

Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils

With the green world they live; and clear hills

That for themselves a cooling covert make

‘Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,

Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms

We have imagined for the mighty dead;

An endless fountain of immortal drink,

Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.

 

We have walked in Love’s land a little way,

We have learnt his lesson a little while,

And shall we not part at the end of day,

With a sigh, a smile?

 

A little while in the shine of the sun,

We were twined together, joined lips forgot

How the shadows fall when day is done,

And when Love is not.

 

We have made no vows-there will none be broke,

Our love was free as the wind on the hill,

There was no word said we need wish unspoken,

We have wrought no ill.

 

So shall we not part at the end of day,

Who have loved and lingered a little while,

Join lips for the last time, go our way,

With a sigh, a smile.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind

Thou art not so unkind

As man’s ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

 

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:

Most friendship if feigning, most loving mere holly:

Then heigh-ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

 

Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,

That does not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot:

Though thou the waters warp,

Thy sting is not so sharp

As a friend remembered not.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho unto the green holly:

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:

Then heigh-ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

When you’re up against a trouble,

Meet it squarely, face to face;

Lift your chin and set your shoulders,

Plant your feet and take a brace.

When it’s in vain to try to dodge it,

Do the best that you can do;

You may fail, but you may conquer,

See  it through!

Black may be the clouds about you

And your future may seem grim,

But don’t let your nerve desert you;

Keep yourself in fighting trim.

If the worst is bound to happen,

Spite of all that you can do,

Running from it will not save you,

See it through!

 

Even hope may seem but futile,

When with trouble you’re beset.

But remember you are facing

Just what other men have met.

You may fail, but fall still fighting;

Don’t give up, whate’er you do;

Eyes front, head to the finish.

See it through!

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