Harry+P


 * Coziness** **poems

An August Night,** Seamus Heaney

His hands were warm and small and knowledgeable When I saw them again last night, they were two ferrets Playing all by themselves in moonlit field

Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed, By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing,woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?
 * The Lamb,** William Blake

He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.  TIS true, 'tis day ; what though it be? O, wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise because 'tis light? Did we lie down because'twas night? Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither, Should in despite of light keep us together.
 * The Eagle,** Lord Tennyson
 * Break Of Day**, John Donne

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye ; If it could speak as well as spy, This were the worst that it could say, That being well I fain would stay, And that I loved my heart and honor so That I would not from him, that had them, go.

Must business thee from hence remove? O ! that's the worst disease of love, The poor, the foul, the false, love can Admit, but not the busied man. He which hath business, and makes love, doth do Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.

The Big Wrap Up