The Presence of Love, By: Samuel Taylor Coleridge

And in Life’s noisiest hour,

There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,

The heart’s Self-solace and soliloquy.

You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within;

And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart

Thro’ all my Being, thro’ my pulse’s beat;

You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,

Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve

On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.

And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,

How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you.


Dream’s Sake


Indian Serenade, By: Percy Bysshe Shelley

I arise from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep of night,

When the winds are breathing low,

And the stars are shining bright.

I arise from dreams of thee,

And a spirit in my feet

Hath led me – who knows how?

To thy chamber window, Sweet!

The wandering airs they faint

On the dark, the silent stream

And the champak’s odours

Like sweet thoughts in a dream;

The nightingale’s complaint,

It dies upon her heart,

As I must on thine,

O belovèd as thou art!

O lift me from the grass!

I die! I faint! I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.

My cheek is cold and white, alas!

My heart beats loud and fast:

O press it to thine own again,

Where it will break at last!


Dream’s Sake

The End, By: Amy Lowell

Throughout the echoing chambers of my brain

I hear your words in mournful cadence toll

Like some slow passing-bell which warns the soul

Of sundering darkness. Unrelenting, fain

To batter down resistance, fall again

Stroke after stroke, insistent diastole,

The bitter blows of truth, until the whole

Is hammered into fact made strangely plain.

Where shall I look for comfort? Not to you.

Our worlds are drawn apart, our spirit’s suns

Divided, and the light of mine burnt dim.

Now in the haunted twilight I must do

Your will. I grasp the cup which over-runs,

And with my trembling lips I touch the rim.


Dream’s Sake

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,: Lord Byron, (George Gordon)

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but Nature more,

From these our interviews, in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel

What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.


Dream’s Sake

May, By: Sara Teasdale

 The wind is tossing the lilacs,

The new leaves laugh in the sun,

And the petals fall on the orchard wall,

But for me the spring is done.

Beneath the apple blossoms

I go a wintry way,

For love that smiled in April

Is false to me in May.

Dream’s Sake