by William Blake
Tiger, tiger, burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
When thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand forged thy dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dared its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile his work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
By Edgar Allen Poe
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were � I have not seen
As others saw � I could not bring
My passions from a common spring �
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow � I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone �
And all I lov'd � I lov'd alone �
Then � in my childhood � in the dawn
Of a most stormy life � was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still �
From the torrent, or the fountain �
From the red cliff of the mountain �
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold �
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by �
From the thunder, and the storm �
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view �
The Two Trees
By W.B. Yeats
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile.
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For ill things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.
By Fannie Heaslip Lea
She made a little shadow-hidden grave,
the day faith died;
therein she laid it, heard the clod's sick fall,
and smiled aside-
"If less I ask," Tear blinded she mocked,
"I may be less denied."
She sat a rose to blossom in her hair,
the day faith died-
"Now glad," She said, "And free at last, I go,
And life is wide."
But through long nights
She stared into the dark,
and knew she lied.
I�d say at the moment I�m bleeding broken yet thrivingly sustained (temporarily) but when this comes to a halt I�ll be well again, and healed in full. For these are the times in between all the time that I�m perfectly happy and masking the swelling with a brand new smile and a fresh heart willing and oh waiting just to be torn at the same seams where the break was before, to be mended once more. In the moment I�m caught, stuck somewhere between the interval that separates darkness and sunrise�Yes the sun should surely show its face for my recovery the light should surely gleam upon my trusty nailed together heart, yah and magnify it for those who wish to take their stab oh I await the occasion...And so I live on to fight back stand up and repay in full first looking so closely just to find...that the only handprints on my heart are MINE
-Aaron Campbell
Ok I got this poem/quote from Young Cho's Profile....and his friend made it up...lol...i just liked this a lot..its real...it to me describes what everyone goes though at some point in their life...more then one time...ohh and sorry Young ....if you are like i dunno mad cuz i took it from your profile...if you are just tell me and i'll take it off....:)