The SampaguitaNatividad MarquezLittle sampaguitaWith the wondering eyeDid a tiny fairDrop you where you lie?In the witching hourOf the tropic nightDid the careless moonbeamleave you in its fight?

Afternoon on a hillEdna St. MillayI will be the gladdest thingUnder the sun!I will touch a hundred flowersAnd not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and cloudswith quiet eyes,Watch the wind bow down the grass,And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to showUp from the town,I will mark which must be mine,And then start down!

Reflection:In this poem tell us the beauty of our mother nature. And it says, we must love and care the nature that offer to us by our almighty god. Our land is full of love and care that surround us and we as a son of god, we born to love and care the mother nature to provide all the things to make our surroundings harvest a verry fruitful legacy.

Who walks the world with soul awakeFlorence Earle CoatesWHO walks the world with soul awakeFinds beauty everywhere;Though labor be his portion,Though sorrow be his share,He looks beyond obscuring clouds,Sure that the light is there!

And if, the ills of mortal lifeGrown heavier to bear,Doubt come with its perplexitiesAnd whisper of despair,He turns with love to suffering menAnd, lo! God, too, is there.

DaffodilsWilliam WordsworthI wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o'er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host, of golden daffodils;Beside the lake, beneath the trees,Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shineAnd twinkle on the milky way,They stretched in never-ending lineAlong the margin of a bay:Ten thousand saw I at a glance,Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but theyOut-did the sparkling waves in glee:A poet could not but be gay,In such a jocund company:I gazed--and gazed--but little thoughtWhat wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lieIn vacant or in pensive mood,They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude;And then my heart with pleasure fills,And dances with the daffodils.

Reflection:Some people survived because of love that sent us by our neighborhood. In this poem tells us how essential the love and peace by the people that always in our side and that we mingled in our every day living. They are like daffoldils who give their full support and advice to us to face our problem and obstacles or hindrances in our life. In every time they are there to shine in the middle of sadness and emptyness. All we have to do is to appreciate those sacrifices and love they offer to us.

The Star - spangled BannerFrancis Scott Key (1779-1843)O SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light,What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fightO'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming!And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;Oh, say, does that Star - Spangled Banner yet waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream;'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly sworeThat the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,A home and a country should leave us no more?Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slave,From terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall standBetween their loved homes and the war's desolation!Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued landPraise the Power that made and preserved us a nation!Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,And this be out motto:-- "In God is our trust!"And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Reflection:In this poem tell us the conflictness of the world, crime are rising specially the absence of unity so called war

Abou Ben AdhemJames Henry Leigh HuntAbou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,And saw, within the moonlight in his room,Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,An angel writing in a book of gold:Exceeding peace had made Ben Ad hem bold,And to the Presence in the room he said"What writest thou?"The vision raised its head,And with a look made of all sweet accord,Answered "The names of those who love the Lord.""And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,But cheerly still, and said "I pray thee, then,Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next nightIt came again with a great wakening light,And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.LeisureWilliam Henry DaviesWhat is this life if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughsAnd stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth canEnrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare.

The Ox

Giauque Carducci (18351907)

From the Poesie

ILOVEthee, pious ox; a gentle feeling

Of vigour and of peace thou givst my heart.

How solemn, like a monument, thou art!

Over wide fertile fields thy calm gaze stealing,

Unto the yoke with grave contentment kneeling,

To mans quick work thou dost thy strength impart.

He shouts and goads, and answering thy smart,

Thou turnst on him thy patient eyes appealing.

From thy broad nostrils, black and wet, arise

Thy breaths soft fumes; and on the still air swells,

Like happy hymn, thy lowings mellow strain.

In the grave sweetness of thy tranquil eyes

Of emerald, broad and still reflected dwells

All the divine green silence of the plain.

OpportunityEdward Rowland Sill (1841-1887)THIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:--There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;And underneath the cloud, or in it, ragedA furious battle, and men yelled, and swordsShocked upon swords and shields. A prince's bannerWavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.A craven hung along the battle's edge,And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel--That blue blade that the king's son bears, -- but thisBlunt thing--!" he snapped and flung it from his hand,And lowering crept away and left the field.Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,And weapon less, and saw the broken sword,Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,And ran and snatched it, and with battle shoutLifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,And saved a great cause that heroic day.

MartinJoyce KilmerWhen I am tired of earnest men,Intense and keen and sharp and clever,Pursuing fame with brush or penOr counting metal disks forever,Then from the halls of ShadowlandBeyond the trackless purple seaOld Martin's ghost comes back to standBeside my desk and talk to me.

Still on his delicate pale faceA quizzical thin smile is showing,His cheeks are wrinkled like fine lace,His kind blue eyes are gay and glowing.He wears a brilliant-hued cravat,A suit to match his soft grey hair,A rakish stick, a knowing hat,A manner blithe and debonair.

How good that he who always knewThat being lovely was a duty,Should have gold halls to wander throughAnd should himself inhabit beauty.How like his old unselfish wayTo leave those halls of splendid mirthAnd comfort those condemned to stayUpon the dull and sombre earth.

Some people ask: "What cruel chanceMade Martin's life so sad a story?"Martin? Why, he exhaled romance,And wore an overcoat of glory.A fleck of sunlight in the street,A horse, a book, a girl who smiled,Such visions made each moment sweetFor this receptive ancient child.

Because it was old Martin's lotTo be, not make, a decoration,Shall we then scorn him, having notHis genius of appreciation?Rich joy and love he got and gave;His heart was merry as his dress;Pile laurel wreaths upon his graveWho did not gain, but was, success!

Prayers of SteelCarl SandburgLay me on an anvil, O God.Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar.Let me pry loose old walls.Let me lift and loosen old foundations.

Lay me on an anvil, O God.Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.Drive me into the girders that hold a skyscraper together.Take red-hot rivets and fasten me into the central girders.Let me be the great nail holding a skyscraper through blue nights into white stars.

The Rural Maid Fernando M. Maramag

Thy glance, sweet maid, when first we met,Had left a heart that aches for thee,I feel the pain of fond regretThy heart, perchance, is not for me.

We parted: though we met no more,My dreams are dreams of thee, fair maid;I think of thee, my thoughts imploreThe hours my lips on thine are laid.

Forgive these words that love impart,And pleading, bare the poets breast;And if a rose with thorns thou art,Yet on my breast that rose may rest.

I know not what to name thy charms,Thou art half human, half divine;And if I could hold thee in my arms,I know both heaven and earth were mine.

A Psalm of LifeHenry Wadsworth LongfellowTell me not, in mournful numbers,Life is but an empty dream!For the soul is dead that slumbers,And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!And the grave is not its goal;Dust thou art, to dust returnest,Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,Is our destined end or way;But to act, that each to-morrowFind us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,And our hearts, though stout and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beatingFuneral marches to the grave.

In the worlds broad field of battle,In the bivouac of Life,Be not like dumb, driven cattle!Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, however pleasant!Let the dead Past bury its dead!Act, act in the living Present!Heart within, and God oerhead!

Lives of great men all remind usWe can make our lives sublime,And, departing, leave behind usFootprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,Sailing oer lifes solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,With a heart for any fate;Still achieving, still pursuing,Learn to labour and to wait.

Happiness Carl Sandburg

I ASKED the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what happiness is.And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with themAnd then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Deplanes riverAnd I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

Fish CrierCarl SandburgI KNOW a Jew fish crier down on Maxwell Street with a voice like a north wind blowing over corn stubble in January.He dangles herring before prospective customers evincing a joy identical with that of Pavlowa dancing.His face is that of a man terribly glad to be selling fish, terribly glad that God made fish, and customers to whom he may call his wares, from a pushcart.

On His BlindnessJohn MiltonWhen I consider how my light is spentEre half my days in this dark world and wide,And that one talent which is death to hideLodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and presentMy true account, lest he returning chide,"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"I fondly ask. But Patience, to preventThat murmur, soon replies: "God doth not needEither man's work or his own gifts: who bestBear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His stateIs kingly; thousands at his bidding speedAnd post o'er land and ocean without rest:They also serve who only stand and wait.

SunsetCharles BaudelaireFair is the sun when first he flames aboveFlinging his joy down in a happy beamAnd happy he who can salute with loveThe sunset far more glorious than a dreamFlower, stream and furrow! I have seen them allIn the suns eye swoon like one trembling heartThought it be late let us with speed departTo catch at least one last ray ere it fall But I pursue the fading God in vainFor conquering knight makes firm her dark domainMist and gloom fall, and terrors glide between And graveyard in the shadow swimAnd my faint footsteps in the marsh rimBruise the cold snail and crawling toad unseen

Pale star of evenAlfred de Musset

Pale star of even on thy distant questLifting thy radiant brow from twilights veilFrom out thy azure palace in the west What sees thou in the dale?The storm receedes, the winds are lulled breast The shivering trees weep on the grass beneath, The evening butterfly, with gilded crest Flits oer the fragrant healthWhat sleekest thou on natures sleeping breastDown toward the mountains thou art sinking fastSinking and smiling ,sweet and pensive guestThy tremulous gaze has almost look its last.Sad, silvery tear on evenings mantle brownSlow gliding downward to the verdant steepThe shepherd sees thee, as across the downHe homewards leads his lingering flock of sheepStar at this silent our so strangely fair,Through boundless night, O whither dost do go?To seek beside the shore a reedy lairOr like a pearl, sink in the gulf below?O, if they glowing tresses thou must wet In oceans brine ,fair star, if thou must die,En thou forsake us, stay a moment yet Sweet star of love! Ah, do not leave the sky!

Domestic scenesMiguel de Unamuno

When shades of night have comeAnd all my house is sleepingThe silent peace of homeIts arms about them keepingAnd the only sound I hearIs my childrens measured breathingThen my dream sees life appear Toward a larger meaning wreathingThen their breathing seems a prayerThrough their voice of dream repeatingWhile their consciousness is bareIn their God the father meeting Dream O Dream Thou art the signOf the life that knows no endingOf that stainless life divineOn this present life attending!Look not upon me with such eye my sonI would not have thee read my secret clear Nor would so I deceive my little oneThat poison through such fragile veins should scar

Never, O never may they fathers gloomObstruct thee from the joy and glow of dayTo speak of joy does voice presume?I do not wish thee joyFor on this earthTo live in mirthOne must be saint or foolAnd fool- God save thee boy!And saint I know not of the school

Go ,stir the brazier coals ,my childThe fire is growing coldHow brief today the sun has smiled!To think the orb that you beholdOne day shall cinder turn,And Gods great brow, the heavens, enfoldIts ashes like an um.

SunsetCharles BaudelaireFair is the sun when first he flames aboveFlinging his joy down in a happy beamAnd happy he who can salute with loveThe sunset far more glorious than a dreamFlower, stream and furrow! I have seen them allIn the suns eye swoon like one trembling heartThought it be late let us with speed departTo catch at least one last ray ere it fall But I pursue the fading God in vainFor conquering knight makes firm her dark domainMist and gloom fall, and terrors glide between And graveyard in the shadow swimAnd my faint footsteps in the marsh rimBruise the cold snail and crawling toad unseen

Pale star of evenAlfred de Musset

Pale star of even on thy distant questLifting thy radiant brow from twilights veilFrom out thy azure palace in the west What sees thou in the dale?The storm receedes, the winds are lulled breast The shivering trees weep on the grass beneath, The evening butterfly, with gilded crest Flits oer the fragrant healthWhat sleekest thou on natures sleeping breastDown toward the mountains thou art sinking fastSinking and smiling ,sweet and pensive guestThy tremulous gaze has almost look its last.Sad, silvery tear on evenings mantle brownSlow gliding downward to the verdant steepThe shepherd sees thee, as across the downHe homewards leads his lingering flock of sheepStar at this silent our so strangely fair,Through boundless night, O whither dost do go?To seek beside the shore a reedy lairOr like a pearl, sink in the gulf below?O, if they glowing tresses thou must wet In oceans brine ,fair star, if thou must die,En thou forsake us, stay a moment yet Sweet star of love! Ah, do not leave the sky!

Domestic scenesMiguel de Unamuno

When shades of night have comeAnd all my house is sleepingThe silent peace of homeIts arms about them keepingAnd the only sound I hearIs my childrens measured breathingThen my dream sees life appear Toward a larger meaning wreathingThen their breathing seems a prayerThrough their voice of dream repeatingWhile their consciousness is bareIn their God the father meeting Dream O Dream Thou art the signOf the life that knows no endingOf that stainless life divineOn this present life attending!Look not upon me with such eye my sonI would not have thee read my secret clear Nor would so I deceive my little oneThat poison through such fragile veins should scar

Never, O never may they fathers gloomObstruct thee from the joy and glow of dayTo speak of joy does voice presume?I do not wish thee joyFor on this earthTo live in mirthOne must be saint or foolAnd fool- God save thee boy!And saint I know not of the school

Go ,stir the brazier coals ,my childThe fire is growing coldHow brief today the sun has smiled!To think the orb that you beholdOne day shall cinder turn,And Gods great brow, the heavens, enfoldIts ashes like an um.