Bartlett's Poems for Occasions
Bartlett's Poems for Occasions, an entertaining, thought-provoking companion to the bestselling Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, is the book to turn to for any circumstance -- from birth to death and everything in between.
Under the direction of esteemed poet and writer Geoffrey O'Brien, Bartlett's Poems for Occasions will inspire you to turn to poetry to celebrate a new baby or marriage, toast a colleague, cheer a graduate, honor a birthday, deliver a eulogy, or add zest to a holiday party. It is the perfect solution to the age-old question, What should I say?
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This is a great anthology--there's also a quotation/sayings book as well..
THE WORKING LIFE
LOVE AND PASSION
When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes
Why so pale and wan fond lover
YOUTH AND ITS PLEASURES
RETIREMENT FROM WORK AND FROM THE WORLD
On the Death of
Sleep brings no joy
THE HUMAN CONDITION
SEPARATIONS AND FAREWELLS
ENDURANCE RESISTANCE AND SURVIVAL
PUBLIC MOMENTS AND ULTIMATE MATTERS
IN TIME OF WAR
FROM THE AMERICAN STORY
THE UNKNOWN AND THE UNKNOWABLE
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agent AMERICAN beautiful birds blue breath bring buyer client close cold comes CONDITION dark dead death doth dream earth ENGLISH eyes face fair fall feel fields fire flowers friends give gone green grow hand happy head hear heart heaven hills home inspectors inspection JOHN keep kiss land leaves light live look mind moon morning move NATURE never night once pass play pleasure poems questions rain real estate remember rest Ring river ROBERT rose round seller shadows silent sing sleep snow song soul sound spring stand stars stay summer sweet tell thee things thou thoughts TRANSLATED tree true turn voice walk wild wind winter wood young youth
Página 277 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing,— sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees its close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Página 25 - To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.
Página 293 - Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate: For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Página 174 - Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Página 173 - But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Página 220 - The world recedes: it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy Victory? O Death! where is thy Sting.
Página 310 - She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Página 138 - My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began ; So is it now I am a man ; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
Página 224 - Requiem Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.