Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep (Classic)

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush.
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

By Mary Elizabeth Frye

Another bit of Poetry

Here is another lovely piece from my book of poetry...

NEVER GIVE UP

Never give up! There's a rainbow bending
Over the path so dark and steep,
And all of the rain that God is sending
Is for harvests of love you shall some day
reap.

Never give up! There's a blessing hidden
Deep in the heart of every woe-
Some happy day it will rise unbidden
As crocus blooms after winter snow.

Never give up! There's a bright star shining
Somewhere in the depths of the darkest night
And the darkest clouds show their silver
lining
When hope returns with the morning
light.

-Vincent Godfrey Burns

Poetry Anthologies

I have decided to share a bit of poetry from my Grandmothers basement. Books of poetry compiled into lovely anthologies.

The First Poem, This is Life is a lovely little piece, beautifully strung words.

This is Life

I saw the glory of the sunrise,
Breathed the invigorating air,
And my soul rose to the very skies
When I sallied forth, proud to dare.
That was the morning.

The awful heat of the day came down;
I stooped, and my brow was wet with sweat,
And when I saw Misfortune frown
I cried, "I am not conquered yet!"
That was noonday.

The softer shades of twilight fell
And released my grip in the strife.
I am contented now to dwell
Where understanding sweetens life.
This is eventide.

~Ken Smith

My First View of a Western Prairie

This is an example of the beautiful poetry of Eliza R. Snow a Mormon Pioneer authoress. She wrote quite a few pieces of poetry, several of which were turned into songs (one of my favorites is "Oh My Father," a very touching piece).

My First View of a Western Prairie
by Eliza R. Snow

The loveliness of Nature always did
Delight me. In the days of childhood, when
My young light heart, in all the buoyancy
Of its own bright imagination's spell,
Beat in accordant consonance to all
For which it cherish'd an affinity,
The summer glory of the landscape rous'd
Within my breast a princely feeling.
Time's Obliterating strokes cannot erase
The impulse, with my being interwove;
And oftentimes, in the fond ecstacy
Of youth's effervescence, I've gaz'd
Upon the richly variegated fields,
Which most emphatically spoke the praise
Of Nature, and the Cultivator's skill.

But when I heard the western trav'ller paint
The splendid beauties of the far-off West;
Where Nature's pastures, rich and amply broad,
Waving in full abundance, seem to mock
The agriculturists of eastern soil;
I grew incredulous that Nature's dress
Should be so rich, and so domestic, and
So beautiful, without the touch of Art;
And thought the picture fancifully wrought.

Yet, in the process of revolving scenes,
I left the place of childhood and of youth;
And as I journey'd t'ward the setting sun,
As if awaking from a nightly dream,
Into a scenery grand and strangely new,
I almost thought myself transported back
Upon the retrograding wheel of time,
To days and scenes when Greece presided o'er
The destinies of earth; and when she shone
Like her ador'd Apollo; without one
Tall rival in the field of Literature;
And fancied then myself as standing on
That towering mount of truly classic fame
That overlooks the rich, the fertile, and
The far-extended vales of Crissa: or
That in some wild poetic spell, of deep
Unconscious recklessness, I'd stray'd afar
Upon the flowing plains of Marathon.
But soon reflection's potent wand dispell'd
The false illusion, and I realiz'd That I was not inhaling foreign air,
Or moving in a scene emblazon'd with
The classic legends of antiquity.
O, no: the scenery around was not Enchantment.
'Twas the bright original Of those fair images and ideal forms,
Which fancy's pencil is so prompt to sketch.
Instead of treading on Ionian fields,
I stood upon Columbian soil, and in
The rich and fertile state of Illinois.

Amaz'd, I view'd until my optic nerve
Grew dull and giddy with the frenzy of
The innocent delight; and I exclaim'd,
With Sheba's queen, "One half had not been told."

But then my thought--can I describe my thoughts?
No: for description's liveliest powers grow lame,
Whenever put upon the chase of things
Of non-existence; and my thoughts had all,
Like liquid matter, melted down, and had
Become, as with a secret touch, absorb'd
In the one all-engrossing feeling of
Deep admiration, vivid and intense.
And my imagination too, for once
Acknowledg'd its own imbecility,
And cower'd down as if to hide away;
For all its powers had been too cold and dull,
Too tame and too domestic far, to draw
A parallel with the bold grandeur, and
The native beauty, of the "Western World!"

Dreams and Rainbows

DREAMS AND RAINBOWS
by R. Wayne Porter

Have you ever seen the birth of a dream
do they arrive on some gentle wind
Or perhaps they are cast by a storm in the night
how does the spark in one's life begin

Dreams are the fire in life's short endeavor
they give meaning and purpose to each
Although some are fulfilled by a fortunate few
for most, they stay just out of reach

Are rainbows a sign created by nature
to display the beauty of dreams
Or is it a message in marvelous colors
that our lives are wonderful things

So treasure your dream and keep its fire burning
for rainclouds and fog always lift
don't get discouraged when you feel downhearted
Think Rainbows
Remember that life is a gift