| home | about me | gallery | guestbook | site links | sitemap |
| songs | And this is my Favorite Poems page. I used to write poems back in grade school and high school, but not anymore. I guess my muse went off somewhere. So most of the works here are adapted, but not all. It's up to you to work out which of these are mine. => | 
|
| poems | ||
| graphics | ||
| articles |
Sonnet CXVI
let me not to themarriage of true minds
admit impediments. love is not love
which alters when it alteration finds,
or bends with the remover to remove
o, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
that looks on tempests and is never shaken;
it is the star to every wandering bark
whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken
love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
within his binding sickle's compass come;
love alters not with his brief hours and weeks
but bears it out even to the edge of doom.
if this be error and upon me proved,
i never writ, nor no man ever loved.
-Shakespeare
Somewhere I Have Never Travelled
somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending:
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
-E. E. Cummings
She Walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in heer aspect and her eyes,
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies,
One shade the more, one ray the less
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
the smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,--
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
-George Gordon, Lord Byron
© 2002 Chryselyn R. Cachola
University of the Philippines
[email protected]