Crossing The Bar
by Alfred Lord Tennyson




Sunset and evening star,
 And one clear call for me,
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
 When I put out to sea.


But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
 Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
 Turns again home.


Twilight and evening bell,
 And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
 When I embark;


For tho' from out our bourne of time and place
 The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
 When I have crossed the bar.



My mom showed me this poem awhile back. She told me that this poem was read at my great-grandfather's funeral. I really like the last two lines.

Fairy Feet

Nobody lives in the cottage now,

 But birds build under the thatch,

And a trailing rose half hides the door

 And twines itself round the latch.

Nobody walks upon the cobble path, 

 Where the grass peeps in between,

But fairy feet tread the cobblestones

 And keep them wonderfully clean.

Nobody knows that the raindrops bright

 Which fall on the grey old stones

Are the feet of fairies dancing for joy

 On the path that nobody owns.

-Phyllis L. Garlick

I just found this one today...really liked it.

The House with Nobody in it a poem by Joyce Kilmer

The House with Nobody in it





Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track

I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.

I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute

And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.



I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;

That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.

I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;

For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.



This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,

And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.

It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;

But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.



If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid

I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.

I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be

And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.



Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,

Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.

But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone

For the lack of something within it that it has never known.



But a house that has done what a house should do,

a house that has sheltered life,

That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,

A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,

Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.



So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track

I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,

Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,

For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

What Happened to Beautiful?

What happened to Beautiful being simple smiles and laughter?

Why is Beautiful becoming something we're told we'll never be?

Expectations grow with each year that passes,

We used to be told we are Beautiful, now we're compared to everyone else.

Everyone used to say that life is Beautiful,

Now we're told that we aren't good enough.

The word used to rest on the tips of everyone's tongues,

Now only flaws are noticed by the world.

I want to believe that this world is Beautiful,

I want to see the Beauty in everything I see.

But all that keeps bombarding me is the demand for perfection.

It worries me how Beautiful has become redefined.

-AMK

Autumn Fires

In the other gardens 
And all up the vale, 
From the autumn bonfires 
See the smoke trail! 

Pleasant summer over 
And all the summer flowers, 
The red fire blazes, 
The grey smoke towers. 

Sing a song of seasons! 
Something bright in all! 
Flowers in the summer, 
Fires in the fall!
-Robert Louis Stevenson




Here is something that works for an Autumn poem...

Spring Is Coming

Spring is coming, Spring is coming,
  Birdie, build your nest;
Weave together straw and feather,
  Doing each your best.


Spring is coming, Spring is coming,
  Flowers are coming too;
Pansies, lilies, daffodillies,
  Now are coming through.


Spring is coming, Spring is coming,
  All around is fair;
Shimmer and quiver on the river,
  Joy is everywhere.
-unknown


This isn't really time appropriate but oh well.