Poetry || The Brook by Alfred Tennyson

The Brook by Alfred Tennyson (1908)

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
by many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may comeand men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
with here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silver water-break
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

Poetry || Trees by Joyce Kilmer

I remember reciting this poem at a Poetry Recitation Competition in Class 5. I was too confident to win, but I didn't :P

Trees by Joyce Kilmer (1914)

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree

A tree who's hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth's sweet-flowing breast

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray

Upon whose bosom snow has lain
Who intimately lives with rain

Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree

Sprituality || Angels of God

Angels of God
From Heaven so bright
Watch over my children
And guide them aright

Fold your wings around them
And guard them with love
Sing to them softly
From Heaven above

Amen