by Sara Teasdale
I understood the rest too well,
And all their thoughts have come to be
Clear as grey sea-weed in the swell
Of a sunny shallow sea.
But you I never understood,
Your spirit’s secret hides like gold
Sunk in a Spanish galleon
Ages ago in waters cold.
Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
This week’s Poetry Friday roundup is at Big A Little A.
“And catch the heart off guard and blow it open…”
Sing, cuckoo, sing
Poetry Friday: from The Bat-Poet
Because It Is November, and I Can Relate
Then Again, Perhaps She’d Be Offended by that “Cowrin, Tim’rous” Business