Good Poetry From Various People

As is the generation of leaves, so is that of humanity. The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but the live timber burgeons with leaves again in the season of spring returning. So one generation of men will grow while another dies. Illiad XI.145-150 Then it's Tommy this an' Tommy that an' "Tommy, ow's yr soul?" But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes when the drums begin to roll, The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll. Rudyard Kipling For me, I know nought; nothing I deny, Admit, reject, condemn; and what know you Except perhaps that you were born to die? Lord Byron, Don Juan, XI The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; -on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched sand, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Aegean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. Matthew Arnold I loved you; it may be that love has not completely died in my soul; but do not let it trouble you any more; I do not wish to sadden you in any way. I loved you silently, hopelessly, tormented now by diffidence and now by jealousy; I loved you so truly, so tenderly as God may grant you to be loved by another. A. Pushkin