These are poems that have either inspired me or I have loved for years. Enjoy!
The Road Not Taken | The Human Abstract | The Highwayman
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had todden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
by: Robert Frost
Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we.
And mutual fear brings peace,
Till selfish loves increase;
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the Catterpiller and Fly
Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.
The Gods of earth and sea
Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree;
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human Brain.
by: William Blake
The wind was a torrent of darkness
among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon
tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding
Riding - riding
The highwayman came riding
up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead,
a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet,
and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle:
his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle,
under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered
and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters,
but allwas locked and barred;
He wistled a tune to the window,
and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot
into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard
a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened;
his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness,
his hair like moldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listend,
and heard the robber say-
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart,
I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold
before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply,
and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight,
though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups;
he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosend her hair i' the casement!
His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume
came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet its waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight,
and galloped away to the West.
He did not come in the dawning;
he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset,
before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbion,
looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching
Marching - marching
King George's men came marching
up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord,
they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her
to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement,
with muskets at their side!
There was death at ever window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement,
the road he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention,
with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her,
with the barrel beneth her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard th edead man say -
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight,
though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her;
but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingures
were wet with sweat or blood!
They streched and strianed in the darkness,
and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one fingure touched it!
The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one fingure touched it;
she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood to attention.
with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing;
she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her viens in the moonlight
throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot - tolot; tlot - tlot! Had they heard it?
The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot - tlot, tlot - tlot, in the distance?
Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbion of moonlight,
over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The read-coats looked to their priming!
She stood up, striaght and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence!
Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer!
Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment;
she drew one last deep breath,
The her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight
and warned him - with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the West;
he did not know who stod
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket,
drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it,
his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight,
and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman,
shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him,
and his rapier brandish high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon;
wine-red was his velevt coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway,
with the bunch of lace at his throat!
And still of a winter's night, they say,
when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon
tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor,
Riding - riding -
A highwayman comes riding,
up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters
and clangs int9e dark inn-yard;
And he taps with his whip on the shutters,
but all is locked and barred;
He wistles a tune to the window,
and who should be waiting there,
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plainting a dark red love-knot
into her long black hair.