Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Friendship! how boundless and expansive is the term,
Leading thro' labyrinths - ah! 'tis a priceless germ.
Friendship! ah, it may look from many a smiling eye,
When bright life's sunshine and clear the sky.
But when the storms of adversity round us are pressed,
Then is the time for friendship's true test.
When the dark waves of trouble are surging around,
Then may the rare gem of friendship be found.
One by one the false gildings will all fall away,
While the pure and unfading jewel alone will stay.
The genuine gem of friendship how little we know,
Till the fierce winds of trial and misfortune blow.
If found by the stranger afar from lov'd native soil,
O'er fond Memory's bower should its tendrils coil.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Be not with grief or joy overcome,
'Tis a transient thing at best;
Not till this life's work is done,
Shall we find enduring rest.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
They pass me by with a smile and a bow,
And linger with low-spoken words by my side,
They twine wreaths of affection over my brow,
And all possess love, fortune and pride.
But the trammeled heart beats not at their coming.
And notes not their glances or tone,
Heart that would fain towards the lovelight be running,
With a music to equal their own.
For all of them wonder, nor dream of the ashes
Buried from the world's eyes apart;
And not dreaming of a sorrow that clashes,
They term it a marble heart.
But they pass from sight, all these loves of mine.
And the heart heedeth not their sigh.
But clings to a love that was wont to shine,
One time in the long gone by.
Heart that hath beaten for one, from all others apart,
Will cannot recall a flutter that's o'er,
Call it, if they will, then, a marble heart,
For 'twill never know love any more.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Perchance you are despondent, with weariness cast down,
Because you haven't wealth and fame,
But oh, dispel at once that quickly gathering frown.
If you've still your spotless name;
A legacy more priceless far than gold,
A legacy whose value is untold.
Avalanches of trouble may roll around.
But there'll be a path to lead you out some way,
If only you step on the firm, hard ground,
And not where it's ready to sink with foul decay;
But whatever your loss, whatever your gain.
Hug like a miser your spotless name.
Oh, sink not down, or turn from the world with dread.
If this golden legacy still remain,
Though stormy and rough the paths you tread.
Part not with your spotless name;
When friends and fortune vanish on swift flying wings.
This legacy'll stand 'mong imperishable things.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Ah, there's a shining Temple on a Hill,
And its lights illume for aye,
And it never bringeih woe nor ill,
To those that pass that way.
A brighter Temple than e'er was built by hand.
It containeth jewels rich and rare,
Brilliant gems from all the lands
Are closely clustered there.
The gems of Faith, Hope and Contentment,
Charity and all of her allies.
And Hatred, Envy or Resentment,
Ne'er in its precincts lies.
On the Hill of Humility, o'er the rill of Confession,
Standeth Feligion's Temple so bright,
Supported forever by gentle Discretion,
Surely, 'tis a Temple of light.
But who in this beautiful Temple dwell?
Not all who the title claim.
But one day 'twill be known full well,
For there's a Record bears each name.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
They tell me of the pure country air,
And the woodland flowers fresh and fair,
And though there is nothing pedantic,
Still every thing is very romantic,
And to leave the city noise, din and strife,
And enjoy a while the blessed country life.
From their description it ought to suit me
Like a charm,
So I find myself some fine morning
On my uncle s farm;
The first thing that greets my ear
Is a grunt and a squeal,
The first thing that greets my sight,
Molly with a basin of meal.
They said every thing was so nice and fine,
But then I ll not take this as a sign;
I'll not begin to worry and fret,
I may find it pleasant yet;
I'll go to the orchard, it must be nice there,
And pick some flowers, as I go, for my hair;
The orchard now I can plainly see,
And lo! the pigs for they are there before me,
I return to find the boys
Over a little money, or few worthless toys,
Very deep in anger and strife.
Is this blessed country life?
Where is the quietness and seclusion?
I've seen nothing but noise and confusion,
So I think it all but a fond delusion.
Here, for me, there is no bliss,
I far prefer the city to this,
But, better than either of these still,
(If I speak with my own free will,
And do not suffocate my voice,)
I like a village, and that's my choice.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
There are two bears that near us we should allow to dwell,
Nor e'er by harsh word or hasty act repel,
Homes and lives can only be happy made,
Where these two bears are allowed to stay,
And the foundation for enjoyment is laid.
Where these two bears haunt the way.
Oh, send them never crossly from the door,
But let them remain one's sight before.
For they'll ne'er bring grief nor sorrow.
Nor ever a thought of pending sadness.
They'll point out many a bright to-morrow.
And fill it with joy and gladness.
Those two bears we should nourish e'er with care.
Their names, remember, are Bear and Forbear.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
We met, floating on life's e'er changeful tide,
We met and some bright moments spent together;
When lo! the step of Parting glideth to our side,
And our paths diverge, perhaps, forever!
Fickle and unstable is the barque of life.
Round which fierce and stormy billows rage.
But while wrestling with the waves of strife,
Will there e'er rest our memory's page.
Fateful and mystical are our varied days,
Interspersed with many a weird, fantastic scene.
And oft we meet events on our destined ways,
That seem like some vague dream.
But let me ask this much of you,
Be our meeting recalled in a similar light.
When sometimes it shall rise to view,
Oh, may that dream be bright!
Oh! please to count the moments all together.
Henceforth an oasis of the Past;
And though the hand of Parting now sever.
May their memory always last.
Let one sad tho't with this parting moment blend.
Though seasons come and go.
Remember, this is the hour, my friend,
We part, to meet no more below.
And should you, in future years, pass by,
With friends so prized and dear,
Turn thither to this spot an eye,
Dimmed by a falling tear.
My friend, I wish for you that Joy may prove
Abundant in her blessings rare.
That she may give you happiness and love.
Unmixed with toil and care.
A silent handclasp, and all is o'er.
Henceforth, apart we'll dwell.
Just as we part to meet no more.
Accept my final, yea, last farewell.
More Goodbye Poems by other Poets
Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
In the depot, or the railway car, perchance.
Or mayhap in the crowded street,
'Tis like a rare poem, or a thrilling romance.
Thousands as strangers meet:
An hour, a week, a month flits by.
And round each pulsing heart
Friendship has bonnd a golden tie,
When they are called, alas, to part.
Yes, they who unfamiliar strangers met
Are called to part in tears,
While Memory has her signet set,
To shine in future years.
Little know we, standing on Uncertainty's threshold vast.
Whom we may meet to love, part with to meet no more.
As turning an eye down the vestibule of the past,
We launch our barque on Fate's mystic shore.
Methinks that the saddest of life's sad, sad things
Is to meet to love, and when a brief space is o'er,
And limited hours have fled on arrowy wings,
To part, to meet on earth no more! no more!
Friends, near and dear to us as our own connection,
We tearfully press to our throbbing heart.
Sadly twine o'er them the wreath of fond affection,
For we have met, alas, to part!
But such is this changeful world of ours,
That bitter close to sweet must cling,
As December's snows and May's warm showers
The varied seasons bring;
And in this world, spacious and so wide,
Some Arm, staunch friends we find,
But are hurried swiftly along the tide.
To leave them soon behind.
Yet oft we weave ties not easily broken.
Though sundered for aye apart.
And we cherish each word and token.
They've won a place within the heart;
And when o'er life's last refulgent ray.
May we meet around that Throne,
Meet to spend a long, perennial day,
Meet where parting is unknown.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
A gay, joyous laugh and a bright, winning smile,
A countenance beaming with mirth,
And the motley world is opining the while:
"He's the happiest being on earth."
They see his fair fame, with fortune he*s blest,
But ah, the heart knoweth its own story best!
The laugh may be forced, the smile be assumed.
The mirth, a mask of deepest disguise.
And dark wells of sorrow are often illumed.
By an artful dissembling of eyes;
And the world fancies Joy where Despair is a guest,
For ah, the heart knoweth its own story best!
On a wintry day when the sun shines bright.
We think, what delightful weather!
And wonder people are bundled so tight.
And pulling their mufflers together;
But we feel not the cold that's piercing their breast
For ah, the heart knoweth its own story best!
The smile-wreathed face is oftimes the saddest,
Gay corsage may flaunt o'er a bleeding heart,
The brain with grief is oftimes the maddest.
As it some sparkling witticism impart;
No one may judge by the fairest test,
For ah, the heart knoweth its own story best!
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Up and down through the busy street.
We hear the tread of tramping feet.
Back and forth we hear them go,
Crash, crash, through the frozen snow.
Sad or merry the reverberating sound,
Of the tread, tread, over the frozen ground;
As it carries one back to the long-ago.
Back, at the sound of the creaking snow.
Sad memories to some perchance it brings back,
From the golden depths of a by-gone track.
Recalling hopes that in ashes lie low.
Castles built in the crashing snow,
That may have fallen to dust on the ground
Hence, it may seem a mournful sound;
It recalls the loved of the long-ago,
Who walked with us in the beautiful snow.
The stars glimmer dimly over our head,
While feet keep up their ceaseless tread.
And the heavens with frosty sparkles glow,
Over the crash of the pearly snow.
But sad or merry the reverberating sound,
Of tread, tread, o'er the frozen ground,
It carries one back to the long-ago,
Back, at the sound of the crashing snow.
More Winter Poems by other Poets
Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Among the many and varied forms,
Of all that you may see.
Mid life's thick and gathering storms,
Where e'er you chance to be,
Mid life's fair or clouded morns,
Will you ever think of me?
Thinking Of You Poems by other Poets
Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Time goes sailing on, nor slacketh speed.
Nor weeks, nor months doth stop to heed,
Sweeping o'er seasons like a passing dream.
Changing many a fair and beauteous scene,
Cheered by its smile, watered by its tear.
There standeth by, the twelfth season near.
Another year!
The brooklet its merry song still singing,
The bird his diurnal visit bringing,
Trees loaded with blossoms in the spring.
Precious fruit in fall they bring.
The leaves are green, then brown and sere,
Showing that autumn draweth near.
Gone a year!
We turn one glance adown the flowery dell,
To bid, we think, a brief farewell.
Press the lips from which we must part.
Whisper with lov'd ones pressed to our heart,
List'ing to the voice like music to our ear.
Scanning the faces that are to us so dear,
"Only a year!"
Oh, fickle, fateful, e'er changeful Time,
That variest all within thy line,
Wilt make changes 'mid the scenes we leave,
And o'er them a mournful chasm weave?
Wilt leave the eyes now bright and clear,
And the forms to us so loved and dear,
Til we return in a year?
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Though loved ones have left us,
And severed hath been the chain,
It is a happy thought
That the pure can meet again.
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Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
I raise my head from the weary pillow,
On which it has lain all night,
Aching, throbbing and beating,
And welcome the glad sunlight.
Oh! how gladly I welcome it,
Dear, delightful sight,
And raise a prayer to God on High,
For the beautiful sunlight.
However ill I may be,
It gives me a feeling bright,
As I open my eyes,
And am greeted by the glad sunlight.
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