“Lethe” by Walter de la Mare [w/ Audio]

Only the Blessed of Lethe's dews
May stoop to drink. And yet,
Were their Elysium mine to lose,
Could I, sans all repining, choose
Life's sorrows to forget?

Slow Fire [Lyric Poem]

Explosion in slow motion
Rocks the boats that line the ocean:
Swaying, swaying, they swing to and fro!
Metronomic masts set to tempo, s l o w.

Let it Float [Lyric Poem]

Sans fear of dying,
The angst of trying
Is felt and left
To float.

“The Bustle in a House” (1108) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted opon Earth --

The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity --

“Concord Hymn” by Ralph Waldo Emerson [w/ Audio]

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set today a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.

Sung at the Completion of the Battle Monument, July 4, 1837

“The Little Boy Found” by William Blake [w/ Audio]

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand'ring light,
Began to cry; but God, ever nigh,
Appear'd like his father in white.

He kissed the child & by the hand led
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.

“What Was Her Blondness Like” by Juhász Gyula [w/ Audio]

What was her blondness like? I can't recall,
But I do know the blondness of the fields,
When the wheat fields' grain ripen in the Fall,
And in this blondness her presence I feel.

What were her blue eyes like, I can't recall,
But I do know the blueness of the sky,
September morn, or later in the Fall,
And then again I do feel her nearby.

What was her silky voice like? Can't remember,
But in springtime, when fields begin to sigh,
I feel that Anna's voice is calling, tender,
From a past Spring that's as far as the sky.

Translation by Frank Veszely in: Hungarian Poetry: One Thousand Years. 2023. Manitoba, CA: Friesen Press.

“Water” by Ralph Waldo Emerson [w/ Audio]

The water understands
Civilization well;
It wets my foot, but prettily,
It chills my life, but wittily,
It is not disconcerted,
It is not broken-hearted:
Well used, it decketh joy,
Adorneth, doubleth joy:
Ill used, it will destroy,
In perfect time and measure
With a face of golden pleasure
Elegantly destroy.

“October” by Robert Frost [w/ Audio]

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost --
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

“Worldly Place” by Matthew Arnold [w/ Audio]

Even in a palace, life may be led well!
So spake the imperial sage, purest of men,
Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den
Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell,

Our freedom for a little bread we sell,
And drudge under some foolish master's
ken
Who rates us if we peer outside our pen --
Match'd with a palace, is not this a hell?

Even in a palace! On his truth sincere,
Who spoke these words, no shadow ever
came;
And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame

Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win,
I'll stop, and say: "There were no succour
here!
The aids to noble life are all within."