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I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little

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The Way One Animal Trusts Another

Carl Philips , 1959

Somewhere between what it feels like, to be at
one with the sea, and to understand the sea as
mere context for the boat whose engine refuses
finally to turn over: yeah, I know the place—
stumbled into it myself, once; twice, almost.  All
around and in between the two trees that
grow there, tree of compassion and—much taller—
tree of pity, its bark more bronze, the snow
settled as if an openness of any kind meant, as well,
a woundedness that, by filling it, the snow
might heal…You know what I think? I think if we’re
lost, you should know exactly where, by now; I’ve
watched you stare long and hard enough at the map
already…I’m beginning to think I may never
not be undecided, about all sorts of things: whether
snow really does resemble the broken laughter
of the long-abandoned when what left comes back
big-time; whether gratitude’s just a haunted
space like any other.  This place sounds daily
more like a theater of war, each time I listen to it—
loss, surprise, victory, being only three of the countless
fates, if you want to call them that, that we don’t
so much live with, it seems, as live for now among.  If as
close as we’re ever likely to get, you and I, is this—this close—

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Poem by Leo  Tzu

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My friend asked me to make for her a sonnet;
I've never found myself in such a fix.
Fourteen lines, they say, make up a sonnet;
I'll write the next three parts with clever tricks.

I was not born beneath a rhyming planet,
Yet halfway through this poem I'm still here.
And if I catch myself a final couplet,
There's nothing in the quatrains I need fear.

The third verse, as it seems, I'm now beginning;
It's likely that I'll make it to the end
Of this game that I am so slowly winning,
This poem that I'm making for my friend.

My thirteenth line, I see, I'm almost ending;
Do you count fourteen? -- if not, well, 'tis past mending.

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You say you want to die,
but you are unsure of what comes after death.
Does the pain leave,
or does it stay?
the most cleaver thing about like is,
that as long as we are alive,
we'll never know
By C.C.M
:D

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Un soneto me manda hacer Violante
que en mi vida me he visto en tanto aprieto;
catorce versos dicen que es soneto;
burla burlando van los tres delante.

Yo pensé que no hallara consonante,
y estoy a la mitad de otro cuarteto;
mas si me veo en el primer terceto,
no hay cosa en los cuartetos que me espante.

Por el primer terceto voy entrando,
y parece que entré con pie derecho,
pues fin con este verso le voy dando.

Ya estoy en el segundo, y aun sospecho
que voy los trece versos acabando;
contad si son catorce, y está hecho.

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Modern Love

John Keats, 1795 - 1821

And what is love? It is a doll dress’d up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss’s comb is made a pearl tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have warm’d the world,
If Queens and Soldiers have play’d deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl
The Queen of Egypt melted, and I’ll say
That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.

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Aurora, Aurora, you sing like Dora, and have a Pandora. and your nickname is Laura.

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By Alfred Noyes

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Humpty dumpy is a poem by Lewis carol's. roses are red v

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humty dumty

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stop doing wierd comments
Andrew

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poems rhyeme

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Beau, my bow, your hair is like snow, you can bridge really low, you walk like a cow and like to meow

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says meow

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poems are cool

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Devon oh Devon. your light is hevan you sneeze like the breeze and sing like a chimpanzee

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Poetry rhymes most the time.

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it is writing that can sort of be sung?

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it is a form of writing that rymes

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i now that in a poetry rhymes

beau was here

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it rymes

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Poetry is a sweet piece of writing and it usually rhymes. But not always. Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, and William Shakespeare are only few of famous poets.

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a poetry is a writting that rhymes and is mostly for kids

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poetry is a form of writing.it is us usually  quite short and rhyme some

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Poets don't have to always rhyme.
Poetry is amazing. It can sometimes be sad or happy.

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I know that there are lots of different types of poetry and it rhymes sometimes poetry can be five lines long. poetry is a small type of writing and you can write about most things. It can be sweet. Sometimes poetry teachs a lesson or tells a story

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There are lots or different types of poetry. It can rhyme, it can have verses

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Poeoeoetry is wreting that can rhyme.

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GEORGE

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Poetry is a type of writing and some times it rhymes you might of read heaps of poems in year one and two.Its is like a paragraph .

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Poetry is a form of writing were it has verses that follow a pattern so the story can flow. Some poems can rhyme or it can just have a story to it

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Poetry is small peace of writing that would usually Rhyme that's all i know :P

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Poetry normally rhymes.
Poetry is a form of writing.

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Poetry is a type of litterateur or artistic writing. Poems can have rhymes, some can have riddles. They can be joyful or depressing.

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A poem has verses, follows a pattern, and flows smoothly with it.
It can be used, to describe, entertain, or to teach morals.

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poetry is

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Poetry rhymes most the time

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There are lots of different types of poems. Haiku and free verse poems are two types. Most of the time poetry rhymes.

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Poetry rhymes most of the time but it does not have to rhyme. there are lots of different poems written about different things. poetry is entertaining and is a form of writing. some people write poems to express their feelings

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Most poetry is meant to rhyme. Poetry is a small peace of work that is about anything you want to write about but would have to rhyme. There are alot of types of poetry,

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poetry is a writing that you can put good rhymes but you dont need to put it in all of your poems