A fairy Song by William Shakespeare

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
        William Shakespeare

Love is enough by William Morris

William Morris (24 March 1834 - 3 October 1896) was an English textile designer, artist, writer, and socialist associated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the English Arts and Crafts Movement.

Love is enough: though the world be a-waning,

And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,

Though the skies be too dark for dim eyes to discover

The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,

Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,

And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over,

Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter:

The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter

These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

                                               William Morris

Broken Images by Robert Graves

He is quick, thinking in clear images;

I am slow, thinking in broken images. 

He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;

I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images. 

Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;

Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance. 

Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;

Questioning their relevance, I question the fact. 

When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;

When the fact fails me, I approve my senses. 

He continues quick and dull in his clear images;

I continue slow and sharp in my broken images. 

He in a new confusion of his understanding;

I in a new understanding of my confusion. 

                     Robert Graves

TO MY DEAR AND LOVING HUSBAND

If ever two were one, then surely we.

by Anne Bradstreet

If ever wife was happy in a man,

If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee;

I prize thy love more then whole Mines of gold,

Compare with me ye women if you can. Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence.

My love is such that Rivers cannot quench, Thy love is such I can no way repay, The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,

Sindhi woman by Jon Stallworthy

Barefoot through the bazaar,

and with the same undulant grace

as the cloth blown back from her face,

she glides with a stone jar

high on her head

and not a ripple in her tread.

Watching her cross erect

stones, garbage, excrement, and crumbs

of glass in the Karachi slums,

I, with my stoop, reflect

they stand most straight

who learn to walk beneath a weight.

                            Jon Stallworthy 

Ozymandias Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'