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Ode to a Nightingale. By John Keats. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains. My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains. One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees.
- I Remember, I Remember by Thomas Hood | Poetry Foundation
By Thomas Hood. I remember, I remember, The house where I...
- February 12, 1963 by Jacqueline Woodson | Poetry Foundation
February 12, 1963. By Jacqueline Woodson. I am born on a...
- I Remember, I Remember by Thomas Hood | Poetry Foundation
Nov 6, 2018 · ‘Song of Myself’ is perhaps the definitive achievement of the great nineteenth-century American poet Walt Whitman (1819-92), so we felt that it was a good choice for the second in our ‘post a poem a day’ feature.
- My Perfect Gift. By Sandra Hearth. Published by Family Friend Poems January 2019 with permission of the Author. The Gift Of Life. To celebrate is to embrace an act of wonder and joy,
- An Ode To Ethan. By Joyce Baron Kerr. Published by Family Friend Poems March 2011 with permission of the Author. Poem From A Father On The Birth Of His Son.
- Baby Girl - A Father's Perspective. By Jim Mullen. Published by Family Friend Poems July 2006 with permission of the Author. Poem On A Father's Love For Daughter.
- Can't Wait To Be Your Mommy! By Cindy Hawkins. Published by Family Friend Poems June 2009 with permission of the Author. So I am sitting here thinking of the perfect words to say,
By Thomas Hood. I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun. Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night. Had borne my breath away!
Explore these beautiful poems exploring the theme of the birth of a child. You can also consider reading some of the best-known poems about motherhood.
February 12, 1963. By Jacqueline Woodson. I am born on a Tuesday at University Hospital. Columbus, Ohio, USA— a country caught. between Black and White. I am born not long from the time. or far from the place. where. my great-great-grandparents. worked the deep rich land. unfree. dawn till dusk. unpaid. drank cool water from scooped-out gourds.
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23 hours ago · Between the computer, a pencil, and a typewriter half my day passes. One day it will be half a century. I live in strange cities and sometimes talk with strangers about matters strange to me. I listen to music a lot: Bach, Mahler, Chopin, Shostakovich. I see three elements in music: weakness, power, and pain. The fourth has no name.
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