My Favourite Poems

Robert Frost (1874–1963)

The Road Not Taken


TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;


Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,


And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.


I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.



Do Not Stand & Weep - Mary Frye 1932

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush; I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.

Gone From My Sight by Henry Van Dyke
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speckof white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone"
Gone where?
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast,hull and spar as she was when she left my side.And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone," there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"
And that is Dying.


FRIENDSHIP by Maryanne Radmacher-Hershey

In those quiet hours
when dreams are born
and restless visions haze:
in that sleepy place
I step out and walk
through a timeless maze.
it's at this place
where I see your face:
your image lingers there
I walk the places we have walked
And remember sweetly
where we've talked
of princes, kingdoms,
pain, thoughts of growing old
and wisdom
bought at the price of our youth.
In those quiet hours
I think of you