May Poems

I shall not sing a May song.
A May song should be gay.
I'll wait until November
And sing a song of gray.
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I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
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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,
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And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.'

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
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When you're up against a trouble,
Meet it squarely, face to face;
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and take a brace.
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All dreams may not come true
All credits due may not accrue
But with true reflection in mind
Ideas newer and newer may emerge and find
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Sleep, sleep, my beloved,
without worry, without fear,
although my soul does not sleep,
although I do not rest.
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All hopes dash against hopes
It is like tight walking on simple ropes
We may counter stiff resistance at high slope
Bonding may not be possible even if you elope
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Gather ye rose-buds while ye may:
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.
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Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
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A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
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MOST glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;
And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
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Let only that little be left of me
whereby I may name thee my all.

Let only that little be left of my will
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'You ought to have seen what I saw on my way To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day:
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I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
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Blame me for everything,
Spare me for nothing,
I left behind special thing,
My memory to miss something,
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We may face onslaught and not survive
If no timely action is taken or efforts revived
Nature may not spare us for committed sin
We may have complete loss and situation no win
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You should not cry else tears may fall
Hold them back until, you make call
you tell them not to fall or roll
is the cry only way left for recall?
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Hello lovely kid,
You may always lead,
May you become head,
Books more you read,
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Sun’s direct rays and heat in hot season
Nothing to complain about for any reason
I might have allowed it as casual feeling
Everybody knows and doesn’t expect dazzling
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May you

May you see each person as made in the image of God.
May you share your blessings with others.
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May the sky surround my dreams, may the sky surround your dreams, eternally involved in the build up process. Eternally devoted to what is done, before me, before, you, before them, before us. All is big, all is complex and simple are the needs. May the land be good, may the see be calm, may the wind bring the right advice. May the peace be in every land on planet Earth.
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O JAANA O, jaana be less critical, so I may philosophize you; O, jaana be less beautiful, so I may romantise you; O, jaana be less arrogant, so I may admire you. O, jaana be less abstruse, so I may understand you; O, jaana be less talkative, so I may get time to talk with you; O, jaana be less Altruism, so I may be materialistic to you; O, jaana be less anachronistic, so I may search for you; O, jaana be less Deleterious to my heart, So I may spent myself on you;
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May your glass be always full
May your pockets never be empty,
And may you never be taken for a fool
And may your joy be always plenty.
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TỰA
Nguyễn Du viết Kiều, 'máu nhỏ qua đầu bút, nước mắt thắm qua trang giấy'.
Nguyễn Đình Chiểu viết Lục Vân Tiên, 'chở bao nhiêu đạo thuyền không khẳm'.
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Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
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May we be strong?
May we be activists?
May we feel like we belong?
May our hearts be loving advocates?
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May I splinter away from myself
break into whole units
and
live in each with perfection!
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Geoffrey Chaucer, The Merchant's Tale (A Minimalist Translation)

1245 Once there was dwelling in Lombardy
1246 A worthy knight, that born was of Pavia,
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I

Sa pagtulog kong kay himbing ay may isang bangungot
Isang lalaki na tila pamilyar sa akin natila kilala ko
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