Waltzing Matilda - A B Banjo Paterson

Oh there once was a swagman camped in the billabong,
    Under the shade of a Coolabah tree;
And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling
    "Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."

On A Journey - Hermann Hesse

Don't be downcast, soon the night will come,
When we can see the cool moon laughing in secret
Over the faint countryside,
And we rest, hand in hand.

Burnt Ships - Henrik Johan Ibsen

To skies that were brighter
Turned he his prows;
To gods that were lighter
Made he his vows.

At The Smithville Methodist Church - Stephen Dunn

It was supposed to be Arts & Crafts for a week,
but when she came home
with the "Jesus Saves" button, we knew what art
was up, what ancient craft.

Dawn - Yosa Buson

Dawn —
fish the cormorants haven't caught
swimming in the shallows.

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Yosa Buson (1716 - 1784) Japan

I Am From There - Mahmoud Darwish

I am from there and I have memories. Like any other

Man I was born. I have a mother,

A house with several windows, friends and brothers.

African Writings - Godfrey Mutiso Gorry

If you meet literature from Africa
Or even their mentors

Alabaster - Sarojini Naidu

Like this alabaster box whose art
Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart,

Where the Sidewalk Ends - Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Just so — Jesus — raps - Emily Dickinson

Just so — Jesus — raps —
He — doesn't weary —
Last — at the Knocker —
And first — at the Bell.
Then — on divinest tiptoe — standing —
Might He but spy the lady's soul —
When He — retires —
Chilled — or weary —
It will be ample time for — me —
Patient — upon the steps — until then —
Hears! I am knocking — low at thee.

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Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886) USA

He stepped inside my door - Eeva Kilpi

Let me know right away
if I'm disturbing you.
he said

Sing Me A Song - John O'Brien

Sing me a song with the ring of truth in it,
Sing me a song with the freshness of youth in it.
Chant me a paean of joy;

The Smith - Johann Ludwig Uhland

I hear my sweetheart,
The hammer he swings,

I Want to Grasp The - Xuân Diệu

Life has just begun to burst forth.

A Lament For Flodden - Jane Elliot

I’ve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,
   Lasses a’ lilting before dawn o’ day;
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning—
   The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.

The King - J.R.R. Tolkien

The King beneath the mountains,
The King of carven stone,
The lord of silver fountains,
Shall come into his own!

Dixie's Land - Daniel Decatur Emmett

   I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
   Old times dar am not forgotten;
        Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land!

A young girl - Albert Ferland

How sweet and beautiful to be young,
Where the soul retains its openness,
Where, fearing no storm is sprung
We know only happiness!

I'm Nobody! Who are you? - Emily Dickinson

I'm Nobody! Who are you?

Endless Time - Rabindranath Tagore

Time is endless in thy hands, my Lord.
There is none to count thy minutes.

At the Theatre: To the Lady Behind Me - A.P. Herbert

Dear Madam, you have seen this play;
I never saw it till today.

Black Marigolds (Chauraspanchasika) - Bilhana Kavi

Even now
My thought is all of this gold-tinted king's daughter
With garlands tissue and golden buds,
Smoke tangles of her hair, and sleeping or waking
Feet trembling in love, full of pale languor;
My thought is clinging as to a lost learning
Slipped down out of the minds of men,
Labouring to bring her back into my soul.

Forest - Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

In that magic forest, towering trees
Unexpectedly come forward from the haze.

Like the very gods - Sappho

Like the very gods in my sight is he who
sits where he can look in your eyes, who listens
close to you, to hear the soft voice, its sweetness
          murmur in love and

A Memory - Barcroft Henry Boake

Adown the grass-grown paths we strayed,
                              The evening cowslips ope’d
Their yellow eyes to look at her,
                              The love-sick lilies moped
With envy that she rather chose
To take a creamy-petalled rose
And lean it 'gainst her ebon hair,
All in that garden fair.