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NEW - starting Saturday 14th March - NEW

TAKE FIVE WITH JOHN

http://takefivewithjohn.blogspot.com

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TRUE LOVE
Anon

True love is a sacred flame
That burns eternally,
And none can dim its special glow
Or change its destiny.

True love speaks in tender tones
And hears with gentle ear,
True love gives with open heart
And true love conquers fear.

True love makes no harsh demands
It neither rules nor binds,
And true love holds with gentle hands
The hearts that it entwines.

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TODAY'S POEM IS THE LAST TO BE PUBLISHED ON THIS SITE.

"POETRY FOR PLEASURE" IS NOW A DAILY FEATURE ON MY 80 PLUS BLOG
http://80plus.blogspot.com

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MY LOVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE
Robert Burns (1759-1796)

O, my love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
My love is like a melody
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonny lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only love!
And fare thee weel, awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

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These poems are also being shown daily on the 80 plus site
http://80plus.blogspot.com

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ALL IN THE DOWNS
Tom Hood (The Younger) 1835-1874

I would I had something to do - or to think!
Or something to read, or to write!
I am rapidly verging on Lunacy’s brink,
Or I shall be dead before night.

In my ears has been ringing and droning all day,
Without ever a stop or a change,
That poem of Tennyson’s - heart-cheering lay! -
Of the Moated Monotonous Grange!

The stripes in the carpet and paper alike
I have counted, and counted all through.
And now I’ve a fervid ambition to strike
Out some path of wild pleasure that’s new.

They say if a number you count, and re-count,
That the time imperceptibly goes: -
Ah, I wish - how I wish! - I’d ne’er learnt the amount
Of my aggregate fingers and toes.

“Enjoyment is fleeting,” the proverbs all say,
“Even that, which it feeds upon, fails.”
I’ve arrived at the truth of the saying today,
By devouring the whole of my nails.

I have numbered the minutes, so heavy and slow,
Till of that dissipation I tire.
And as for exciting amusements - you know
One can’t ALWAYS be stirring the fire!

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The poems on this site are also appearing on the 80 plus blog
http://80plus.blogspot.com

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THE ISLE OF CAPRI
Jimmy Kennedy (1902-1984)

‘Twas on the Isle of Capri that I found her
Beneath the shade of an old walnut tree,
Oh, I can still see the flowers blooming round her
Where we met on the Isle of Capri.

She was as sweet as a rose at the dawning
But somehow fate hadn’t meant her for me,
And though I sailed with the tide in the morning
Still my heart’s on the Isle of Capri.

Summertime was nearly over,
Blue Italian sky above,
I said “Lady, I’m a rover,
Can you spare a sweet word of love?”

She whispered softly “It’s best not to linger,”
Then as I kissed her hand I could see
She wore a plain golden ring on her finger,
‘Twas goodbye on the Isle of Capri.

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TWO POEMS
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

SWEET GARDEN-ORCHARD

Sweet Garden-orchard! of all spots that are
The loveliest surely man hath ever found.
Farewell! we leave thee to heaven's peaceful care.
Thee and the cottage which thou dost surround -

Dear Spot! whom we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own -

O happy Garden! loved for hours of sleep,
O quiet Garden! loved for waking hours.
For soft half-slumbers that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers.

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TO A BUTTERFLY

I’ve watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! Indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! - not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

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ADLESTROP
Edward Thomas (1878-1917)

Yes, I remember Adlestrop -
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop - only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

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