When lovely woman stoops to folly – Oliver Goldsmith

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can sooth her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is — to die.

Had there been falshood in my breast – Emily Brontë

Had there been falshood in my breast
No thorns had mared my road
This Spirit had not lost its rest
These tears had never flowed

A Charm invests a face – Emily Dickinson

A Charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld—
The Lady date not lift her Veil
For fear it be dispelled—

But peers beyond her mesh—
And wishes—and denies—
Lest Interview—annul a want
That Image—satisfies—

After Love – Sara Teasdale

There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea —
There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm
And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
For all its peace.

may my heart always be open – e.e cummings

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

The persistence of memory – Colin Mortin

She knew how the sunlight
ran its warm fingers
between her smooth brown thighs,
how her shadow swayed with her skirt
when she walked in front of him.

She felt him following
and with a sidelong glance
shook hair away from her face,
aware how it fell,
faint suggestion of joy,
to the arch of her back.

She knew his want and let it
surround her. She let him
choose the music, pull the blind
unless he wanted it up
so the sun could run pale fingers
from lips to nipples to soft belly hairs.

They both said love was brief
and parted still believing it.
But the years came unasked for,
and still she walks that street
watching her shadow flirt with the sun,
wishing he would follow her again.

Joy and Sorrow – James G. Brooks

JOY kneels, at morning’s rosy prime,
In worship to the rising sun;
But Sorrow loves the calmer time,
When the day-god his course hath run:
When Night is in her shadowy car,
Pale Sorrow wakes while Joy doth sleep;
And, guided by the evening star,
She wanders forth to muse and weep.

Joy loves to cull the summer flower,
And wreath it round his happy brow;
But when the dark autumnal hour
Hath laid the leaf and blossom low;
When the frail bud hath lost its worth,
And Joy hath dash’d it from his crest,
Then Sorrow takes it from the earth,
To wither on her wither’d breast.

His Body’s Silky, Like a Girl’s – Karen Alkalay

We’re on the bed she lies
under the covers, and I
sit on the edge, sorting threads
from the sewing box.
“Tell me about your lover,” I say.

She is sleepy and speaks in blurs
but loves
to relive his flesh in words:
“His body’s silky, like a girl’ s
slender and soft and kind,
gentle the way my husband
should have been.”

She reaches for my hand
and sleeps. I leave, weeping
for what love
could be, knowing
what I would have done
had I been he.

To Look at Any Thing – John Moffitt

To look at any thing,
If you would know that thing,
You must look at it long:
To look at this green and say,
“I have seen spring in these
Woods,” will not do – you must
Be the thing you see:
You must be the dark snakes of
Stems and ferny plumes of leaves,
You must enter in
To the small silences between
The leaves,
You must take your time
And touch the very peace
They issue from.

The Ogre – W.H. Auden

The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach,
The Ogre cannot master Speech.
About a subjugated plain,
Among its desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.