Mrs. Falconer - Poetry Genius ELA 2 - 1st period lyrics

Raymond Carver Happiness So early it's still almost dark out. I'm near the window with coffee, and the usual early morning stuff that pa**es for thought. When I see the boy and his friend walking up the road to deliver the newspaper. They wear caps and sweaters, and one boy has a bag over his shoulder. They are so happy they aren't saying anything, these boys. I think if they could, they would take each other's arm. It's early in the morning, and they are doing this thing together. They come on, slowly. The sky is taking on light, though the moon still hangs pale over the water. Such beauty that for a minute d**h and ambition, even love, doesn't enter into this. Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it. (Bryan, Rodrigo, Jaylon, Yosmar, and Jayden) _ _ Elizabeth Bishop One Art The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. - Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. (Sainbou, Elizabeth, Joseph, and Leslie) _ _ Abraham Cowley A Supplication Awake, awake, my Lyre! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail; Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire: Though so exalted she And I so lowly be Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. Hark, how the strings awake! And, though the moving hand approach not near, Themselves with awful fear A kind of numerous trembling make. Now all thy forces try; Now all thy charms apply; Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure Is useless here, since thou art only found To cure, but not to wound, And she to wound, but not to cure, Too weak too wilt thou prove My pa**ion to remove; Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love. Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre! For thou canst never tell my humble tale In sounds that will prevail, Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire; All thy vain mirth lay by, Bid thy strings silent lie, Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. (Nathan, Drake, Zaire, Logan, and Marcus) _ _ Shel Silverstein Where the Sidewalk Ends There is a place where the sidewalk ends and before the street begins, and there the gra** grows soft and white, and there the sun burns crimson bright, and there the moon-bird rests from his flight to cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black and the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow and watch where the chalk-white arrows go to the place where the sidewalk ends. Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, for the children, they mark, and the children, they know, the place where the sidewalk ends. (Irving, Stephanie, Drew, and Jocka) _ _ John Clare First Love I ne'er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet, Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale as deadly pale, My legs refused to walk away, And when she looked, what could I ail? My life and all seemed turned to clay. And then my blood rushed to my face And took my eyesight quite away, The trees and bushes round the place Seemed midnight at noonday. I could not see a single thing, Words from my eyes did start— They spoke as chords do from the string, And blood burnt round my heart. Are flowers the winter's choice? Is love's bed always snow? She seemed to hear my silent voice, Not love's appeals to know. I never saw so sweet a face As that I stood before. My heart has left its dwelling-place And can return no more. (Nico, Freddie, Brittany, and Jackie) _ _ Robert Frost I Could Give All To Time To Time it never seems that he is brave To set himself against the peaks of snow To lay them level with the running wave, Nor is he overjoyed when they lie low, But only grave, contemplative and grave. What now is inland shall be ocean isle, Then eddies playing round a sunken reef Like the curl at the corner of a smile; And I could share Time's lack of joy or grief At such a planetary change of style. I could give all to Time except – except What I myself have held. But why declare The things forbidden that while the Customs slept I have crossed to Safety with? For I am There, And what I would not part with I have kept. (Julissa, Lee, Nick, and Mikayla) _ _ Robert Browning You'll Love Me Yet YOU'LL love me yet!—and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing: June rear'd that bunch of flowers you carry, From seeds of April's sowing. I plant a heartful now: some seed 5 At least is sure to strike, And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like. You'll look at least on love's remains, A grave's one violet: 10 Your look?—that pays a thousand pains. What's d**h? You'll love me yet! (Will, Raul, Marissa, and Courtney)