POEM OF THE DAY

POEM OF THE DAY

The Cosmic Symphony

​Not in the bone, nor in the blood,

Does the light of the spirit find its flood;

But in the spaces, small and deep,

Where quantum secrets wake from sleep.

​Your brain is the window, not the sun,

A bridge where the Many and One are spun.

Like a radio tuned to a star-lit height,

Catching the songs of the infinite night.

​The stars above and the cells within,

Are notes of a song where we begin.

So tune your heart to a higher strain,

And let the Great Music wash through your brain.

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POEM OF THE DAY

Dylan Thomas 

Source: Read, Bill (1964) The Days of Dylan Thomas, McGraw-Hill

Author: Nora Summers (1892–1948)  wikidata:Q21289573

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Summary

Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle into that good night" is a passionate plea to fight against the inevitability of death. Written in the villanelle form, the poem repeats the lines "Do not go gentle into that good night" and "Rage, rage against the dying of the light" throughout its stanzas, emphasizing its central message. Thomas addresses different types of men – wise, good, wild, and grave – illustrating how each, upon realizing what they haven't achieved or experienced, should resist death with all their might. The poem culminates in a deeply personal address to his dying father, urging him to express his emotions fiercely rather than accepting death passively. It's a powerful testament to the value of life and the human spirit's will to endure.

About the Author: Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas (1914–1953) was a Welsh poet and writer whose distinctive voice and vibrant, musical language made him one of the most celebrated and controversial literary figures of the 20th century. Known for his public readings and flamboyant personality, Thomas's work often explores themes of life, death, nature, and childhood with a rich, imaginative intensity. His poetry, including famous pieces like "Fern Hill" and "A Child's Christmas in Wales," is characterized by its lyrical quality, intricate wordplay, and a profound emotional depth that resonates deeply with readers. Though his life was tragically cut short, his powerful contribution to modern poetry continues to be admired and studied.

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POEM OF THE DAY

POEM OF THE DAY:

Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay"? 

It's a beautifully concise poem with a deep message that I think your readers will appreciate.

Here it is, with the summary and a note about the author:

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

Summary

Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay" is a short yet profound poem that reflects on the fleeting nature of beauty, innocence, and perfection. It opens with the image of nature's early spring green as "gold," highlighting its precious and transient quality. This golden phase, like a flower that lasts only an hour, quickly fades as the leaf matures. The poem draws parallels between this natural cycle and the biblical story of Eden, suggesting that even paradise was not meant to last. It concludes with the stark, memorable line, "Nothing gold can stay," serving as a poignant reminder that all things beautiful and perfect are inherently impermanent.

About the Author: Robert Frost

Robert Frost (1874–1963) was an American poet highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life in New England, his mastery of American colloquial speech, and his exploration of complex philosophical and social themes. Though often associated with simple, accessible language, his poems frequently delve into profound questions about nature, isolation, human experience, and the human condition. Frost won four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry and was recognized as a significant voice in 20th-century American poetry. His work continues to be celebrated for its blend of traditional form with modern insight, making him one of America's most beloved poets.

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POEM OF THE DAY

POEM OF THE DAY

BOOK OF THE DAY

ABOUT THE BOOK :

The world-famous cosmologist and #1 bestselling author of A Brief History of Time leaves us with his final thoughts on the universe's biggest questions in this brilliant posthumous work.

How did the universe begin? Will humanity survive on Earth? Is there intelligent life beyond our solar system? Could artificial intelligence ever outsmart us?

Throughout his extraordinary career, Stephen Hawking expanded our understanding of the universe and unravelled some of its greatest mysteries. But even as his theoretical work on black holes, imaginary time and multiple histories took his mind to the furthest reaches of space, Hawking always believed that science could also be used to fix the problems on our planet.

And now, as we face potentially catastrophic changes here on Earth - from climate change to dwindling natural resources to the threat of artificial super-intelligence - Stephen Hawking turns his attention to the most urgent issues for humankind.

Wide-ranging, intellectually stimulating, passionately argued, and infused with his characteristic humour, BRIEF ANSWERS TO THE BIG QUESTIONS, the final book from one of the greatest minds in history, is a personal view on the challenges we face as a human race, and where we, as a planet, are heading next.

POEM OF THE DAY

*Warren’s Address to the American Soldiers* 

There is never a boy who objects to learning 

“Warren’s Address,” by John Pierpont (1785-1866).

 To stand by one’s own rights is inherent in every

 true American. This poem is doubtless developed

 from Robert Burns’s “Bannockburn.” (1785-1866.)

Stand! the ground’s your own, my braves!

Will ye give it up to slaves?

Will ye look for greener graves?

Hope ye mercy still?

What’s the mercy despots feel?

Hear it in that battle-peal!

Read it on yon bristling steel!

Ask it,—ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?

Will ye to your homes retire?

Look behind you! they’re afire!

And, before you, see

Who have done it!—From the vale

On they come!—And will ye quail?—

Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be!

In the God of battles trust!

Die we may,—and die we must;

But, O, where can dust to dust

Be consigned so well,

As where Heaven its dews shall shed

On the martyred patriot’s bed,

And the rocks shall raise their head,

Of his deeds to tell

John Pierpont.

POEM OF THE DAY

POEM OF THE DAY

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS 

The Sandpiper

“The Sandpiper,” by Celia Thaxter (1836-94),

 is placed here because a goodly percentage

 of the children who read it want to learn it.

Across the lonely beach we flit,

One little sandpiper and I,

And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry.

The wild waves reach their hands for it,

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,

As up and down the beach we flit,

One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds

Scud, black and swift, across the sky;

Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds

Stand out the white lighthouses high.

Almost as far as eye can reach

I see the close-reefed vessels fly,

As fast we flit along the beach,

One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;

He starts not at my fitful song,

Nor flash of fluttering drapery.

He has no thought of any wrong,

He scans me with a fearless eye;

Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,

The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night,

When the loosed storm breaks furiously?

My driftwood fire will burn so bright!

To what warm shelter canst thou fly?

I do not fear for thee, though wroth

The tempest rushes through the sky;

For are we not God’s children both,

Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

Celia Thaxter

POEM OF THE DAY

Engraving of WILLIAM BLAKE 

Author: Schiavonetti, Phillips

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

*A Dream* 

Once a dream did wave a shade

O’er my angel-guarded bed,

That an emmet lost its way

When on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, ’wildered, and forlorn,

Dark, benighted, travel-worn,

Over many a tangled spray,

All heart-broke, I heard her say:

“Oh, my children! do they cry?

Do they hear their father sigh?

Now they look abroad to see.

Now return and weep for me.”

Pitying, I dropped a tear;

But I saw a glow-worm near,

Who replied, “What wailing wight

Calls the watchman of the night?

“I am set to light the ground

While the beetle goes his round.

Follow now the beetle’s hum—

Little wanderer, hie thee home!”

 *William Blake*

POEM OF THE DAY

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS 

*A Boy’s Song* 

“A Boy’s Song,” by James Hogg (1770-1835),

 is a sparkling poem, very attractive to children.

Where the pools are bright and deep,

Where the gray trout lies asleep,

Up the river and o’er the lea,

That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest,

Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,

Where the nestlings chirp and flee,

That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest,

Where the hay lies thick and greenest,

There to trace the homeward bee,

That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the hazel bank is steepest,

Where the shadow falls the deepest,

Where the clustering nuts fall free.

That’s the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away,

Little sweet maidens from the play,

Or love to banter and fight so well,

That’s the thing I never could tell.

But this I know, I love to play,

Through the meadow, among the hay;

Up the water and o’er the lea,

That’s the way for Billy and me.

 *James Hogg*

POEM OF THE DAY

Portrait of WILLIAM BLAKE 

Source/Photographer

National Portrait Gallery: NPG 212

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

*A Dream* 

Once a dream did wave a shade

O’er my angel-guarded bed,

That an emmet lost its way

When on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, ’wildered, and forlorn,

Dark, benighted, travel-worn,

Over many a tangled spray,

All heart-broke, I heard her say:

“Oh, my children! do they cry?

Do they hear their father sigh?

Now they look abroad to see.

Now return and weep for me.”

Pitying, I dropped a tear;

But I saw a glow-worm near,

Who replied, “What wailing wight

Calls the watchman of the night?

“I am set to light the ground

While the beetle goes his round.

Follow now the beetle’s hum—

Little wanderer, hie thee home!”

 *William Blake*

POEM OF THE DAY

EPES SARGENT 

Source/Photographer http://www.nga.gov/content/ngaweb/Collection/art-object-page.45881.html

PUBLIC DOMAIN 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS 

*A Life on the Ocean Wave* 

“A Life on the Ocean Wave,” by 

Epes Sargent (1813-80), gives the

 swing and motion of the water of

 the great ocean. Children remember 

it almost unconsciously after hearing 

it read several times.

A life on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep,

Where the scattered waters rave,

And the winds their revels keep!

Like an eagle caged, I pine

On this dull, unchanging shore:

Oh! give me the flashing brine,

The spray and the tempest’s roar!

Once more on the deck I stand

Of my own swift-gliding craft:

Set sail! farewell to the land!

The gale follows fair abaft.

We shoot through the sparkling foam

Like an ocean-bird set free;—

Like the ocean-bird, our home

We’ll find far out on the sea.

The land is no longer in view,

The clouds have begun to frown;

But with a stout vessel and crew,

We’ll say, Let the storm come down!

And the song of our hearts shall be,

While the winds and the waters rave,

A home on the rolling sea!

A life on the ocean wave!

 **Epes Sargent**

POEM OF THE DAY

         Public domain 

         Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS 

*Buttercups and Daisies* 

Buttercups and daisies,

Oh, the pretty flowers,

Coming ere the spring time,

To tell of sunny hours.

While the tree are leafless,

While the fields are bare,

Buttercups and daisies

Spring up here and there.

Ere the snowdrop peepeth,

Ere the crocus bold,

Ere the early primrose

Opes its paly gold,

Somewhere on the sunny bank

Buttercups are bright;

Somewhere ’mong the frozen grass

Peeps the daisy white.

Little hardy flowers,

Like to children poor,

Playing in their sturdy health

By their mother’s door,

Purple with the north wind,

Yet alert and bold;

Fearing not, and caring not,

Though they be a-cold!

What to them is winter!

What are stormy showers!

Buttercups and daisies

Are these human flowers!

He who gave them hardships

And a life of care,

Gave them likewise hardy strength

And patient hearts to bear.

 *Mary Howitt*

POEM OF THE DAY

Thomas Campbell, 1777 - 1844. Poet and critic 

Artist :  Henry Room (1802–1850)  

Collection : National Galleries Scotland   

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

The Rainbow

Triumphal arch, that fills the sky

When storms prepare to part,

I ask not proud Philosophy

To teach me what thou art.

Still seem, as to my childhood’s sight,

A midway station given,

For happy spirits to alight,

Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Thomas Campbell

POEM OF THE DAY

William Lisle Bowles (1762-185O), English poet

Source:  http://www.famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/william_lisle_bowles

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS 

*The Butterfly and the Bee* 

“The Butterfly and the Bee,” by William 

Lisle Bowles (1762-1850), is recommended

 by some school-girls. It carries a lesson 

in favour of the worker.

Methought I heard a butterfly

Say to a labouring bee:

“Thou hast no colours of the sky

On painted wings like me.”

“Poor child of vanity! those dyes,

And colours bright and rare,”

With mild reproof, the bee replies,

“Are all beneath my care.

“Content I toil from morn to eve,

And scorning idleness,

To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave

The vanity of dress.”

 *William Lisle Bowles*

POEM OF THE DAY

Charles Brown, Portrait of John Keats, 1819

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS 

Fairy Song

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!

The flower will bloom another year.

Weep no more! O, weep no more!

Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.

Dry your eyes! Oh! dry your eyes!

For I was taught in Paradise

To ease my breast of melodies—

Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!

’Mong the blossoms white and red—

Look up, look up. I flutter now

On this flush pomegranate bough.

See me! ’tis this silvery bell

Ever cures the good man’s ill.

Shed no tear! O, shed no tear!

The flowers will bloom another year.

Adieu, adieu—I fly, adieu,

I vanish in the heaven’s blue—

Adieu, adieu!

John Keats

POEM OF THE DAY

Portrait of Christina Rossetti

Source: Bridgeman Art Library

Public domain 

Via WIKIMEDIA COMMONS 

"The Thread of Life"

​By Christina Rossetti (1830–1894)

This poem reflects on the solitary nature of the 

soul and its journey, contrasting the outer world 

with the inner self.

​The irresponsive silence of the sky,

The irremediable lapse of time,—

​Ever and ever more the end sublime

Terraform that waits all things that die.

​We look upon the mountains, and they lie

A toss of clouds, with which the sunbeams climb;

​We look upon the ocean's crest of rime,

And hear its vast and melancholy sigh.

​But we ourselves, alone, are not resigned:

A thread of life, which, when it seems to sever,

​Still holds the soul in chains, though bound to sever.

A memory, a dream, a hope, a fear,

​A doubt, a longing, and a prayer: all here.

The lonely heart, that is too proud to find.

POEM OF THE DAY

In Praise Of Henna

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A KOKILA called from a henna-spray:

Lira! liree! Lira! liree!

Hasten, maidens, hasten away

To gather the leaves of the henna-tree.

Send your pitchers afloat on the tide,

Gather the leaves ere the dawn be old,

Grind them in mortars of amber and gold,

The fresh green leaves of the henna-tree.

A kokila called from a henna-spray:

Lira! liree! Lira! liree!

Hasten maidens, hasten away

To gather the leaves of the henna-tree.

The tilka's red for the brow of a bride,

And betel-nut's red for lips that are sweet;

But, for lily-like fingers and feet,

The red, the red of the henna-tree.

~~~Sarojini Naidu