The Hour before Dawn - William Butler Yeats

A one-legged, one-armed, one-eyed man,
A bundle of rags upon a crutch,
Stumbled on windy Cruachan
Cursing the wind. It was as much
As the one sturdy leg could do
To keep him upright while he cursed.

Asmeret - Asghedom W. Michael

You whose eyes are like stars
         You walk so beautifully
You're like the rays of the setting sun
         As night is about to fall
Your silken hair and golden neck
         I'm drowning in your love.

The Refuge - Ludwig August Frankl

When sorrow round thy heart is stealing, 
Deep pain that will not be gainsaid,
Seek not in haunts of men for healing, 
But to the forest turn for aid.

Remember, body - Carmen Ollé

Remember now, defeated by his scorn and parting,
those moments at the ridiculous motel with painted
orange blossoms and jazmines.

Charity - Maimonides

There are eight degrees in the giving of charity, one higher than the other:
He who gives grudgingly, reluctantly, or with regret.
He who gives less than he should, but gives graciously.

Travel Song - Austral

‘Come, before the summer passes
Let us seek the mountain land:’
So they called me, happy playmates,
And we left the dawn-lit strand:
Riding on till later sunbeams slanted
On dark hills and downward-plunging streams,
And the solemn forest softly chanted
Old, old dreams.

To his Friend in Elysium - Joachim du Bellay

So long you wandered on the dusky plain,
Where flit the shadows with their endless cry,
You reach the shore where all the world goes by,
You leave the strife, the slavery, the pain;

And then I sat me down - Gustaf Rosenhane

And then I sat me down, and gave the rein
To my wild thoughts, till many a song that rang
From boughs around where hidden warblers sang
Recalled me from myself; then “Oh! in vain,”
I said, “do these outpour the tender strain?

St. Martin’s Wall - Anastasius Grün

Ferdinand Graf zu Harrach's painting
of the emperor praying in the Martins wall
Source: Inns'bruck Region

Welcome, ye hearts of Tyrol, which beat so honestly,
Welcome, ye glaciers of Tyrol, which bear the heavens on high,
Ye dwellings of Fidelity, ye verdant, fragrant vales,
Welcome, ye streams and pastures, freedom and mountain gales!

Man Without Fear - Sholeh Wolpé

I hear shots.
It’s the wind, I say.
Then, loud murmurs.
Surely the fountain below my room.
The moon is a bruised fist tonight.
It has obliterated the stars.