poem about journey in life

Embark on a Journey of Life: Exploring the Pathway’s Prose

In our journey through life, we navigate a complex and ever-changing pathway, encountering diverse experiences, challenges, and moments of joy. It is a journey marked by significant milestones, lessons, and the pursuit of meaning and fulfillment. Along the way, we ponder the meaning of life, seek our purpose, and grapple with the obstacles that come our way. How do we grow and evolve as we encounter these challenges, and where do we find happiness and contentment? These questions shape our understanding of the journey of life and the legacy we hope to leave behind.

Join us as we explore the pathways of life, the lessons we learn, and the moments that shape us in our quest for happiness and fulfillment.

Key Takeaways:

• Life is a journey filled with different paths, challenges, and lessons.
• Finding our purpose and overcoming obstacles are key to achieving fulfillment in life.
• By leaving a positive impact and finding joy, we can create a meaningful legacy on our journey of life.

10 Amazing Poems About The Journey of Life

1. pathways unfold.

In life’s journey, a path winds and bends, A story that twists, turns, and extends. Each step, a tale of dreams and fears, Years of laughter, joy, and tears.

We walk in the light, and sometimes in the dark, Marking our trail with an indelible mark. Life’s road with its highs and lows, Shows us where the heart truly goes.

Through forests of doubt and fields of hope, We cope, finding ways to adapt and cope. In every journey, a lesson learned, Earned in the miles we’ve traversed and turned.

Life, a journey of endless scope, In every step, a chance to grow, to cope. A path unique, with stories untold, Bold in its unfolding, a sight to behold.

Did You Know? The longest walking route on Earth is the proposed Transglobal Highway, a network of roads and ferries that would connect most of the continents on Earth. This remarkable journey would span approximately 33,000 kilometers (20,500 miles), offering a unique way to experience diverse cultures and landscapes. More about this epic journey can be explored through the Transglobal Highway project .

2. River of Time

Life flows like a river, steady and true, Through new and old, through the past and new. Its current strong, with moments swift, Adrift in time’s unceasing shift.

In the waters of life, we find our way, Day by day, in the flow and sway. Through calm streams and turbulent tide, We ride, with time as our guide.

Each bend brings a new sight, unseen, A scene of what has been and what will be. In the river of time, we learn to navigate, Celebrate each twist of fate.

Life, a journey on time’s endless stream, A dream, where past and future gleam. In the flow of years, moments shine bright, Light in the river’s dynamic flight.

3. Mountain Ascent

Life’s journey, an ascent of a mountain high, Sky-reaching peaks, under the open sky. Each step, an effort, a climb toward the peak, Seeking the summit, the answers we seek.

The path is steep, rugged, and long, Strong is the heart that sings the mountain’s song. With each rise and fall, with each testing bend, We mend, growing stronger with each ascend.

The view from the top, a sight so grand, A land of dreams, where we understand. In life’s climb, challenges we face, Embrace each step with courage and grace.

The journey of life, a mountain’s tale, A trail of triumphs, where we prevail. In the climb, we find our spirit’s might, In the height of life’s challenging flight.

Did You Know? Mount Everest, the highest mountain on Earth, has been a symbol of life’s challenges and achievements. It stands at a staggering height of 8,848 meters (29,029 feet). The journey to its summit is not just a physical challenge, but also a mental and spiritual one, much like the journey of life. Discover more about Everest and its climbers at the Himalayan Database .

4. Desert Crossing

Across life’s desert, vast and wide, We stride, under the sun’s scorching guide. A land of extremes, of heat and cold, Bold are the stories in this landscape told.

Each grain of sand, a moment in time, Sublime in its simplicity, yet profound and prime. In the desert’s expanse, we find our strength, Length of resilience, measured at length.

The journey through life’s arid ground, Found in the silence, a profound sound. Mirages of hope, oases of dreams, Seems life is more than what it seems.

In the desert of life, we learn to endure, Pure in our quest, our intentions sure. A passage of self, of discovery and test, In the quest of life’s arid, challenging quest.

5. Sea Voyage

Life, a voyage across the vast sea, Free, where the waves dictate where we’ll be. A journey of depths, of storms and calm, A balm of experiences, a healing psalm.

The ocean’s expanse, wide and deep, A leap into the unknown, a giant sweep. In the tides and currents, we find our way, Day by day, in the play of spray.

Navigating life’s high seas, Sees us through joys and heartache’s freeze. In the ebb and flow of time’s tide, We ride, with hope as our guide.

Life’s journey, a sea adventure, wide and vast, A cast of moments, memories that last. In the voyage of life, on the ocean’s crest, We quest, in our search for life’s best.

Did You Know? The Mariana Trench is the deepest part of the world’s oceans, reaching a depth of about 10,984 meters (36,037 feet). Exploring this part of the ocean is as challenging as exploring outer space, symbolizing the depths and mysteries of life’s journey. The trench’s deepest point, known as Challenger Deep, can be explored further through the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s website .

6. Forest Trail

Through the forest of life, a trail winds, Finds its way through the trees, the binds. A journey of shadows and dappled light, A sight of nature’s strength and might.

In the woodland’s embrace, paths diverge, Emerge new routes, as our lives surge. Twists and turns, in the forest deep, Keep us seeking, in life’s game of hide and seek.

Among the trees, we find our peace, Cease the noise, let the quiet increase. In the forest of life, lessons are learned, Earned in the tranquility for which we yearned.

Life, a journey through a forest’s maze, A gaze into nature’s mysterious ways. In the woods, we wander and explore, More of life’s secrets, in its core.

7. Urban Odyssey

In the city of life, an odyssey unfolds, Holds a tale of the new and the old. Skyscrapers of dreams, streets of fate, A state of constant change, at a rapid rate.

The urban jungle, alive and loud, Proud in its diversity, a cosmopolitan crowd. In the hustle and bustle, we find our beat, A feat of survival, in the city’s heat.

Life’s journey through the urban sprawl, A call to adapt, to stand tall. In the maze of streets, lessons to learn, Earn our place, at every turn.

The city of life, a journey of discovery, A story of humanity, in all its glory. In the urban odyssey, we find our way, Day by day, in the city’s lively play.

Did You Know? Tokyo, Japan, is one of the largest and most populous cities in the world, symbolizing the complexity and excitement of urban life. With a population of over 37 million in the greater metropolitan area, Tokyo is a prime example of urban expansion, blending ancient traditions with modern innovations. Explore Tokyo’s unique blend of the old and new at Tokyo’s Official Travel Guide .

8. Country Road

Down life’s country road, a journey so serene, Seen in the rolling hills, the landscape green. A path of simplicity, of quiet and calm, A balm of nature’s soothing palm.

The countryside, with its tranquil charm, A farm of life’s experiences, a place to disarm. In the rhythm of the rural pace, A space to breathe, to embrace grace.

Along the country road, life unwinds, Finds its rhythm in the fields and pines. A journey of peace, of slow and steady, Ready to enjoy the scenic beauty.

Life, a country road, a path less trodden, A cotton of quiet, where worries are forgotten. In the countryside, life’s journey is clear, Near to nature’s heart, close and dear.

9. Stairway to Dreams

Life’s journey, a stairway to our dreams, Seems to rise to infinite schemes. Each step, a climb towards our goal, A role in the play of the soul.

The staircase of life, steep and tall, Calls us to rise, to face it all. With each rise, a new level reached, Teached by the steps life has breached.

The ascent, a challenge of heart and mind, Find our strength, our unique kind. In the climb, dreams come into sight, A light at the top, shining bright.

Life, a stairway of hopes and fears, Years of climbing towards our frontiers. In the journey up life’s stairway, A play of dreams, day by day.

10. Galactic Trek

Life, a galactic trek through space and time, A climb through the cosmos, a journey sublime. In the vastness of the universe, we find our way, A play of stars and galaxies in display.

Through the Milky Way, our life’s path weaves, Believes in the journey of cosmic leaves. Astronauts of existence, in the space we roam, Home in the infinite, where stars foam.

The journey of life, a voyage so grand, A band of experiences, in the cosmic land. In the galaxy of existence, we explore, More of life’s mysteries, in its core.

Life’s trek through the stars, a celestial quest, A test of our spirit, in the cosmic zest. In the galactic journey of life, we sail, A tale of adventure, on an epic scale.

What Is the Journey of Life?

The journey of life is a remarkable odyssey filled with diverse experiences, profound emotions, and the pursuit of self-discovery and growth. It is an adventure that encompasses the myriad paths we tread, the love we encounter, and the reflections that shape our perspectives.

Every step taken, every challenge overcome, adds a unique hue to the canvas of our existence, creating a masterpiece like no other. As time unfolds, we navigate through the ebbs and flows, tasting the sweetness of triumph and feeling the sting of loss. Love , whether tender or tumultuous, adds splendor to this journey, infusing our hearts with a kaleidoscope of emotions, teaching us the depths of vulnerability and the heights of joy.

Self-discovery unfolds like the blooming of a flower, revealing layers of our being we never knew existed. It is a profound exploration, echoing whispers of growth and resilience as we confront our fears and embrace our strengths. Each twist and turn is an opportunity to learn, awaken, and evolve, painting our lives with hues of wisdom and understanding.

What Are the Different Paths We Take in Life?

Life presents a multitude of paths, each adorned with unique experiences, challenges, and opportunities for growth. These paths are akin to verses in a poem, weaving together our experiences and perspectives into a tapestry of existence.

Some paths lead through verdant meadows, where the soft petals of opportunity glisten with the morning dew, while others navigate the rugged terrain of adversity, sculpting resilience from every rock and thorn. Each footfall, a syllable in the grand composition of life’s journey, carries the rhythm of our stories.

From the bustling city streets to the tranquil whispers of nature’s embrace, the diverse landscapes we traverse mirror the intricacies of our own inner landscapes, shaping our perceptions and aspirations. As we thread through the ebbs and flows, our paths intertwine, forming the interconnected verses of human existence, each imbued with the poetic essence of our shared humanity.

What Is the Meaning of Life?

The meaning of life resides in the profound exploration of purpose , the relentless pursuit of self-discovery , and the ceaseless quest for inspiration and lessons that enrich our existence. It is a tapestry woven from the threads of love, growth, and the enigmatic dance of success and failure.

Life’s complexities unfold as we navigate through the ebb and flow of experiences, each moment a brushstroke painting the canvas of our journey. Through introspection, we unravel purpose’s elusive tendrils, seeking to grasp its essence amidst the tumultuous winds of uncertainty. In the pursuit of self-discovery, we embark on an odyssey, looking into the depths of our being, uncovering hidden facets that shape our understanding of existence. These revelations spur inspiration, nurturing the germination of possibilities and expansiveness in our perception of the world. From each adversity, we glean profound lessons, forging resilience and the temerity to embrace change. Life’s enigmatic harmony emanates from this intertwining tapestry of experiences, weaving a mosaic of growth and enlightenment.

How Do We Find Our Purpose in Life?

Discovering our purpose in life entails navigating through the labyrinth of challenges, embracing the winds of change, and seeking inspiration from the wisdom of Rumi. It is a journey of self-discovery and growth, a dance with the unknown to unravel the purpose that ignites our souls.

In the pursuit of purpose, we are called to explore the depths of our being, to venture into the uncharted territories of our hearts. Through the chaos and tranquility, we find that every challenge is a stepping stone, every setback a lesson, and every joy a reminder of our inner calling. Rumi’s words resonate, guiding us to look inward, to connect with our essence , and to embrace the journey, knowing that the answers lie within.

What Are the Challenges We Face in Life?

Life presents an array of challenges, each akin to a mountain waiting to be conquered or a river to be crossed . These obstacles are the crucibles in which our growth is forged, and the mirrors that reflect the kaleidoscope of our emotions and reflections.

As we navigate through these intricate labyrinths, we find ourselves confronting the depths of our fears and the heights of our aspirations. The journey molds us, chiseling away the rough edges of our character, imbuing us with resilience and wisdom.

How Do We Overcome Obstacles in Our Journey?

Overcoming the obstacles that punctuate our journey requires unwavering perseverance , akin to summiting the formidable peaks of Mount Everest. It is a testament to the human spirit’s resilience and the relentless pursuit of success amidst the labyrinth of challenges.

Embracing the mindset of a valiant mountaineer, one must cultivate grit to navigate the treacherous terrain, and a steadfast determination to conquer the insurmountable. Fear must be confronted, for it is often the shadow that looms large, obscuring the path ahead.

The summit of Mount Everest beckons each individual to redefine their limits – pushing beyond what was previously thought attainable, and embracing the fortitude necessary to withstand the howling winds of adversity.

What Are the Lessons We Learn Along the Way?

The journey of life bestows upon us a trove of invaluable lessons , each intricately woven into the fabric of our growth and transformation. These lessons serve as beacons of inspiration, illuminating our path through the labyrinth of challenges and triumphs.

Through the ebb and flow of life’s tapestry, we come to understand that lessons are not confined to classrooms or books but are an integral part of our daily experiences, shaping us in profound ways. The wisdom gained from overcoming adversities and celebrating victories etches a profound resilience within us, enableing us to endure and thrive.

As we reflect on the invaluable lessons imprinted on our souls, we recognize how they have sculpted our character, fostering empathy, wisdom, and gratitude.

How Do We Grow and Evolve on Our Journey?

The journey of life is a crucible for growth and evolution , akin to the transformative odyssey portrayed by Dante Alighieri. It is a symphony of self-discovery, a kaleidoscope of lessons, and a tapestry woven from the diverse perspectives that shape our existence.

In the labyrinth of our experiences, we encounter the challenges that shape our character and propel us toward growth. As we traverse through the circles of our personal inferno and face the shadows of our own making, we deepen our understanding of ourselves and the world.

Each trial and triumph serves as a crucible in which our resilience and resolve are forged, refining our spirit as we ascend towards enlightenment.

From the depths of our abyss , we emerge stronger, enlightened by the wisdom gained from our encounters with the divine and the mundane .

What Are the Milestones in Our Journey of Life?

The journey of life is adorned with an array of milestones , each marking the culmination of profound experiences, exponential growth, and introspective reflections. These milestones are the tapestries that adorn the grand narrative of our existence, signifying the evolution and transformation we undergo.

As we traverse the expansive terrain of existence, these milestones stand as the emblems of perseverance and accomplishment, testifying to our resilience and fortitude. They serve as beacons of progress, guiding us through the labyrinth of challenges and triumphs.

Each milestone etches a story into the fabric of time, capturing the moments of triumph, perseverance, and self-discovery.

What Are the Significant Moments That Shape Us?

Life’s journey is punctuated by significant moments, akin to the poignant verses of Morri Life , which etch themselves into the tapestry of our emotions and the saga of love. These moments become the crucibles that shape our essence, imbuing our journey with depth and meaning.

It is within these moments that we find ourselves facing the intricate dance of joy and sorrow, hope and despair, serenity and chaos. Just as Morri Life encapsulates the raw emotions of the human experience, so too do these impactful moments ripple through our souls, leaving an indelible mark. They are the crescendos and diminuendos in the symphony of our lives, resonating with the essence of love and growth.

How Do We Find Happiness and Fulfillment on Our Journey?

The pursuit of happiness and fulfillment on life’s journey is akin to a lyrical dance of love , self-discovery, and the perpetual quest for inspiration. It is an odyssey that resonates with the echoes of joy, the tapestries of love, and the kaleidoscope of self-discovery that imbue our existence with meaning.

Every step in this dance is adorned with the intricate patterns of emotions, each movement revealing the depths of our desires and dreams. The rhythm of love intertwines with the melody of self-discovery, creating a harmonious symphony that guides us through the labyrinth of experiences.

Through this captivating choreography, we unravel the layers of our soul, embracing our vulnerabilities, and finding strength in our inspiration to pursue the uncharted paths of our aspirations.

What Brings Us Joy and Contentment in Life?

The tapestries of joy and contentment in life are akin to the resonating verses of Margaret Fishback Powers, weaving together the essence of love, diverse perspectives , and the kaleidoscope of happiness . They form the lyrical symphony that enriches our journey with meaning and purpose.

Just as a tapestry is formed by weaving together myriad threads, joy and contentment in life stem from the intertwining of love, acceptance , and gratitude . Each thread represents a unique experience, a diverse perspective that adds depth and richness to the fabric of our existence.

The tapestries of joy are not uniform; rather, they are a patchwork of moments, emotions, and connections that create a beautiful mosaic. It is through embracing the variety of experiences and perspectives that we can truly appreciate the intricate beauty of our own unique tapestries of joy.

What Is the Legacy We Leave Behind on Our Journey?

The legacy we leave behind on life’s journey is an indelible imprint of our impact, a testament to our growth, and a reflection of our profound self-discovery. It is a tapestry woven from the threads of inspiration, the echoes of love, and the transformative essence of our existence.

Every action, every word spoken, every choice made contributes to this tapestry of legacy . Our impact ripples through the lives we touch, shaping the world in both subtle and grand ways. As we traverse through the labyrinth of life, our legacy becomes a roadmap for those who walk in our footsteps, guiding them to navigate their own journey with wisdom and empathy.

It is the echo of our voice, the warmth of our embrace, and the wisdom of our experiences that linger, becoming a source of inspiration for generations to come.

How Do We Make a Positive Impact on Others?

Making a positive impact on others during life’s journey is akin to crafting a symphony of inspiration and resilience, echoing the narratives of Vidya. It is a testament to our ability to transcend challenges, inspire others, and weave a tapestry of hope and compassion within the grand narrative of existence.

When we draw inspiration from the narratives of Vidya, we tap into the profound wellspring of compassion that underpins her remarkable story. Like Vidya, each step we take in the pursuit of spreading positivity and resilience contributes to the sublime harmony of human existence.

The ripples of our actions, no matter how small, resonate with the indomitable spirit that Vidya embodies, enriching the collective symphony of human experience. Through empathy and supportive gestures, we can uplift others amidst their struggles, manifesting inspiration and fortitude in everyday interactions.

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11 Life Journey Poems

• The Journey Poet Unknown You got to have some trouble in this rough old world of ours, You got to fight the bumblebee, sometimes to pick the flowers; Your going find fin' a heap of roughness in the rocky road, Before you get what you can rest and lay aside the load. But be humble, and don't grumble, Because you sometimes slip and stumble, And seems to drop behind the rest of all the hustlin' throng. Don't stop an' start a-whining And a-whimpering and a pinning, But pick your feet up, honey, and go traveling along. You may have fears of troubles that will hit you hard someday, But they're bound to catch you if you halt along the way. You got to keep a moving. Some are fast and some are slow. But all that's looked for from you is to do the best you know. So don't you wait and worry, If you fall down in your hurry, And never mind the chaffing And the hollering and the laughing, Just pull yourself together as you hum a little song, But pick your feet up, honey, and go travelling along.

• A Journey Poet: Dr. M. Coleman Harris Life is like a journey Taken on a train With a pair of travellers At each windowpane. I may sit beside you All the journey through, Or I may sit elsewhere Never knowing you. But if fate should make me To sit by your side, Let’s be pleasant travelers; It’s so short a ride.
• A Purpose Poet: Catherine Pulsifer Looking around the world, big and small, Every one of us is on a journey to help all. A purpose to fulfill, a role to play in society. An opportunity to excel, not for anxiety! We have special gifts, each one of us; Our life is truly a precious trust! On life's journey find love and grace; Life is meant to be lived, it is not a race.

• Life's Journey Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox As we speed out of youth's sunny station The track seems to shine in the light, But it suddenly shoots over chasms Or sinks into tunnels of night. And the hearts that were brave in the morning Are filled with repining and fears, As they pause at the City of Sorrow Or pass through the Valley of Tears. But the road of this perilous journey The hand of the Master has made; With all its discomforts and dangers, We need not be sad or afraid. Paths leading from light into darkness, Ways plunging from gloom to despair, Wind out through the tunnels of midnight To fields that are blooming and fair. Though the rocks and the shadows surround us, Though we catch not one gleam of the day, Above us fair cities are laughing, And dipping white feet in some bay. And always, eternal, for ever, Down over the hills in the west, The last final end of our journey, There lies the great Station of Rest. 'Tis the Grand Central point of all railways, All roads unite here when they end; 'Tis the final resort of all tourists, All rival lines meet here and blend. All tickets, all seasons, all passes, If stolen or begged for or bought, On whatever road or division, Will bring you at last to this spot. If you pause at the City of Trouble, Or wait in the Valley of Tears, Be patient, the train will move onward, And rush down the track of the years. Whatever the place is you seek for, Whatever your game or your quest, You shall come at the last with rejoicing To the beautiful City of Rest. You shall store all your baggage of worries, You shall feel perfect peace in this realm, You shall sail with old friends on fair waters, With joy and delight at the helm. You shall wander in cool, fragrant gardens With those who have loved you the best, And the hopes that were lost in life's journey You shall find in the City of Rest.

• Silver And Gold Poet: Unknown Get of this life I shall never take Things of silver and gold I make. All that I cherish and hoard away, After I leave, on earth must stay. All that I gather and all that I keep, I must leave behind when I fall asleep. And I often wonder what I shall own In the other life when I pass along. What shall they find and what shall they see In the soul that answers the call for me? Shall the Great Judge learn, when my task is through, That my spirit has gathered some riches, too? Or shall at the last it be mine to find That all I'd worked for I'd left behind?
• Roses and Sunshine Poet: Edgar A. Guest Rough is the road I am journeying now, Heavy the burden I'm bearing to-day; But I'm humming a song, as I wander along, And I smile at the roses that nod by the way. Red roses sweet, Blooming there at my feet, Just dripping with honey and perfume and cheer; What a weakling I'd be If I tried not to see The joy and the comfort you bring to us here. Just tramping along o'er the highway of life, Knowing not what's ahead but still doing my best; And I sing as I go, for my soul seems to know In the end I shall come to the valley of rest. With the sun in my face And the roses to grace The roads that I travel, what have I to fear? What a coward I'd be If I tried not to see The roses of hope and the sunshine of cheer.

• Our Journey Poet: Catherine Pulsifer, © 2020 Our journey through life has its ups and downs Sometimes feelings of being sad and others of a clown We all have highs and the lows Many happy times and times of sorrow. But there is one factor that makes a difference It is the attitude of your preference. Do you look for the good or do you see the bad Your attitude determines whether you're happy or sad. Our journey can be negative or it can be positive Is just depends on our life perspective. No matter what happens, no matter the time Find the good and upward you will climb. Life is too short to sit and moan Seize the good and it can change your life tone Our journey through life can be a happy one A positive attitude can bring more fun!

• Life And Moods Poet: Patience Strong Moods will lead you such a dance - If you just give them half a chance. They'll lift you up and fling you down. They'll turn a smile into a frown. They'll drive you into black despairs. They'll creep upon you unaware... Your friends will drop you one by one - no wonder, for there's not much fun - in people who are bright and gay - and dull, and bored with life, next day... So don't be swayed by each new mood... Just throw them off, or they'll intrude - and spoil some bright and happy hour... For you, yourself, give them power.

• It's The Journey That's Important... Poet: John McLeod Life, sometimes so wearying Is worth its weight in gold The experience of traveling Lends a wisdom that is old Beyond our 'living memory' A softly spoken prayer: "It's the journey that's important, Not the getting there!" Ins and outs and ups and downs Life's road meanders aimlessly? Or so it seems, but somehow Leads us where we need to be, And being simply human We oft question and compare... "Is the journey so important Or the getting there?" And thus it's always been That question pondered down the ages By simple men with simple ways To wise and ancient sages... How sweet then, quietly knowing Reaching destination fair: "It's the journey that's important, Not the getting there!"

• These Would I Keep Poet: Lida Marie Erwin These would I keep: My faith in men, Though one may stumble now and then - A faith which helps me still to see What God intends a man to be. A cheery heart, in spite of fate; The strength to work, the patience to wait; A hand that lifts a brother up And shares with him the bitter cup. A spirit calm, despite the storm. Which sees through clouds, the stalwart form Of Him who stilled the maddened wave - Is ever near to help and save. The optimism childhood had; The simple trust that made me glad; The beauty of life in its crimson dawn - These would I keep as I journey on.

• The Light Of A Cheerful Heart Poet: Max Ehrmann I tell you that you and I and the commonest person are all journeying the same way, hemmed in by the same narrow path, leading to the eternal years. We pride ourselves over our particular superiority; but really there is little difference between us; And in this journey over the thousand hills and valleys called life, he is wisest who is patient where the way is hard, has faith when he does not understand, and carries into the dark places the light of a cheerful heart.

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Blog – Posted on Monday, Jul 11

40 transformative poems about life everyone should know.

Let’s face it. Sometimes, life can get confusing and hard. In such times, it can be useful to turn to the wisdom of poetry. Poetry has a way of making us feel understood — it can make us feel empowered, hopeful, and remind us why life is worth living. So, in this post we’ve put together a list of the 40 greatest poems about life. From classics like Robert Frost and Rumi to the more contemporary Rupi Kaur, you’re guaranteed to find something that resonates with what you’re feeling.

1. "Risk", by Anaïs Nin

And then the day came,

when the risk

to remain tight

was more painful

than the risk

to blossom.

A single sentence broken up into 8 small lines, Anaïs Nin’s “Risk” uses a flower as a metaphor, to remind us that there will come a day when the pain of complacency will exceed the pain of actually daring to make a change. The poem serves as an understated call to action — make the change now, no matter how scary.

2. "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening", by Robert Frost

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Reading out like a heartbeat, Frost's most famous work draws from nature to explore the human conflict of being torn between life’s beauty and its responsibilities. With the repetition of ‘and miles to go before I sleep’ closing out the poem, Frost perfectly captures the feeling of a moment we've all experienced — one where we're weary of life and its challenges. 

3. “Hope is the thing with feathers", by Emily Dickinson

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

The evocative extended metaphor at the heart of this work has helped to cement "Hope is a thing with feathers" as perhaps the best-loved of Dickinson's 1,800 poems. In the last stanza, Dickinson beautifully captures the ever-giving, selfless nature of hope⁠— the bird of hope sings in the harshest, most adverse times in our lives, never asking for anything in return. 

4. "The Peace of Wild Things", by Wendell Berry

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Written in free verse , "The Peace of Wild Things” intentionally slips the shackles of a standard meter and rhyme scheme. The loose structure of the poem mirrors the uncontrolled, free-flowing beauty of nature when left to its own devices. Berry admires the power of nature’s simplicity, reminding us that we can always turn to ‘the grace of the '"world’ to soothe an ever-worrying, overthinking human mind.

5. "The Summer Day", by Mary Oliver

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Reflecting on the futility of life, Oliver’s “The Summer Day” shakes the reader by the shoulder, offering a jolt of inspiration. As everything dies ‘at last’ and ‘too soon’, the poem encourages us to live our one life intentionally.  By asking the reader what you plan to do with ‘your one wild and precious life’, the poem serves as a reminder that it’s ultimately our job to fill our own lives with meaning (whatever that might mean for each one of us!). So, what do you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

6. "The Guest House", by Rumi

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

Written by the great 13th-century Persian poet, "The Guest House" is a call for acceptance — one that is, unsurprisingly,  often invoked in mindfulness circles. Rumi uses the metaphor of a guest house, likening it to the mind. Much like guests in a lodge, thoughts arrive in our head one after another— some making us happy, sad, and even uncomfortable. This poem serves as a reminder to not resist life’s painful thoughts, but to welcome them with warmth and good grace. 

7. "from Milk and Honey", by Rupi Kaur

what is stronger

than the human heart

which shatters over and over

and still lives

Inward-looking in style, Rupi Kaur’s collection of poems, from Milk and Honey, centers around the theme of self-love (which is also a form of introspection). Kaur’s poems ironically remind us that the emotional attention and love that we crave and desire is not something that can be sought in the outside world. Her clarion call to prioritize one’s self and start living intentionally is one that resonates deeply with today’s increasingly alienated generation. 

8. "Sonnet 29", by William Shakespeare

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings

"Sonnet 29" is a single sentence, divided into two: a conditional clause and a main clause. Shakepeare first lists a series of misfortunes that he undergoes before revealing that his suffering is compensated for when he thinks of the person he loves. The poem thus reminds us that even in the toughest of times, those who we love have the power to completely change our outlook.

9. "I took my power in my hand", by Emily Dickinson

I aimed by Pebble—but Myself

Was all the one that fell—

Was it Goliath—was too large—

Or was myself—too small

Whilst not particularly uplifting, Dickinson’s “I took my power in my hand” brings out a harsh reality many of us struggle with — accepting failure. The poem is populated with unorthodox punctuation (particularly a liberal use of dashes) and mid-sentence capitalization to emphasize the confusion and bewilderment in the poet’s thoughts as she comes to terms with failure. 

10. "O Me! O life!", by Walt Whitman

O Me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

One of Whitman’s shortest and most celebrated poems,“O Me! O Life!” highlights the daily struggle that is life. After his early lamentations, the poet concludes that the meaning of life lies in life itself — that we are present, alive, and can contribute our own verse to life. In Whitman’s case this is literally a verse, but metaphorically this refers to whatever you bring to the table.

11. "Life Doesn’t Frighten Me", by Maya Angelou

Shadows on the wall

Noises down the hall

Life doesn't frighten me at all

Bad dogs barking loud

Big ghosts in a cloud

If you’re looking for a little courage, “Life Doesn’t Frighten Me” is the poem to turn to. Angelou takes us into the mind of a child who lists an elaborate array of things that seemingly don’t frighten her — ‘shadows’, ‘big ghosts’ or even ‘tough guys’. The refrain ‘frighten me at all’, is repeated ten times throughout the poem. This repetition causes one to question the speaker’s honesty — is the child really not frightened? Or is this repetition simply a way to make her feel braver? Whether the child is truly unafraid or not, this poem perfectly encapsulates the concept of facing your fears with a smile.

12. "A Psalm of Life", by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way; 

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

On reading “A Psalm of Life” , you might just feel an instant urge to live your best life. The poem rejects the idea that life can be broken down into meaningless, emotionless metrics. It advocates that life is neither made to suffer through, nor is it made to solely enjoy. While both these emotions are a part of the journey, the purpose of life is ‘to act’, improve oneself, and make each day better than the previous one.

13. "Do not go gentle into that good night", by Dylan Thomas

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

One of the most famous villanelles (a 19-line poem with a fixed form and rhyme scheme) written in English, Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night” is a poem not about life, but about death. While the poet acknowledges the inevitability of death, he uses this to highlight that life is precious and worth fighting for. Written as a dedication to his late father, the poem feels deeply personal and vulnerable —not just as a poet’s advice to the world, but as a son’s advice to his father.

 14. "Desiderata", by Max Ehrmann 

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others,

even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

The didactic tone of “Desiderata” stems from the fact that it is a poem Max Ehrmann wrote to his daughter as a manifesto to living a happy life. In Latin, desiderata means ‘things that are desired’. The poet lays out the ground rules he believes one must live by to have an authentic, virtuous life. The protective nature of Ehrmann’s advice to his daughter has resonated with millions, resulting in the poem being regarded as a manual to a life well-lived.

15. "Leisure", by W. H. Davies

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

In a world increasingly ‘busy’ chasing material goals, “Leisure” reminds us to make time for the mind and soul. The poem begins with an irony-filled rhetorical question, where W.H Davies takes a jab at modernity and explains how it has robbed us of the simple things in life (such as to ‘stand’ in and ‘stare’ at nature). Davies’ belief in nature’s powers is evident, and he insists that we take some time to admire it and replenish our soul. So, if you’ve been overdoing it at work, “Leisure” is just the reminder you need to take a step back and stare!

16. "Opportunity," by Berton Braley

With doubt and dismay you are smitten

You think there's no chance for you, son?

Why, the best books haven't been written

The best race hasn't been run,

The best score hasn't been made yet,

The best song hasn't been sung,

The best tune hasn't been played yet,

Cheer up, for the world is young!

When feeling doubtful, ‘cheer up’, and let Braley’s words motivate you into action! The narrator addresses the poem to his ‘son’, adding a caring, reassuring tone to his speech. The poem celebrates the abundance of life, mentioning the vast sea of opportunities that we can capitalize on — to write the best books, sing the best songs, etc. It reiterates that opportunities are plentiful (and there’s enough for everyone).  

17. "The Builders", by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

All are architects of Fate,

Working in these walls of Time;

Some with massive deeds and great,

Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Considering Longfellow’s long career as an educator, the optimistic nature of “The Builders” comes as no surprise. By calling everyone ‘an architect of Fate’, working in the ‘walls of Time’, he conveys that all humans have a meaningful impact on the world. Be it with ‘massive deeds’ or ‘ornaments of rhyme’, each and every person has a role to play. 

18. "Life", by Charlotte Brontë

Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,

But these are transient all;

If the shower will make the roses bloom,

O why lament its fall?

A simple message resides at the core of Brontë’s “Life” — to live with a fearless outlook. Brontë wishes to dismiss the glorified idea that life is dark or unpleasant. She highlights the transient nature of the gloomy aspects of life, reminding us that they eventually clear and are replaced by something pleasant (like blooming roses after rain). So why dread the rain? 

19. "Full Life", by D. H. Lawrence

A man can’t fully live unless he dies and ceases to care,

ceases to care.

An extremely short poem, D.H Lawrence’s “Full Life” can be entirely quoted in two sentences. While Lawrence may be advocating a nonchalant, unbothered approach to life (as clearly reflected in the poem’s length), the paradoxical nature of the poem’s very existence often leaves readers wondering what the poet really means.

20. "What Is This Life", by Sir Walter Raleigh

What is our life? The play of passion

Our mirth? The music of division:

Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be,

Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy.

A somber contemplation on life’s brevity, “What is This Life” likens life to a play —  specifically, a ‘short comedy’. The rhyme scheme of the poem (aa bb cc dd ee) is short and simple, reflecting the monotony and shortness of life. Further, the predictable nature of the repeating couplets highlights that life always comes to the same end — death. The poem serves as a matter-of-fact reminder that life is meaningless, short, and therefore not to be taken too seriously.

21. "Each Life Converges to some Centre", by Emily Dickinson 

Each Life Converges to some Centre –

Expressed – or still –

Exists in every Human Nature

Aligned with Emily Dickinson’s quest for universal truth, this poem considers the purpose of human existence. It says that all of humanity, whether consciously or unconsciously, strives towards an end goal. Dickinson then alternates between saying that this goal is achievable and that it isn’t, mirroring the uncertain manner in which we aim to reach a goal of which we have no proof. This complex, philosophical poem will definitely leave you questioning life!

22. "Stream of life", by Rabindranath Tagore

The same stream of life that runs

through my veins night and day runs

through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy

through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and

breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

A celebration of the universe’s connectedness, “Stream of life” reflects Tagore’s world view that humans create their own segregation. The rhythm and flow of the poem, along with lively descriptions of the stream of life like ‘dancing in rhythmic measures’, or ‘shooting with joy’ will uplift your mood instantly. The poem leaves us with an innate sense of belonging to the world we live in. Seen from Tagore’s lens, isn’t this an incredible world to be part of? 

23. "Still I Rise", by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Angelous’s “Still I rise” boldly celebrates the power of the human spirit, and highlights the importance of not being defeated by the obstacles life throws at you. Angelou specifically refers to the discrimination faced by African-Americans. The lesson? Life might pin you down, write you off, or have you up against the wall. Still you rise!

24. "Life Is a Privilege", by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life is a privilege.  Its youthful days

Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays.

To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire,

To feed with dreams the heart's perpetual fire;

The nostalgic tone of “Life is a Privilege'' makes one feel blessed to have the opportunity to live. Wilcox artfully describes all of life’s blessings (from the sun’s rays to the chance to chase our dreams). Serving as a bitter-sweet reminder of how short life is, the poem encourages the reader to leave no room for regret, and live out their heart's desires.

25. "Lines on a Skull", by Ravi Shankar

life’s little, our heads

sad. Redeemed and wasting clay

this chance. Be of use.

“Lines On a Skull” is a wake up call to be intentional with life.  The poet compares life to clay, stating that every day we have a chance to either waste it, or create something meaningful.  The poet urges us to use our heads and make our lives useful. Rather sound advice, isn’t it?

26. “The Room of My Life”, by Anne Sexton

in the room of my life

the objects keep changing.

Ashtrays to cry into,

the suffering brother of the wood walls,

the forty-eight keys of the typewriter

each an eyeball that is never shut,

Sexton’s “The Room of my Life” describes household objects in unconventional ways. The poet strikingly describes ashtrays, typewriters, etc for purposes that are out of their ordinary use — an ashtray being used to catch tears, etc. These objects highlight Sexton's pain and despair, showing life from a different perspective.

27.  "A Question", by Robert Frost

A voice said, Look me in the stars

And tell me truly, men of earth,

If all the soul-and-body scars

Were not too much to pay for birth.

Frost’s “A Question”, consisting of merely 4 powerful lines, will hit you like an emotional shot. The poet questions whether the gift of life is worth the pain and suffering humans go through. True to the nature of the title, Frost ends the poem with the question itself—perhaps reflecting his inability to arrive at an answer (or the lack of a definite answer at all). 

28. "Life", by Sarojini Naidu

Till ye have battled with great grief and fears,

And borne the conflict of dream-shattering years,

Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife,

Children, ye have not lived: for this is life.

Addressed directly to children, this poem serves as a warning about life’s inevitable hardships. The poem states that children haven’t yet experienced the harsh realities of life (e.g., battled with great grief and fears, etc).  While acknowledging the sufferings of life, this sonnet isn’t meant to demoralize, but instead to prepare children to face life.

29. "Each Moment Is Precious", by Pat A. Fleming

And the person you’re with,

In that moment you share,

Give them all of your focus;

Be totally there.

Written from the second person perspective, “Each Moment Is Precious” directly addresses the reader as ‘you’. This laces the poem with a sense of intimacy, making it feel like heartfelt advice by someone elderly and wise. Fleming beautifully reminds us to live in the present and savor every moment, as there are only a precious few.

30. "My Inner Life", by Robert William Service

For I've a hidden life no one

        Can ever hope to see;

A sacred sanctuary none

        May share with me.

“My Inner Life” celebrates the relationship we have with ourselves. The poem presents a narrator who seems to be misunderstood and alone. However, he then reveals that his ‘hidden life’  is precious, something he wouldn’t trade for the world. This poem reassuringly encourages us to be true to ourselves, regardless of what others may think. 

31. "Life is Fine", by Langston Hughes

So since I’m still here livin’,

I guess I will live on.

I could’ve died for love—

But for livin’ I was born

The spirited “Life is Fine” highlights the theme of perseverance. Structurally similar to a blues song, it tells the story of a man who often considers suicide but never goes through with it. Towards the end of the poem, after several close encounters with death, the man realizes that he has something to live for. The honest, vulnerable tone of the poem resonates with many, encouraging us to keep going — even when we feel like giving up.

32. "Futility", by Wilfred Owen

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil

To break earth's sleep at all?

Owen’s “Futility” questions how something as beautiful as life always loses to death. A combination of slant and perfect rhymes, the poem’s rhyme scheme reflects the uncertainty of soldiers' lives during the Great war. While the speaker does possess an admiration for life, he gradually begins to question its futile nature. This duality leaves the reader in two moods, savoring life but also questioning its meaning at the same time.

33. "Suppose", by  E.E. Cummings 

Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

young death sits in a café

smiling,a piece of money held between

his thumb and first finger

In “Suppose”, life and death are personified. The old man carrying flowers on his head might refer to a fear-led life. The man wants someone to buy his flowers, but is also scared for the moment when someone will take them away. Money in hand, Death would like to buy the flowers. Cumming brings out the fact that death will inevitably take everything from life, but his striking use of this metaphor evokes in us an urge to not waste ours in the first place.

34. "Ode To A Nightingale", by John Keats

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

        What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

        Here, where men sit and hear each other groan

In an “Ode To a Nightingale”, Keats suggests that human consciousness itself is suffering. The singing nightingale has ‘never known’  these troubles, and represents freedom from the anxious, lonely human mind. The speaker later admits that while death would end his suffering, he would then be unable to enjoy the beauty of the nightingale’s song. So, the poem argues both for and against human consciousness, with no final stance on the matter.

35. "If", by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you   

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too; 

Despite being 32 lines long, “If” is a single continuous sentence! The poem comprises many clauses beginning with ‘if you can’, each clause laying out a condition that the speaker believes the reader should fulfill to live a successful life. Widely considered as Kipling’s advice to his own son,  “If” is a guide to living an ideal and worthwhile life.

36. "Dockery and Son", by Philip Larkin

Unhindered moon. To have no son, no wife,

No house or land still seemed quite natural.

Only a numbness registered the shock

Of finding out how much had gone of life,

Larkin’s “Dockery and Son” considers the fleeting nature of time. Candid and emotional, the poem captures the shock that the narrator faces after learning that one of his university juniors has a child (who now goes to the same university they used to attend). By repeating the ‘no’ in the 4th stanza, Larkin emphasizes the emptiness and regret he feels when he realizes ‘how much had gone of life’. This poem brings out a classic lesson — time shall pass, and waits for no one.

37. "My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is", by Sir Edward Dyer 

My mind to me a kingdom is;

Such present joys therein I find,

That it excels all other bliss

  That earth affords or grows by kind:

“My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is”, dating back to the Renaissance, declares that one’s mind is the most powerful source of one’s happiness. The poet metaphorically compares his mind to a kingdom, one where he reigns with a blissful state of control. Rather than constantly seeking pleasure elsewhere like several others, he reveals a refreshing sense of being content in possession of his most powerful tool, a peaceful mind.

38. "A Quoi Bon Dire", by Charlotte Mew

And one fine morning in a sunny lane

Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear

That nobody can love their way again

While over there

You will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.

In the first two stanzas of “A Quoi Bon Dire”, poet Charlotte Mew introduces a curious protagonist — one who does not despair at the loss of a soulmate; who doesn’t fret at the passing of the years. For indeed, the question of a quoi bon dire (or, ‘what’s the point?’) is answered in the closing lines that you see above — a sentiment that the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas would echo many decades later: “Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.”

39. "My Heart Leaps Up", by William Wordsworth 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;

So is it now I am a man; 

So be it when I shall grow old,

   Or let me die!

Wordsworth’s "My Heart Leaps Up" emphasizes the importance of retaining a child-like sense of enthusiasm throughout life. The poem begins by the speaker stating the joy he feels on seeing a rainbow, the very same delight he first felt when he saw it as a child. The poem argues that adults should not let this child-like sense of awe and appreciation for nature die out, as it is what makes life worth living. 

40. "Life Is",  by Mother Teresa

Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.

Life is beauty, admire it.

Life is a dream, realize it.

Life is a challenge, meet it.

Mother Teresa’s “Life Is” leaves us with wise words to live by. Filled with words of encouragement, the poem is the Nobel Peace laureate’s view on all that life is, and how it should be lived. The poem’s positive, inspiring tone promises to leave you in high spirits.

Well, we hope that these poems made you smile, reflect, and view life from a different lens! If you simply can’t get enough and would like to continue exploring the world of poetry, do check out our post on must-read love poems.

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163 Meaningful Poems About Life

Here are my favorite poems about life categorized:

• Motivational poems about life
• Funny poems about life
• Poems about life’s struggles
• Poems about life’s dreams
• Poems about life’s journey
• Sad poems about life
• Poems about life’s lessons
• Hopeful poems about life
• Poems about happiness in life

So if you want the best poems about life, then you’re in the right place.

Let’s jump right in!

• 61 Fulfilling Poems About Retirement
• 113 Engulfing Poems About Growth
• 143 Stupefying Famous Poems About Life
• 65 Carefree Poems About Innocence
• 77 Heartwarming Poems About Growing Up
• 83 Courageous Poems About Change
• 21 Memorable Poems About New Beginnings

Meaningful Poems About Life

Experience the beauty and depth of life through our handpicked selection of poems.

From motivational and inspirational poems to those about happiness and chasing dreams, our collection celebrates the richness of life through the power of language.

Discover the best poems about life in one place and let them inspire and uplift you on your own journey here!

Read on and enjoy!

My #1 Favorite Poem About Life

“Life” by Carrie Law Morgan Figgs

A moment of pleasure, An hour of pain, A day of sunshine, A week of rain, A fortnight of peace, A month of strife, These taken together Make up life.

One real friend To a dozen foes, Two open gates, ’Gainst twenty that’s closed, Prosperity’s chair, Then adversity’s knife; These my friends Make up life.

At daybreak a blossom, At noontime a rose, At twilight ’tis withered, At evening ’tis closed. The din of confusion, The strain of the fife, These with other things Make up life.

A smile, then a tear, Like a mystic pearl, A pause, then a rush Into the mad whirl, A kiss, then a stab From a traitor’s knife; I think that you’ll agree with me, That this life.

Motivational Poems About Life

“See It Through” by Edgar Guest

When you’re up against a trouble, Meet it squarely, face to face; Lift your chin and set your shoulders, Plant your feet and take a brace. When it’s vain to try to dodge it, Do the best that you can do; You may fail, but you may conquer, See it through!

Black may be the clouds about you And your future may seem grim, But don’t let your nerve desert you; Keep yourself in fighting trim. If the worst is bound to happen, Spite of all that you can do, Running from it will not save you, See it through!

Even hope may seem but futile, When with troubles you’re beset, But remember you are facing Just what other men have met. You may fail, but fall still fighting; Don’t give up, whate’er you do; Eyes front, head high to the finish. See it through!

“Be Strong” by Maltbie Davenport Babcock

Be strong! We are not here to play, to dream, to drift, We have hard work to do, and loads to lift. Shun not the struggle; face it. ‘Tis God’s gift.

Be strong! Say not the days are evil, — Who’s to blame? And fold not the hands and acquiesce, — O shame! Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God’s name.

Be strong! It matters not how deep entrenched the wrong, How hard the battle goes, the day, how long. Faint not, fight on! To-morrow comes the song.

“If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking” by Emily Dickinson

If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.

“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that, the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

“Invictus” by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

“It Couldn’t Be Done” by Edgar Guest

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done But he with a chuckle replied That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried. So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin On his face. If he worried he hid it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that; At least no one ever has done it;” But he took off his coat and he took off his hat And the first thing we knew he’d begun it. With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, Without any doubting or quiddit, He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure, There are thousands to point out to you one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

“A Naughty Little Comet” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There was a little comet who lived near the Milky Way! She loved to wander out at night and jump about and play.

The mother of the comet was a very good old star; She used to scold her reckless child for venturing out too far.

She told her of the ogre, Sun, who loved on stars to sup, And who asked no better pastime than in gobbling comets up.

But instead of growing cautious and of showing proper fear, The foolish little comet edged up nearer, and more near.

She switched her saucy tail along right where the Sun could see, And flirted with old Mars, and was as bold as bold could be.

She laughed to scorn the quiet stars who never frisked about; She said there was no fun in life unless you ventured out.

She liked to make the planets stare, and wished no better mirth Than just to see the telescopes aimed at her from the Earth.

She wondered how so many stars could mope through nights and days, And let the sickly faced old Moon get all the love and praise.

And as she talked and tossed her head and switched her shining trail The staid old mother star grew sad, her cheek grew wan and pale.

For she had lived there in the skies a million years or more, And she had heard gay comets talk in just this way before.

And by and by there came an end to this gay comet’s fun. She went a tiny bit too far-and vanished in the Sun!

No more she swings her shining trail before the whole world’s sight, But quiet stars she laughed to scorn are twinkling every night.

“Morning Prayer” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Let me to-day do something that shall take A little sadness from the world’s vast store, And may I be so favoured as to make Of joy’s too scanty sum a little more Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend; Nor would I pass, unseeing, worthy need, Or sin by silence when I should defend. However meagre be my worldly wealth, Let me give something that shall aid my. kind – A word of courage, or a thought of health, Dropped as I pass for troubled hearts to find. Let me to-night look back across the span ‘Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscience say – Because of some good act to beast or man – “The world is better that I lived to-day.”

“Song” by Langston Hughes

Lovely, dark, and lonely one, Bare your bosom to the sun, Do not be afraid of light You who are a child of night.

Open wide your arms to life, Whirl in the wind of pain and strife, Face the wall with the dark closed gate, Beat with bare, brown fists And wait.

“Now Is the Time” by Sarah K. Bolton

Now is the time to love, and, better still, To serve our loved ones, over passing ill To rise triumphant ; thus the perfect flower Of life shall come to fruitage: wealth amass For grandest giving ere the time be gone. Be glad to-day, to-morrow may bring tears; Be brave to-day, the darkest night will pass, And golden rays will usher in the dawn: Who conquers now shall rule the coming years.

“On His Blindness” by John Milton

When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent, which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide; “Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?” I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o’er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.”

“Barter” by Sara Teasdale

Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children’s faces looking up Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And for your spirit’s still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be.

“Hope Is the Thing With Feathers” by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me.

“A Hope Carol” by Christina Georgina Rossetti

A night was near, a day was near, Between a day and night I heard sweet voices calling clear, Calling me: I heard a whirr of wing on wing, But could not see the sight; I long to see my birds that sing, I long to see. Below the stars, beyond the moon, Between the night and day I heard a rising falling tune Calling me: I long to see the pipes and strings Whereon such minstrels play; I long to see each face that sings, I long to see. Today or may be not today, Tonight or not tonight, All voices that command or pray Calling me, Shall kindle in my soul such fire And in my eyes such light That I shall see that heart’s desire I long to see.

“Sympathy” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I know what the caged bird feels, alas! When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass, And the river flows like a stream of glass; When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, And the faint perfume from its chalice steals— I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats its wing Till its blood is red on the cruel bars; For he must fly back to his perch and cling When he fain would be on the bough a-swing; And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars And they pulse again with a keener sting— I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,— When he beats his bars and he would be free; It is not a carol of joy or glee, But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core, But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings— I know why the caged bird sings!

“Today” by Mary Frances Butts

Build a little fence of trust Around to-day ; Fill the space with loving deeds And therein stay.

Look not through the sheltering bars Upon to-morrow, God will help thee bear what comes, Of joy or sorrow.

“Dreams” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Dream on, for dreams are sweet: Do not awaken! Dream on, and at thy feet Pomegranates shall be shaken.

Who likeneth the youth of life to morning? ’Tis like the night in truth, Rose-coloured dreams adorning.

The wind is soft above, The shadows umber. (There is a dream called Love.) Take thou the fullest slumber!

In Lethe’s soothing stream, Thy thirst thou slakest. Sleep, sleep; ’tis sweet to dream. Oh, weep then thou awakest!

“Life Is Lovely All the Year” by William Schwenck Gilbert

When the buds are blossoming, Smiling welcome to the spring, Lovers choose a wedding day – Life is love in merry May!

Spring is green – Fal lal la! Summer’s rose – Fal lal la! It is sad when Summer goes, Fal la! Autumn’s gold – Fal lal la! Winter’s grey – Fal lal la! Winter still is far away – Fal la! Leaves in Autumn fade and fall; Winter is the end of all. Spring and summer teem with glee: Spring and summer, then, for me! Fal la!

In the Spring-time seed is sown: In the Summer grass is mown: In the Autumn you may reap: Winter is the time for sleep.

Spring is hope – Fal lal la! Summer’s joy – Fal lal la! Spring and Summer never cloy, Fal la! Autumn, toil – Fal lal la! Winter, rest – Fal lal la! Winter, after all, is best – Fal la! Spring and summer pleasure you, Autumn, ay, and winter, too – Every season has its cheer; Life is lovely all the year! Fal la!

“In the Sunshine” by Louisa M. Alcott

Far away there in the sunshine are My highest aspirations. I cannot reach them, But I can look up And see their beauty, Believe in them, and Try to follow where they lead.

“In Summer Time” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

When summer time has come, and all The world is in the magic thrall Of perfumed airs that lull each sense To fits of drowsy indolence; When skies are deepest blue above, And flow’rs aflush,—then most I love To start, while early dews are damp, And wend my way in woodland tramp Where forests rustle, tree on tree, And sing their silent songs to me; Where pathways meet and pathways part,— To walk with Nature heart by heart, Till wearied out at last I lie Where some sweet stream steals singing by A mossy bank; where violets vie In color with the summer sky,— Or take my rod and line and hook, And wander to some darkling brook, Where all day long the willows dream, And idly droop to kiss the stream, And there to loll from morn till night— Unheeding nibble, run, or bite— Just for the joy of being there And drinking in the summer air, The summer sounds, and summer sights, That set a restless mind to rights When grief and pain and raging doubt Of men and creeds have worn it out; The birds’ song and the water’s drone, The humming bee’s low monotone, The murmur of the passing breeze, And all the sounds akin to these, That make a man in summer time Feel only fit for rest and rhyme. Joy springs all radiant in my breast; Though pauper poor, than king more blest, The tide beats in my soul so strong That happiness breaks forth in song, And rings aloud the welkin blue With all the songs I ever knew. O time of rapture! time of song! How swiftly glide thy days along Adown the current of the years, Above the rocks of grief and tears! ‘Tis wealth enough of joy for me In summer time to simply be.

“The Morning of Life” by Victor-Marie Hugo

The mist of the morning is torn by the peaks, Old towers gleam white in the ray, And already the glory so joyously seeks The lark that’s saluting the day.

Then smile away, man, at the heavens so fair, Though, were you swept hence in the night, From your dark, lonely tomb the owlets would stare At the sun rising newly as bright.

But out of earth’s trammels your soul would have flown Where glitters Eternity’s stream, And you shall have waked ‘midst pure glories unknown, As sunshine disperses a dream.

“Life” by Charlotte Brontë

Life, believe, is not a dream So dark as sages say; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, But these are transient all; If the shower will make the roses bloom, O why lament its fall? Rapidly, merrily, Life’s sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily Enjoy them as they fly! What though Death at times steps in, And calls our Best away? What though sorrow seems to win, O’er hope, a heavy sway? Yet Hope again elastic springs, Unconquered, though she fell; Still buoyant are her golden wings, Still strong to bear us well. Manfully, fearlessly, The day of trial bear, For gloriously, victoriously, Can courage quell despair!

“Just Whistle a Bit” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Just whistle a bit, if the day be dark, And the sky be overcast: If mute be the voice of the piping lark, Why, pipe your own small blast.

And it’s wonderful how o’er the gray sky-track The truant warbler comes stealing back. But why need he come? for your soul’s at rest, And the song in the heart,–ah, that is best.

Just whistle a bit, if the night be drear And the stars refuse to shine: And a gleam that mocks the starlight clear Within you glows benign.

Till the dearth of light in the glooming skies Is lost to the sight of your soul-lit eyes. What matters the absence of moon or star? The light within is the best by far.

Just whistle a bit, if there’s work to do, With the mind or in the soil. And your note will turn out a talisman true To exorcise grim Toil.

It will lighten your burden and make you feel That there’s nothing like work as a sauce for a meal. And with song in your heart and the meal in–its place, There’ll be joy in your bosom and light in your face.

Just whistle a bit, if your heart be sore; ‘T is a wonderful balm for pain. Just pipe some old melody o’er and o’er Till it soothes like summer rain.

And perhaps ‘t would be best in a later day, When Death comes stalking down the way, To knock at your bosom and see if you’re fit, Then, as you wait calmly, just whistle a bit.

“The Smiling Spring” by Robert Burns

I. The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies; Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonnie blue are the sunny skies; Fresh o’er the mountains breaks forth the morning, The ev’ning gilds the ocean’s swell; All creatures joy in the sun’s returning, And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

II. The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, And yellow Autumn presses near, Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, Till smiling Spring again appear. Thus Seasons dancing, life advancing, Old Time and Nature their changes tell, But never ranging, still unchanging, I adore my bonnie Bell.

“To My Heart, Bidding It Have No Fear” by William Butler Yeats

Be you still, be you still, trembling heart; Remember the wisdom out of the old days: Him who trembles before the flame and the flood, And the winds that blow through the starry ways, Let the starry winds and the flame and the flood Cover over and hide, for he has no part With the proud, majestical multitude.

“The Wonder of It” by Harriet Monroe

How wild, how witch-like weird that life should be! That the insensate rock dared dream of me, And take to bursting out and burgeoning— Oh, long ago—yo ho!— And wearing green! How stark and strange a thing That life should be!

Oh, mystic mad, a rigadoon of glee, That dust should rise, and leap alive, and flee A-foot, a-wing, and shake the deeps with cries— Oh, far away—yo-hay! What moony masque, what arrogant disguise That life should be!

“Song: O Spirit of the Summer-Time!” by William Allingham

O spirit of the Summer-time! Bring back the roses to the dells; The swallow from her distant clime, The honey-bee from drowsy cells.

Bring back the friendship of the sun; The gilded evenings calm and late, When weary children homeward run, And peeping stars bid lovers wait.

Bring back the singing; and the scent Of meadow-lands at dewy prime; Oh, bring again my heart’s content, Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!

“I Took My Power in My Hand” by Emily Dickinson

I took my Power in my Hand— And went against the World— ‘Twas not so much as David—had— But I—was twice as bold—

I aimed by Pebble—but Myself Was all the one that fell— Was it Goliath—was too large— Or was myself—too small?

“The Length of Life” by Amos R. Wells

Are your sorrows hard to bear? Life is short! Do you drag the chain of care? Life is short! Soon will come the glad release Into rest and joy and peace; Soon the weary thread be spun, And the final labor done. Keep your courage! Hold the fort! Life is short!

Are you faint with hope delayed? Life is long! Tarries that for which you prayed? Life is long! What delights may not abide– What ambitions satisfied– What possessions may not be In God’s great eternity? Lift the heart! Be glad and strong! Life is long!

“Memory” by George Moses Horton

Sweet memory, like a pleasing dream, Still lends a dull and feeble ray; For ages with her vestige teems, When beauty’s trace is worn away.

When pleasure, with her harps unstrung, Sits silent to be heard no more, Or leaves them on the willows hung, And pass-time glee forever o’er;

Still back in smiles thy glory steals With ev’ning dew drops from thine eye; The twilight bursting from thy wheels, Ascends and bids oblivion fly.

Memory, thy bush prevails to bloom, Design’d to fade, no, never, never, Will stamp thy vestige on the tomb, And bid th’ immortal live forever.

When youth’s bright sun has once declined And bid his smiling day expire, Mem’ry, thy torch steals up behind, And sets thy hidden stars on fire.

“The Instinct of Hope” by John Clare

Is there another world for this frail dust To warm with life and be itself again? Something about me daily speaks there must, And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain? ’Tis nature’s prophesy that such will be, And everything seems struggling to explain The close sealed volume of its mystery. Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace As seeming anxious of eternity, To meet that calm and find a resting place. E’en the small violet feels a future power And waits each year renewing blooms to bring, And surely man is no inferior flower To die unworthy of a second spring?

“Ecclesiastes 3:1-8” by Anonymous

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; A time of war, and a time of peace.

“Fire-Flowers” by Emily Pauline Johnson

And only where the forest fires have sped, Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands, A sweet wild flower lifts its purple head, And, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed, It hides the scars with almost human hands.

And only to the heart that knows of grief, Of desolating fire, of human pain, There comes some purifying sweet belief, Some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief. And life revives, and blossoms once again.

“Looking at the Moon After Rain” by Li Po

The heavy clouds are broken and blowing, And once more I can see the wide common stretching beyond the four sides of the city. Open the door. Half of the moon-toad is already up, The glimmer of it is like smooth hoar-frost spreading over ten thousand li. The river is a flat, shining chain. The moon, rising, is a white eye to the hills; After it has risen, it is the bright heart of the sea. Because I love it—so—round as a fan, I hum songs until the dawn.

“Poem” by Langston Hughes

Being walkers with the dawn and morning Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness, Being walkers with the sun and morning.

“Little Grey Dreams” by Angelina Weld Grimké

Little grey dreams, I sit at the ocean’s edge, At the grey ocean’s edge, With you in my lap.

I launch you, one by one, And one by one, Little grey dreams, Under the grey, grey, clouds, Out on the grey, grey, sea, You go sailing away, From my empty lap, Little grey dreams.

Sailing! Sailing! Into the black, At the horizon’s edge.

“After the Winter Rain” by Ina Coolbrith

After the winter rain, Sing, robin! Sing, swallow! Grasses are in the lane, Buds and flowers will follow.

Woods shall ring, blithe and gay, With bird-trill and twitter, Though the skies weep to-day, And the winds are bitter.

Though deep call unto deep As calls the thunder, And white the billows leap The tempest under;

Softly the waves shall come Up the long, bright beaches, With dainty, flowers of foam And tenderest speeches…

After the wintry pain, And the long, long sorrow, Sing, heart!—for thee again Joy comes with the morrow.

“An Earth Song” by Langston Hughes

It’s an earth song,— And I’ve been waiting long for an earth song. It’s a spring song,— And I’ve been waiting long for a spring song. Strong as the shoots of a new plant Strong as the bursting of new buds Strong as the coming of the first child from its mother’s womb. It’s an earth song, A body song, A spring song, I have been waiting long for this spring song.

Funny Poems About Life

“Social Note” by Dorothy Parker

Lady, lady, should you meet One whose ways are all discreet, One who murmurs that his wife Is the lodestar of his life, One who keeps assuring you That he never was untrue, Never loved another one . . . Lady, lady, better run!

“Some Men” by Will Carleton

Some men were born for great things, Some were born for small. Some, it is not recorded Why they were born at all.

“The Jester” by Langston Hughes

In one hand I hold tragedy And in the other Comedy,— Masks for the soul. Laugh with me. You would laugh! Weep with me You would weep! Tears are my laughter. Laughter is my pain. Cry at my grinning mouth, If you will. Laugh at my sorrow’s reign. I am the Black Jester, The dumb clown of the world, The booted, booted fool of silly men. Once I was wise. Shall I be wise again?

“The Little Peach” by Eugene Field

A little peach in the orchard grew,— A little peach of emerald hue; Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, It grew. One day, passing that orchard through, That little peach dawned on the view Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue— Them two. Up at that peach a club they threw— Down from the stem on which it grew Fell that peach of emerald hue. Mon Dieu! John took a bite and Sue a chew, And then the trouble began to brew,— Trouble the doctor couldn’t subdue. Too true! Under the turf where the daisies grew They planted John and his sister Sue, And their little souls to the angels flew,— Boo hoo! What of that peach of the emerald hue, Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew? Ah, well, its mission on earth is through. Adieu!

“Post Impressions (VI)” by E. E. Cummings

into the strenuous briefness Life: handorgans and April darkness,friends

i charge laughing. Into the hair-thin tints of yellow dawn, into the women-coloured twilight

i smilingly glide. I into the big vermilion departure swim,sayingly;

(Do you think?)the i do,world is probably made of roses & hello:

(of solongs and,ashes)

“The Latest Decalogue” by Arthur Hugh Clough

Thou shalt have one God only: who Would be at the expense of two? No graven images may be Worshipped, save in the currency. Swear not at all; since for thy curse Thine enemy is none the worse. At church on Sunday to attend Will serve to keep the world thy friend: Honor thy parents; that is, all From whom advancement may befall. Thou shalt not kill; but need’st not strive Officiously to keep alive. Adultery it is not fit Or safe (for woman) to commit. Thou shalt not steal: an empty feat, When ’t is as lucrative to cheat. Bear not false witness: let the lie Have time on its own wings to fly. Thou shalt not covet; but tradition Approves all forms of competition.

“Without and Within” by Pietro Metastasio

If every man’s internal care Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share Who raise our envy now?

The fatal secret, when revealed, Of every aching breast, Would prove that only while concealed Their lot appeared the best.

“On Being Broke” by Edgar A. Guest

Don’t mind being broke at all, When I can say that what I had Was spent for toys for kiddies small And that the spending made ’em glad. I don’t regret the money gone, If happiness it left behind. An empty purse I’ll look upon Contented, if its record’s kind. There’s no disgrace in being broke, Unless it’s due to flying high; Though poverty is not a joke, The only thing that counts is “why?”

The dollars come to me and go; To-day I’ve eight or ten to spend; To-morrow I’ll be sailing low, And have to lean upon a friend. But if that little bunch of mine Is richer by some toy or frill, I’ll face the world and never whine Because I lack a dollar bill. I’m satisfied, if I can see One smile that hadn’t bloomed before. The only thing that counts with me Is what I’ve spent my money for.

I might regret my sorry plight, If selfishness brought it about; If for the fun I had last night, Some joy they’d have to go without. But if I’ve swapped my bit of gold, For laughter and a happier pack Of youngsters in my little fold I’ll never wish those dollars back. If I have traded coin for things They needed and have left them glad, Then being broke no sorrow brings– I’ve done my best with what I had.

“Stellas Birthday” by Jonathan Swift

Stella this day is thirty-four, (We shan’t dispute a year or more:) However, Stella, be not troubled, Although thy size and years are doubled, Since first I saw thee at sixteen, The brightest virgin on the green; So little is thy form declin’d; Made up so largely in thy mind.

Oh, would it please the gods to split Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit; No age could furnish out a pair Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair; With half the lustre of your eyes, With half your wit, your years, and size. And then, before it grew too late, How should I beg of gentle Fate, (That either nymph might have her swain,) To split my worship too in twain.

“Who Has Seen the Wind?” by Christina Rossetti

Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you. But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I. But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by.

“Hope” by Arthur Conan Doyle

Faith may break on reason, Faith may prove a treason To that highest gift That is granted by Thy grace; But Hope! Ah, let us cherish Some spark that may not perish, Some tiny spark to cheer us, As we wander through the waste!

A little lamp beside us, A little lamp to guide us, Where the path is rocky, Where the road is steep. That when the light falls dimmer, Still some God-sent glimmer May hold us steadfast ever, To the track that we should keep.

Hope for the trending of it, Hope for the ending of it, Hope for all around us, That it ripens in the sun. Hope for what is waning, Hope for what is gaining, Hope for what is waiting When the long day is done.

Hope that He, the nameless, May still be best and blameless, Nor ever end His highest With the earthworm and the slime. Hope that o’er the border, There lies a land of order, With higher law to reconcile The lower laws of Time.

Hope that every vexed life, Finds within that next life, Something that may recompense, Something that may cheer. And that perchance the lowest one Is truly but the slowest one, Quickened by the sorrow Which is waiting for him here.

“The Vowels: An Enigma” by Jonathan Swift

We are little airy creatures, All of different voice and features; One of us in glass is set, One of us you ’ll find in jet, T’other you may see in tin, And the fourth a box within; If the fifth you should pursue, It can never fly from you.

“The Peacock” by William Butler Yeats

What’s riches to him That has made a great peacock With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey, And desolate Three-rock Would nourish his whim. Live he or die Amid wet rocks and heather, His ghost will be gay Adding feather to feather For the pride of his eye.

“Sonnet Reversed” by Rupert Brooke

Hand trembling towards hand; the amazing lights Of heart and eye. They stood on supreme heights.

Ah, the delirious weeks of honeymoon! Soon they returned, and, after strange adventures, Settled at Balham by the end of June. Their money was in Can. Pacs. B. Debentures, And in Antofagastas. Still he went Cityward daily; still she did abide At home. And both were really quite content With work and social pleasures. Then they died. They left three children (besides George, who drank): The eldest Jane, who married Mr. Bell, William, the head-clerk in the County Bank, And Henry, a stock-broker, doing well.

Poems About Life’s Struggles

“Life is Struggle” by Arthur Hugh Clough

To wear out heart, and nerves, and brain, And give oneself a world of pain; Be eager, angry, fierce, and hot, Imperious, supple—God knows what, For what’s all one to have or not; O false, unwise, absurd, and vain! For ’tis not joy, it is not gain, It is not in itself a bliss, Only it is precisely this That keeps us all alive. To say we truly feel the pain, And quite are sinking with the strain;— Entirely, simply, undeceived, Believe, and say we ne’er believed The object, e’en were it achieved, A thing we e’er had cared to keep; With heart and soul to hold it cheap, And then to go and try it again; O false, unwise, absurd, and vain! O, ’tis not joy, and ’tis not bliss, Only it is precisely this That keeps us still alive.

“Our Share of Night to Bear” by Emily Dickinson

Our share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.

Here a star, and there a star, Some lose their way. Here a mist, and there a mist, Afterwards — day!

“Storm-Racked” by Amy Lowell

How should I sing when buffeting salt waves And stung with bitter surges, in whose might I toss, a cockleshell? The dreadful night Marshals its undefeated dark and raves In brutal madness, reeling over graves Of vanquished men, long-sunken out of sight, Sent wailing down to glut the ghoulish sprite Who haunts foul seaweed forests and their caves. No parting cloud reveals a watery star, My cries are washed away upon the wind, My cramped and blistering hands can find no spar, My eyes with hope o’erstrained, are growing blind. But painted on the sky great visions burn, My voice, oblation from a shattered urn!

“A Tear” by Samuel Rogers

O that the chemist’s magic art Could crystallize this sacred treasure! Long should it glitter near my heart, A secret source of pensive pleasure.

The little brilliant, ere it fell, Its lustre caught from Chloe’s eye; Then, trembling, left its coral cell,— The spring of Sensibility!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light! In thee the rays of Virtue shine, More calmly clear, more mildly bright, Than any gem that gilds the mine.

Benign restorer of the soul! Who ever fliest to bring relief, When first we feel the rude control Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief.

The sage’s and the poet’s theme, In every clime, in every age, Thou charm’st in Fancy’s idle dream, In Reason’s philosophic page.

That very law which moulds a tear, And bids it trickle from its source,— That law preserves the earth a sphere, And guides the planets in their course.

“The New Life” by Witter Bynner

Perhaps they laughed at Dante in his youth, Told him that truth Had unappealably been said In the great masterpieces of the dead:— Perhaps he listened and but bowed his head In acquiescent honour, while his heart Held natal tidings,—that a new life is the part Of every man that’s born, A new life never lived before, And a new expectant art; It is the variations of the morn That are forever, more and more, The single dawning of the single truth. So answers Dante to the heart of youth!

“The World Is Against Me” by Edgar A. Guest

“The world is against me,” he said with a sigh. “Somebody stops every scheme that I try.

The world has me down and it’s keeping me there; I don’t get a chance. Oh, the world is unfair! When a fellow is poor then he can’t get a show; The world is determined to keep him down low.”

“What of Abe Lincoln?” I asked. “Would you say That he was much richer than you are to-day? He hadn’t your chance of making his mark, And his outlook was often exceedingly dark; Yet he clung to his purpose with courage most grim And he got to the top. Was the world against him?”

“What of Ben Franklin? I’ve oft heard it said That many a time he went hungry to bed. He started with nothing but courage to climb, But patiently struggled and waited his time. He dangled awhile from real poverty’s limb, Yet he got to the top. Was the world against him?

“I could name you a dozen, yes, hundreds, I guess, Of poor boys who’ve patiently climbed to success; All boys who were down and who struggled alone, Who’d have thought themselves rich if your fortune they’d known; Yet they rose in the world you’re so quick to condemn, And I’m asking you now, was the world against them?”

“Cares” by Charles Swain

Cares, Cares,—who is without them? Troubles are plenty wherever we stray— Pass round the glass and think nothing about them, The more you make of them the longer they stay. Tears, Tears,—who has not met them? Sorrow’s the dew of life’s morning and night; Pass round the goblet and try to forget them, Speak of the bloom, but ne’er mention the blight. Life—life,—who would desire it? Who for its pleasures would suffer its pains? Pass round the glass, for our spirits require it; Hide with life’s roses the weight of life’s chains.

“Compensation” by Sara Teasdale

I should be glad of loneliness And hours that go on broken wings, A thirsty body, a tired heart And the unchanging ache of things, If I could make a single song As lovely and as full of light, As hushed and brief as a falling star On a winter night.

“Ballad of the Outer Life” by Hugo von Hofmannsthal

And children with deep eyes grow up and stray All innocent—lo, they grow up and die, And every man is bent upon his way.

And bitter fruits will sweeten by and by, And, like dead birds, will fall into the night, And then decay as on the ground they lie.

The wind blows evermore in wayward flight, And ever many words we say and hear, Feel weariness of limb or young delight.

And streets run through the grass, and far and near Are gloomy pools and trees, and torches burn. Some places threaten, some are deathlike, sere …

Why are these things diverse—ah, can we learn? And are there many more than we can say? Why do we tremble, laugh and weep in turn?

Of what avail is all, and why this play? For we are men, and lonely evermore, And wandering seek no goal upon the way.

What profits all this seeing while we roam? And yet, how much he says who utters “night”! For from this word deep grief and meaning pour Like heavy honey from the honeycomb.

“What Is Our Life?” by Sir Walter Raleigh

What is our life? The play of passion. Our mirth? The music of division: Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be, Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy. The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is, Who sits and views whosoe’er doth act amiss. The graves which hide us from the scorching sun Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus playing post we to our latest rest, And then we die in earnest, not in jest.

“My Wage” by Jessie Belle Rittenhouse

I bargained with Life for a penny, And Life would pay no more, However I begged at evening When I counted my scanty store; For Life is a just employer, He gives you what you ask, But once you have set the wages, Why, you must bear the task. I worked for a menial’s hire, Only to learn, dismayed, That any wage I had asked of Life, Life would have paid.

“Impulse” by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

A hollow on the verge of May. Thick strewn with drift of leaves. Beneath The densest drift a thrusting sheath Of sharp green striving toward the day! I mused—”So dull Obstruction sets A bar to even violets, When these would go their nobler way!” My feet again, some days gone by. The self-same spot sought idly. There, Obstruction foiled, the adoring air Caressed a blossom woven of sky And dew, whose misty petals blue, With bliss of being thrilled athrough, Dilated like a timorous eye. Reck well this rede, my soul! The good The blossom craved was near, tho’ hid. Fret not that thou must doubt, but rid Thy sky-path of obstructions strewed By winds of folly. Then, do thou The Godward impulse room allow To reach its perfect air and food!

“The Rainy Day” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall. And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast. And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall. Some days must be dark and dreary.

“Not They Who Soar” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Not they who soar, but they who plod Their rugged way, unhelped, to God Are heroes; they who higher fare, And, flying, fan the upper air, Miss all the toil that hugs the sod. ‘Tis they whose backs have felt the rod, Whose feet have pressed the path unshod, May smile upon defeated care, Not they who soar.

High up there are no thorns to prod, Nor boulders lurking ‘neath the clod To turn the keenness of the share, For flight is ever free and rare; But heroes they the soil who’ve trod, Not they who soar!

“Minstrel Man” by Langston Hughes

Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think I suffer after I have held my pain So long.

Because my mouth Is wide with laughter, You do not hear My inner cry, Because my feet Are gay with dancing, You do not know I die.

“A Picture” by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks

I drew a picture long ago— A picture of a sullen sea; A picture that I value now Because it clears Life’s mystery.

My sea was dark and full of gloom; I painted rocks of sombre hue. My sky alone bespoke of light, And that I painted palest blue.

But e’en across my sky of blue Stretched troubled clouds of sodden gray, Through which the sun shone weak and dim, With only here and there a ray.

Around my rocks the yellow foam Seemed surging, moaning in despair As if the waves, their fury spent, Left naught but desolation there.

Three crafts with fluttering sails I drew, And one sailed near the rocks of gray, The other on its westward course, Went speeding out of danger’s way.

The other still outdistanced them Where sky and water seemed to met. I painted that with sails full set, And then my picture was complete.

My life was like the sullen sea, Misfortunes, woes, my rocks of gray, The crafts portrayed Life’s changing scenes, The clouded sky Life’s troubled Day.

I longed to paint that picture o’er Without the rocks of sombre hue; Without the troubled clouds of gray, I’ll paint the sky of brightest blue.

My sea shall lay in calm repose, No hint of surging, moaning sigh. My crafts, unhindered by the rocks, Shall speed in joyous swiftness by.

But this shall be when brightest hours Of hope and cheer are given me. I’ll paint this picture when Life’s sun Shines clear upon Prosperity

“On Being Brought from Africa to America” by Phillis Wheatley

‘Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land, Taught my benighted soul to understand That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too: Once I redemption neither sought nor knew. Some view our sable race with scornful eye, “Their colour is a diabolic die.” Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain, May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.

“Holy Sonnet 14” by John Donne

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurped town, to another due, Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end. Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, But is captived, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, But am betrothed unto your enemy: Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

“Calling Dreams” by Georgia Douglas Johnson

The right to make my dreams come true, I ask, nay, I demand of life, Nor shall fate’s deadly contraband Impede my steps, nor countermand; Too long my heart against the ground Has beat the dusty years around, And now at length I rise! I wake! And stride into the morning break!

“Ode to the Sun” by Eloise Bibb Thompson

How many scenes, O sun, Hast thou not shone upon! How many tears, O light, Have dropped before thy sight! How many heart-felt sighs, How many piercing cries, How many deeds of woe, Dost thy bright light not know! How many broken hearts, That are pierced by sorrow’s darts How many maddened brains, That are wild with passion’s rains; How many soul-sick lives, Stabbed with despair’s sharp knives, Hast thou above the skies, Not seen with thy radiant eyes! Shine on, majestic one! Shine on, O glorious sun! And never fail to cheer My life so dark and drear. Whene’er thou shinest bright, And show thy brilliant light, The cares I know each day Silently steal away.

“It’s a Long Way” by William Stanley Braithwaite

It’s a long way the sea-winds blow Over the sea-plains blue,— But longer far has my heart to go Before its dreams come true.

It’s work we must, and love we must, And do the best we may, And take the hope of dreams in trust To keep us day by day.

It’s a long way the sea-winds blow— But somewhere lies a shore— Thus down the tide of Time shall flow My dreams forevermore.

Poems About Life’s Dreams

“Doors of Daring” by Henry Van Dyke

The mountains that enfold the vale With walls of granite, steep and high, Invite the fearless foot to scale Their stairway toward the sky.

The restless, deep, dividing sea That flows and foams from shore to shore, Calls to its sunburned chivalry, “Push out, set sail, explore!”

And all the bars at which we fret, That seem to prison and control, Are but the doors of daring, set Ajar before the soul.

Say not, “Too poor,” but freely give; Sigh not, “Too weak,” but boldly try, You never can begin to live Until you dare to die.

“Life in a Dream” by Edward Smyth Jones

There is nothing so sweet as our life in our dreams, When we soar far on fancy’s swift wing; For a thing in our dreams is all that it seems, And the songs are so sweet that we sing. Ah! the sun shines the brightest, and stars twinkle lightest At the moon in her silvery beams!

There is nothing so gay as the life in our dreams, With its joy and its laughter and mirth; For the pleasure that teems is far greater, one deems, Than any he finds in the earth. There are homes are our natal, and nothing is fatal In the beautiful land of our dreams!

There is nothing so bright as the life in our dreams, Far away from earth’s trickery chance; There the music’s wild screams and the wine in its streams Are both lost in the song and the dance. Oh! our joy is the sweetest and life is completest, Ah! the life in our beautiful dreams!

“Opportunity” by William Blake

He who bends to himself a joy Does the wingèd life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise.

If you trap the moment before it is ripe, The tears of repentance you ’ll certainly wipe; But if once you let the ripe moment go, You can never wipe off the tears of woe.

“To Some I Have Talked With by the Fire” by William Butler Yeats

While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes, My heart would brim with dreams about the times When we bent down above the fading coals And talked of the dark folk who live in souls Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees; And of the wayward twilight companies Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content, Because their blossoming dreams have never bent Under the fruit of evil and of good: And of the embattled flaming multitude Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame, And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name, And with the clashing of their sword-blades make A rapturous music, till the morning break And the white hush end all but the loud beat Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.

“The Dreamer” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Temples he built and palaces of air, And, with the artist’s parent-pride aglow, His fancy saw his vague ideals grow Into creations marvellously fair;

He set his foot upon Fame’s nether stair. But ah, his dream,—it had entranced him so He could not move. He could no farther go; But paused in joy that he was even there!

He did not wake until one day there gleamed Thro’ his dark consciousness a light that racked His being till he rose, alert to act. But lo! what he had dreamed, the while he dreamed, Another, wedding action unto thought, Into the living, pulsing world had brought.

“The Ambitious Kangaroo” by Amos R. Wells

They held a great meeting a king to select. And the kangaroo rose in a dignified way. And said, “I’m the one you should surely elect, For I can out-leap every beast here today.” Said the eagle, “How high can you climb toward the sky?” Said the nightingale, “Favor us, please, with a song.” Said the hawk, “Let us measure our powers of eye!” Said the lion, “Come, wrestle and prove you are strong!” But the kangaroo sald, “It would surely be best, In our choice of a king, to make leaping the test!”

“Opportunity” by John James Ingalls

Master of human destinies am I. Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait. Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel, and mart, and palace—soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate!

If sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, Seek me in vain and uselessly implore— I answer not, and I return no more.

“Benediction” by Georgia Douglas Johnson

Go forth, my son, Winged by my heart’s desire! Great reaches, yet unknown, Await For your possession. I may not, if I would, Retrace the way with you, My pilgrimage is through, But life is calling you! Fare high and far, my son, A new day has begun, Thy star-ways must be won!

“The Starry Midnight Whispers” by Bliss Carman

The starry midnight whispers, As I muse before the fire On the ashes of ambition And the embers of desire, “Life has no other logic, And time no other creed, Than: ‘I for joy will follow. Where thou for love dost lead!”

“I Will Be Worthy of It” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I may not reach the heights I seek, My untried strength may fail me; Or, half-way up the mountain peak, Fierce tempests may assail me. But though that place I never gain, Herein lies comfort for my pain— I will be worthy of it. I may not triumph in success, Despite my earnest labor; I may not grasp results that bless The efforts of my neighbor; But though my goal I never see This thought shall always dwell with me— I will be worthy of it. The golden glory of Love’s light May never fall on my way; My path may always lead through night, Like some deserted by-way; But though life’s dearest joy I miss There lies a nameless strength in this— I will be worthy of it.

“Undeveloped Lives” by William Edward Hartpole Lecky

Not every thought can find its words, Not all within is known; For minds and hearts have many chords That never yield their tone.

Tastes, instincts, feelings, passions, powers, Sleep there, unfelt, unseen; And other lives lie hid in ours— The lives that might have been;

Affections whose transforming force Could mould the heart anew; Strong motives that might change the course Of all we think and do.

Upon the tall cliff’s cloud-wrapt verge The lonely shepherd stands, And hears the thundering ocean surge That sweeps the far-off strands;

And thinks in peace of raging storms Where he will never be— Of life in all its unknown forms In lands beyond the sea.

So in our dreams some glimpse appears, Though soon it fades again, How other lands or times or spheres Might make us other men;

How half our being lies in trance, Nor joy nor sorrow brings, Unless the hand of circumstance Can touch the latent strings.

We know not fully what we are, Still less what we might be; But hear faint voices from the far Dim lands beyond the sea.

“Success” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time.

The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs.

The distant mountains, that uprear Their solid bastions of the skies, Are crossed by pathways that appear As we to higher levels rise.

The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.

“The Aim” by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

O thou who lovest not alone The swift success, the instant goal, But hast a lenient eye to mark The failures of th’ inconstant soul, Consider not my little worth,— The mean achievement, scamped in act, The high resolve and low result, The dream that durst not face the fact. But count the reach of my desire. Let this be something in Thy sight:— I have not, in the slothful dark, Forgot the Vision and the Height. Neither my body nor my soul To earth’s low ease will yield consent. I praise Thee for my will to strive. I bless Thy goad of discontent.

“Industry” by Charles Eugene Banks

The toughest wood with brightest blaze will greet: The hardest nut contains the sweetest meat; So wisdom, gained by light of midnight oil, Gives richest recompense to patient toil.

“Aspiration” by Emily Dickinson

We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise; And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies. The heroism we recite Would be a daily thing, Did not ourselves the cubits warp For fear to be a king.

“Hope” by Alice Dunbar-Nelson

Wild seas of tossing, writhing waves, A wreck half-sinking in the tortuous gloom; One man clings desperately, while Boreas raves, And helps to blot the rays of moon and star, Then comes a sudden flash of light, which gleams on shores afar.

“Dream and the Song” by James D. Corrothers

So oft our hearts, belovèd lute, In blossomy haunts of song are mute; So long we pore, ’mid murmurings dull, O’er loveliness unutterable. So vain is all our passion strong! The dream is lovelier than the song.

The rose thought, touched by words, doth turn Wan ashes. Still, from memory’s urn, The lingering blossoms tenderly Refute our wilding minstrelsy. Alas! We work but beauty’s wrong! The dream is lovelier than the song.

Yearned Shelley o’er the golden flame? Left Keats for beauty’s lure, a name But “writ in water”? Woe is me! To grieve o’er flowerful faëry. My Phasian doves are flown so long— The dream is lovelier than the song!

Ah, though we build a bower of dawn, The golden-wingèd bird is gone, And morn may gild, through shimmering leaves, Only the swallow-twittering eaves. What art may house or gold prolong A dream far lovelier than a song?

The lilting witchery, the unrest Of wingèd dreams, is in our breast; But ever dear Fulfilment’s eyes Gaze otherward. The long-sought prize, My lute, must to the gods belong. The dream is lovelier than the song.

Poems About Life’s Journey

“Life Is Too Short” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life is too short for any vain regretting; Let dead delight bury its dead, I say, And let us go upon our way forgetting The joys, and sorrows, of each yesterday. Between the swift sun’s rising and its setting, We have no time for useless tears or fretting, “Life is too short”.

Life is too short for any bitter feeling; Time is the best avenger if we wait, The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing, We have no room for anything like hate. This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealing That thick and fast about our feet are stealing, “Life is too short”.

Life is too short for aught but high endeavour,— Too short for spite, but long enough for love. And love lives on for ever and for ever, It links the worlds that circle on above; ‘Tis God’s first law, the universe’s lever, In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never “Life is too short.”

“For Each Ecstatic Instant” by Emily Dickinson

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour Sharp pittances of years, Bitter contested farthings And coffers heaped with tears.

“Life And I” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life and I are lovers, straying Arm in arm along: Often like two children Maying, Full of mirth and song,

Life plucks all the blooming hours Growing by the way; Binds them on my brow like flowers, Calls me Queen of May.

Then again, in rainy weather, We sit vis-a-vis, Planning work we’ll do together In the years to be.

Sometimes Life denies me blisses, And I frown or pout; But we make it up with kisses Ere the day is out.

Woman-like, I sometimes grieve him,Try his trust and faith,Saying I shall one day leave himFor his rival, Death.

Then he always grows more zealous, Tender, and more true; Loves the more for being jealous, As all lovers do.

Though I swear by stars above him, And by worlds beyond, That I love him – love him – love him; Though my heart is fond;

Though he gives me, doth my lover,Kisses with each breath -I shall one day throw him over,And plight troth with Death.

“Youth” by Langston Hughes

We have to-morrow Bright before us Like a flame

Yesterday, a night-gone thing A sun-down name

And dawn to-day Broad arch above the road we came, We march.

“Proem” by Joaquin Miller

Come, lovers, come, forget your pains! I know upon this earth a spot Where clinking coins, that clank as chains Upon the souls of men, are not; Nor man is measured for his gains Of gold that stream with crimson stains.

There snow-topped towers crush the clouds, And break the still abode of stars, Like sudden ghosts in snowy shrouds, New broken through their earthly bars, And condors whet their crooked beaks On lofty limits of the peaks.

O men that fret as frets the main! You irk me with your eager gaze Down in the earth for fat increase— Eternal talks of gold and gain, Your shallow wit, your shallow ways, And breaks my soul across the shoal As breakers break on shallow seas.

“The Journey of Life” by William Cullen Bryant

Beneath the waning moon I walk at night, And muse on human life—for all around Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight, And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground, And broken gleams of brightness, here and there, Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air.

The trampled earth returns a sound of fear— A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs! And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. A mournful wind across the landscape flies, And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs.

And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on, Watching the stars that roll the hours away, Till the faint light that guides me now is gone, And, like another life, the glorious day Shall open o’er me from the empyreal height, With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light.

“The Road to the Bow” by James D. Corrothers

Ever and ever anon, After the black storm, the eternal, beauteous bow! Brother, to rosy-painted mists that arch beyond, Blithely I go.

My brows men laureled and my lyre Twined with immortal ivy for one little rippling song; My “House of Golden Leaves” they praised and “passionate fire”— But, Friend, the way is long!

Onward and onward, up! away! Though Fear flaunt all his banners in my face, And my feet stumble, lo! the Orphean Day! Forward by God’s grace!

These signs are still before me: “Fear,” “Danger,” “Unprecedented,” and I hear black “No” Still thundering, and “Churl.” Good Friend, I rest me here— Then to the glittering bow!

Loometh and cometh Hate in wrath, Mailed Wrong, swart Servitude and Shame with bitter rue, Nathless a Negro poet’s feet must tread the path The winged god knew.

Thus, my true Brother, dream-led, I Forfend the anathema, following the span. I hold my head as proudly high As any man.

“Journey” by Leopoldo Lugones (Muna Lee, translator)

I met upon the road A woman and a man, And a tree that genuflected Before the wind; Farther on, a browsing burro; And farther still, a heap of stone. And in three thousand leagues of my spirit There was no more than these: A tree, a stone, a burro, A woman, and a man.

“‘Tis So Much Joy” by Emily Dickinson

’T is so much joy! ’T is so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw; Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so This side the victory!

Life is but life, and death but death! Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath! And if, indeed, I fail, At least to know the worst is sweet. Defeat means nothing but defeat, No drearier can prevail!

And if I gain,—oh, gun at sea, Oh, bells that in the steeples be, At first repeat it slow! For heaven is a different thing Conjectured, and waked sudden in, And might o’erwhelm me so!

“As Toilsome I Wander’d” by Walt Whitman

As toilsome I wander’d Virginia’s woods, To the music of rustling leaves, kick’d by my feet, (for ’twas autumn,) I mark’d at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier, Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I understand;) The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose–yet this sign left, On a tablet scrawl’d and nail’d on the tree by the grave, Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering; Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life; Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone, or in the crowded street, Comes before me the unknown soldier’s grave–comes the inscription rude in Virginia’s woods, Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

“Hope” by Theodore Henry Shackelford

O Hope! into my darkened life Thou hast so oft’ descended; My helpless head from failure’s blows, Thou also hast defended; When circumstances hard, and mean, Which I could not control, Did make me bow my head with shame, Thou comforted my soul.

When stumbling blocks lay all around, And when my steps did falter, Then did thy sacred fires burn Upon my soul’s high altar. Oft’ was my very blackest night Scarce darker than my day, But thou dispelled those clouds of doubt, And cheered my lonely way.

E’en when I saw my friends forsake, And leave me for another, Then thou, O Hope, didst cling to me Still closer than a brother; Thus with thee near I groped my way Through that long, gloomy night Till now; yes, as I speak, behold, I see the light! the light!

“A Farewell” by Langston Hughes

With gypsies and sailors, Wanderers of the hills and seas, I go to seek my fortune. With pious folk and fair I must have a parting. But you will not miss me,–– You who live between the hills And have never seen the seas.

“Roses and Sunshine” by Edgar A. Guest

Rough is the road I am journeying now, Heavy the burden I’m bearing to-day; But I’m humming a song, as I wander along, And I smile at the roses that nod by the way. Red roses sweet, Blooming there at my feet, Just dripping with honey and perfume and cheer; What a weakling I’d be If I tried not to see The joy and the comfort you bring to us here.

Just tramping along o’er the highway of life, Knowing not what’s ahead but still doing my best; And I sing as I go, for my soul seems to know In the end I shall come to the valley of rest. With the sun in my faceAnd the roses to grace The roads that I travel, what have I to fear? What a coward I’d beIf I tried not to see The roses of hope and the sunshine of cheer.

“ I Had No Time To Hate, Because” by Emily Dickinson

I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity.

Nor had I time to love, but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me.

“Goals” by Amos R. Wells

Deep in the horrors of the North, With gleaming eyes and steady soul

Heroes compel their passage forth To pierce the mystery of the pole.

Superb their passion, bold their aim. But ah, what barren goals sufllce ! —

The echo of an empty fame.

The conquest of a league of ice !

Comrades of clouds, along the air Speeding the way Columbus went.

Oh, latest Argonauts, that dare The one unmastered element !

And yet what needless heroes they. Venturing life to find us wings.

That men may have one other way To roam on fruitless wanderings !

With patient eyes, the long still night. Sages through starry Jungles grope,

Happy, if some new speck of light Fall on the fortunate telescope.

Their name is catalogued with it.

The sky has one more charted spot ; But no more lights on earth are lit.

And star and sage are soon forgot.

Ah, happy he whose ardent goal Within the human spirit lies.

Sad Poems About Life

“Life Is Bitter” by William Ernest Henley

Life is bitter. All the faces of the years, Young and old, are grey with travail and with tears. Must we only wake to toil, to tire, to weep? In the sun, among the leaves, upon the flowers, Slumber stills to dreamy death the heavy hours . . . Let me sleep.

Riches won but mock the old, unable years; Fame’s a pearl that hides beneath a sea of tears; Love must wither, or must live alone and weep. In the sunshine, through the leaves, across the flowers, While we slumber, death approaches though the hours! . . . Let me sleep.

“It Was Not Death, for I Stood Up” by Emily Dickinson

It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down— It was not Night, for all the Bells Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh

I felt Siroccos—crawl— Nor Fire—for just my Marble feet Could keep a Chancel, cool— And yet, it tasted, like them all, The Figures I have seen Set orderly, for Burial, Reminded me, of mine—

As if my life were shaven, And fitted to a frame, And could not breathe without a key, And ’twas like Midnight, some –

When everything that ticked—has stopped— And Space stares—all around— Or Grisly frosts—first Autumn morns, Repeal the Beating Ground—

But, most, like Chaos—Stopless—cool— Without a Chance, or Spar— Or even a Report of Land— To justify—Despair.

“Life’s Tragedy” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

It may be misery not to sing at all And to go silent through the brimming day. It may be sorrow never to be loved, But deeper griefs than these beset the way.

To have come near to sing the perfect song And only by a half–tone lost the key, There is the potent sorrow, there the grief, The pale, sad staring of life’s tragedy.

To have just missed the perfect love, Not the hot passion of untempered youth, But that which lays aside its vanity And gives thee, for thy trusting worship, truth—

This, this it is to be accursed indeed; For if we mortals love, or if we sing, We count our joys not by the things we have, But by what kept us from the perfect thing.

“The Saddest Thought” by W. M. MacKeracher

Sad is the wane of beauty to the fair, Sad is the flux of fortune to the proud, Sad is the look dejected lovers wear, And sad is worth beneath detraction’s cloud. Sad is our youth’s inexorable end, Sad is the bankruptcy of fancy’s wealth, Sad is the last departure of a friend, And sadder than most things is loss of health.

And yet more sad than these to think upon Is this – the saddest thought beneath the sun – Life, flowing like a river, almost gone Into eternity, and nothing done. Let me be spared that bootless last regret: Let me work now; I may do something yet.

“Life” by Richard Henry Wilde

My life is like the summer rose, That opens to the morning sky, But, ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground—to die! Yet on the rose’s humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to see,— But none shall weep a tear for me!

My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon’s pale ray; Its hold is frail,—its date is brief, Restless, and soon to pass away! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree,— But none shall breathe a sigh for me!

My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tampa’s desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea,— But none, alas! shall mourn for me!

“Miles to Go Before I Sleep” by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I Know. His house is in the village, though He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep But I have promises to keep And miles to go before I sleep And miles to go before I sleep.

“Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ‘round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view—

“Life” by Edwin C. Ranck

The list is long, the stories read the same; Strong mortal man is but a flesh-hued toy; Some have their ending in a life of shame; Others drink deeply from the glass of joy; Some see the cup dashed dripping from their lip Or drinking, find the wine has turned to gall, While others taste the sweets they fain would sip And then Death comes–the sequel to it all.

“Where Lies the Land?” by Arthur Hugh Clough

Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

On sunny noons upon the deck’s smooth face, Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace! Or o’er the stern reclining, watch below The foaming wake far widening as we go.

On stormy nights, when wild northwesters rave, How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave! The dripping sailor on the reeling mast Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past.

“Tears” by Luis G. Dato

She felt alone In that garden unfrequented, Where the winds make moan For blossom sweetly scented, Perfumed but far away. And as the sunset died, Lost the last long twilight ray, She felt so lone and cried.

Her face protesting revealed The trace of promises and prayers unreturned, Deep disillusions learned, Sorrows silence-sealed.

And as she wept Like a lost child When the shadow of twilight crept On the forest wild, Not knowing the ground, As tears and tear-drops falling, Moistened the cheek of the night around, I called, she heard me calling, And longer cried in that garden frequented only By her spirit loving and lovely.

“Life” by George Herbert

I made a posie, while the day ran by: “Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.” But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away, And withered in my hand.

My hand was next to them, and then my heart; I took, without more thinking, in good part Time’s gentle admonition; Who did so sweetly death’s sad taste convey, Making my minde to smell my fatall day, Yet sug’ring the suspicion.

Farewell, dear flowers! sweetly your time ye spent; Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, And after death for cures. I follow straight without complaints or grief; Since, if my scent be good, I care not if It be as short as yours.

“Mockery” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Why do we grudge our sweets so to the living, Who, God knows, find at best too much of gall, And then with generous, open hands kneel, giving Unto the dead our all?

Why do we pierce the warm hearts, sin or sorrow, With idle jests, or scorn, or cruel sneers, And when it cannot know, on some tomorrow, Speak of its woe through tears?

What do the dead care, for the tender token— The love, the praise, the floral offerings? But palpitating, living hearts are broken For want of just these things.

“When You Are Old” by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

“The Rose-Bush” by Johann Ludwig Uhland (William Warren Caldwell, translator)

A child sleeps under a rose-bush fair, The buds swell out in the soft May air; Sweetly it rests, and on dream-wings flies To play with the angels in Paradise. And the years glide by.

A Maiden stands by the rose-bush fair, The dewy blossoms perfume the air; She presses her hand to her throbbing breast, With love’s first wonderful rapture blest. And the years glide by.

A Mother kneels by the rose-bush fair, Soft sigh the leaves in the evening air; Sorrowing thoughts of the past arise, And tears of anguish bedim her eyes. And the years glide by.

Naked and lone stands the rose-bush fair, Whirled are the leaves in the autumn air, Withered and dead they fall to the ground, And silently cover a new-made mound. And the years glide by.

“A Song of Hope” by Charles Bertram Johnson

Day is at the gate, I am risen late; Clouds laze in the air, Clouds sleep on the grass; I have song to spare Till the shadows pass.

Day is at the noon, No thread of bow or moon; Rain is in the air, Drenched and limp the grass; I have song to spare Till the shadows pass.

Day is at the close, Faith no logic knows; Rain-clouds blur the air, All the world is dun; I have song to spare Till to-morrow’s sun.

Poems About Life’s Lessons

“There’s No Time Like the Present” by Anonymous

There’s no time like the present; To-morrow’s far away; And what our hands may find to do, God bids us do to-day.

Be ready in the golden Now To do a helpful deed; And never let the chance go by To meet a sister’s need.

Don’t wait until another time, For she who waits may lose The grandest chance of all her life; It is not ours to choose.

The opportunities to do, They come at God’s behest, And sue who never squanders one Is she who lives the best.

“The Way to Be Happy” by Jane Taylor

How pleasant it is at the end of the day, No follies to have to repent, But reflect on the past and be able to say, My time has been properly spent! When I’ve done all my business with patience and care, And been good, and obliging, and kind, I lie on my pillow and sleep away there, With a happy and peaceable mind. Instead of all this, if it must be confest, That I careless and idle have been, I lie down as usual, and go to my rest, But feel discontented within. Then as I dislike all the trouble I’ve had, In future I’ll try to prevent it, For I never am naughty without being sad, Or good—without being contented.

“Dining” by E. Robert Bulwer, Lord Lytton (Owen Meredith)

O hour of all hours, the most blest upon earth, Blest hour of our dinners! The land of his birth; The face of his first love; the bills that he owes; The twaddle of friends, and venom of foes; The sermon he heard when to church he last went; The money he borrowed, the money he spent; All of these things a man, I believe, may forget, And not be the worse for forgetting; but yet Never, never, oh, never! earth’s luckiest sinner Hath unpunished forgotten the hour of his dinner! Indigestion, that conscience of every bad stomach, Shall relentlessly gnaw and pursue him with some ache Or some pain; and trouble, remorseless, his best ease, As the Furies once troubled the sleep of Orestes.

We may live without poetry, music, and art; We may live without conscience, and live without earth; We may live without friends; we may live without books; But civilized men cannot live without cooks. He may live without books,—what is knowledge but grieving? He may live without hope,—what is hope but deceiving? He may live without love,—what is passion but pining? But where is the man that can live without dining?

“No Man Is an Island” by John Donne

No man is an island, Entire of itself, Every man is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thy friend’s Or of thine own were: Any man’s death diminishes me, Because I am involved in mankind, And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

“Inalienable” by Amos R. Wells

Two things are yours that no man’s wealth can buy: The air, and time; And, having these, all fate you may defy, All summits climb. While you can draw the fresh and vital breath, And own the day, No enemy, not Hate, nor Fear, nor Death, May bring dismay. Breathe deeply! Use the minutes as they fly! Trust God in all! Thus will you live the life that cannot die, Nor ever fall.

“Life” by Edgar A. Guest

Life is a jest; Take the delight of it. Laughter is best; Sing through the night of it. Swiftly the tear And the hurt and the ache of it Find us down here; Life must be what we make of it. Life is a song; Let us dance to the thrill of it. Grief’s hours are long, And cold is the chill of it. Joy is man’s need; Let us smile for the sake of it. This be our creed: Life must be what we make of it. Life is a soul; The virtue and vice of it. Strife for a goal, And man’s strength is the price of it. Your life and mine, The bare bread and the cake of it, End in this line: Life must be what we make of it.

“Sometime” by May Riley Smith

Sometime, when all life’s lessons have been learned, And sun and stars forevermore have set, The things which our weak judgments here have spurned, The things o’er which we grieved with lashes wet, Will flash before us, out of life’s dark night, As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue; And we shall see how all God’s plans are right, And how what seems reproof was love most true.

And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh, God’s plans go on as best for you and me; How, when we called, he heeded not our cry, Because his wisdom to the end could see. And e’en as prudent parents disallow Too much of sweet to craving babyhood, So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now Life’s sweetest things, because it seemeth good.

And if sometimes, commingled with life’s wine, We find the wormwood, and rebel and shrink, Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine Pours out this potion for our lips to drink. And if some friend we love is lying low, Where human kisses cannot reach his face, Oh, do not blame the loving Father so, But wear your sorrow with obedient grace!

And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friend, And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death Conceals the fairest bloom his love can send. If we could push ajar the gates of life, And stand within, and all God’s workings see, We could interpret all this doubt and strife, And for each mystery could find a key.

But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart! God’s plans like lilies pure and white unfold. We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart, Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. And if, through patient toil, we reach the land Where tired feet, with sandals loosed, may rest, When we shall clearly know and understand, I think that we will say, “God knew the best!”

“The Epicure” by Anacreon (Abraham Cowley, translator)

Fill the bowl with rosy wine! Around our temples roses twine! And let us cheerfully awhile, Like the wine and roses, smile. Crowned with roses, we contemn Gyges’ wealthy diadem. To-day is ours, what do we fear? To-day is ours; we have it here: Let ’s treat it kindly, that it may Wish, at least, with us to stay. Let ’s banish business, banish sorrow; To the gods belongs to-morrow.

Underneath this myrtle shade, On flowery beds supinely laid, With odorous oils my head o’erflowing, And around it roses growing, What should I do but drink away The heat and troubles of the day? In this more than kingly state Love himself shall on me wait. Fill to me, Love, nay fill it up; And, mingled, cast into the cup Wit, and mirth, and noble fires, Vigorous health, and gay desires. The wheel of life no less will stay In a smooth than rugged way: Since it equally doth flee, Let the motion pleasant be. Why do we precious ointments show’r? Noble wines why do we pour? Beauteous flowers why do we spread, Upon the monuments of the dead? Nothing they but dust can show, Or bones that hasten to be so. Crown me with roses while I live, Now your wines and ointments give; After death I nothing crave. Let me alive my pleasures have; All are Stoics in the grave.

“Live to Learn” by Bayard Taylor

Learn to live, and live to learn; Ignorance like a fire doth burn, Little tasks make large return.

Toil, when willing, groweth less; “Always play” may seem to bless, Yet the end is weariness.

Live to learn, and learn to live, Only this content can give; Feckless joys are fugitive

“The Past” by Emily Dickinson

The past is such a curious creature, To look her in the face A transport may reward us, Or a disgrace. Unarmed if any meet her, I charge him, fly! Her rusty ammunition Might yet reply!

“As I Grew Older” by Langston Hughes

It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun,— My dream.

And then the wall rose, Rose slowly, Slowly, Between me and my dream. Rose slowly, slowly, Dimming, Hiding, The light of my dream. Rose until it touched the sky,— The wall.

Shadow. I am black.

I lie down in the shadow. No longer the light of my dream before me, Above me. Only the thick wall. Only the shadow.

My hands! My dark hands! Break through the wall! Find my dream! Help me to shatter this darkness, To smash this night, To break this shadow Into a thousand lights of sun, Into a thousand whirling dreams Of sun!

“When My Soul Findeth Wings” by Libbie C. Baer

Like roses the bright dream did pass, On swift, noiseless footsteps away; Like glistening dew on the grass, Dissolving beneath the sun’s ray.

Like voice of the lark that doth soar, Through the golden haze of the dawn; You hear it and bend to adore, Just hear it and then it is gone.

The lark on his swift, flashing wings, Keeps pace with the flowers in their flight; And that’s why when soaring he sings, And passes so swiftly from sight.

I slept, and a vision did see, Of eyes that were tender and blue; I awoke to know that for me The vision may never come true.

The lark soars no more in the skies, He’s gone with the roses and dew; The face with the soft tender eyes, Comes never to gladden my view.

My memory holds images fair, Of all these beautiful things; Which I will be seeking somewhere, When my soul, as lark, findeth wings.

“Renewal of Strength” by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

The prison-house in which I live Is falling to decay, But God renews my spirit’s strength Within these walls of clay.

For me a dimness slowly creeps Around earth’s fairest light, But heaven grows clearer to my view, And fairer to my sight.

It may be earth’s sweet harmonies Are duller to my ear, But music from my Father’s house Begins to float more near.

Then let the pillars of my home Crumble and fall away; Lo, God’s dear love within my soul Renews it day by day.

“Yesterday and To-morrow” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Yesterday I held your hand, Reverently I pressed it, And its gentle yieldingness From my soul I blessed it.

But to-day I sit alone, Sad and sore repining; Must our gold forever know Flames for the refining?

Yesterday I walked with you, Could a day be sweeter? Life was all a lyric song Set to tricksy meter.

Ah, to-day is like a dirge,— Place my arms around you, Let me feel the same dear joy As when first I found you.

Let me once retrace my steps, From these roads unpleasant, Let my heart and mind and soul All ignore the present.

Yesterday the iron seared And to-day means sorrow. Pause, my soul, arise, arise, Look where gleams the morrow.

“A Song” by Lucretia Maria Davidson

Life is but a troubled ocean, Hope a meteor, love a flower Which blossoms in the morning beam, And whithers with the evening hour.

Ambition is a dizzy height, And glory, but a lightning gleam; Fame is a bubble, dazzling bright, Which fairest shines in fortune’s beam.

When clouds and darkness veil the skies, And sorrow’s blast blows loud and chill, Friendship shall like a rainbow rise, And softly whisper—peace, be still.

“Star of Ethiopia” by Lucian B. Watkins

Out in the Night thou art the sun Toward which thy soul-charmed children run, The faith-high height whereon they see The glory of their Day To Be— The peace at last when all is done.

The night is dark but, one by one, Thy signals, ever and anon, Smile beacon answers to their plea, Out in the Night.

Ah, Life! thy storms these cannot shun; Give them a hope to rest upon, A dream to dream eternally, The strength of men who would be free And win the battle race begun, Out in the Night!

Hopeful Poems About Life

“I’ll Try” by Anonymous

“The others will laugh,” said the Bugbear, “And ridicule you on the sly.” “Never mind,” said Jenny Endeavor, “I’ll try.” “You’ll surely break down.” said the Bugbear; “You know you are terribly shy.” “Never mind,” said Billy Endeavor, “I’ll try.” “It’s really too hard,” said the Bugbear; “You might as well venture to fly.” “Never mind,” said Susie Endeavor, “I’ll try.” “Just put the thing off,” said the Bugbear. “And others the lack will supply.” “I’ll not,” answered Tommy Endeavor, “I’ll try.”

“Life’s Harmonies” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Let no man pray that he know not sorrow, Let no soul ask to be free from pain, For the gall of to-day is the sweet of to-morrow, And the moment’s loss is the lifetime’s gain.

Through want of a thing does its worth redouble, Through hunger’s pangs does the feast content, And only the heart that has harboured trouble Can fully rejoice when joy is sent.

Let no man shrink from the bitter tonics Of grief, and yearning, and need, and strife, For the rarest chords in the soul’s harmonics Are found in the minor strains of life.

“Perseverance” by Leonardo da Vinci (William Wetmore Story, translator)

In facile natures fancies quickly grow, But such quick fancies have but little root. Soon the narcissus flowers and dies, but slow The tree whose blossoms shall mature to fruit. Grace is a moment’s happy feeling, Power A life’s slow growth; and we for many an hour Must strain and toil, and wait and weep, if we The perfect fruit of all we are would see.

“Keep Sweet and Keep Movin” by Robert Jones Burdette

Homely phrase of our southland bright— Keep steady step to the flam of the drum; Touch to the left—eyes to the right— Sing with the soul tho’ the lips be dumb. Hard to be good when the wind ’s in the east; Hard to be gay when the heart is down; When “they that trouble you are increased,” When you look for a smile and see a frown. But “Keep sweet and keep movin’.”

Sorrow will shade the blue sky gray— Gray is the color our brothers wore; Sunshine will scatter the clouds away; Azure will gleam in the skies once more. Colors of Patience and Hope are they— Always at even in one they blend; Tinting the heavens by night and day, Over our hearts to the journey’s end. Just “Keep sweet and keep movin’.”

Hard to be sweet when the throng is dense, When elbows jostle and shoulders crowd; Easy to give and to take offence When the touch is rough and the voice is loud; “Keep to the right” in the city’s throng; “Divide the road” on the broad highway; There ’s one way right when everything ’s wrong; “Easy and fair goes far in a day.” Just “Keep sweet and keep movin’.”

The quick taunt answers the hasty word— The lifetime chance for a “help” is missed; The muddiest pool is a fountain stirred, A kind hand clenched makes an ugly fist. When the nerves are tense and the mind is vexed, The spark lies close to the magazine; Whisper a hope to the soul perplexed— Banish the fear with a smile serene— Just “Keep sweet and keep movin’.”

“Forth From Your Past!” by Amos Russel Wells

Forth from your lowly Past! In humble wise Up to the highest heaven lift your eyes. No glories that the heroes ever knew But God has placed them waiting there for you. Forth from your evil Past! The shame and sin— Dare now to live as they had never been. In Jesus cleansed and in His sureness sure, Know that the years to come are sweet und pure. Forth from your troubled Past! How dark the days. How dreary and perplexed your wandering waya! Forget those fears and tears and scenes abhorred. And enter all the joyance of your Lord. Forth from your lonely Past! No comrade knew Your inner warfare for the good and true; But in the time to come till time shall end You shall not lack a comrade and a friend. Forth from your Past! ‘Twas given you to build A Future from it all with blessings filled. Enter its open gate its liberal door, And live its happy lord for evermore.

“The Crucible of Life” by Edgar A. Guest

Sunshine and shadow, blue sky and gray, Laughter and tears as we tread on our way; Hearts that are heavy, then hearts that are light, Eyes that are misty and eyes that are bright; Losses and gains in the heat of the strife, Each in proportion to round out his life.

Into the crucible, stirred by the years, Go all our hopes and misgivings and fears; Glad days and sad days, our pleasures and pains, Worries and comforts, our losses and gains. Out of the crucible shall there not come Joy undefiled when we pour off the scum?

Out of the sadness and anguish and woe, Out of the travail and burdens we know, Out of the shadow that darkens the way, Out of the failure that tries us to-day, Have you a doubt that contentment will come When you’ve purified life and discarded the scum?

Tinctured with sorrow and flavored with sighs, Moistened with tears that have flowed from your eyes; Perfumed with sweetness of loves that have died, Leavened with failures, with grief sanctified, Sacred and sweet is the joy that must come From the furnace of life when you’ve poured off the scum.

“The Dawn’s Awake!” by Otto Leland Bohanan

The Dawn’s awake! A flash of smoldering flame and fire Ignites the East. Then, higher, higher, O’er all the sky so gray, forlorn, The torch of gold is borne.

The Dawn’s awake! The dawn of a thousand dreams and thrills. And music singing in the hills A pæen of eternal spring Voices the new awakening.

The Dawn’s awake! Whispers of pent-up harmonies, With the mingled fragrance of the trees; Faint snaches of half-forgotten song— Fathers! Torn and numb,— The boon of light we craved, awaited long, Has come, has come!

“His Other Chance” by Edgar A. Guest

He was down and out, and his pluck was gone, And he said to me in a gloomy way: “I’ve wasted my chances, one by one, And I’m just no good, as the people say.

Nothing ahead, and my dreams all dust, Though once there was something I might have been, But I wasn’t game, and I broke my trust, And I wasn’t straight and I wasn’t clean.”

“You’re pretty low down,” says I to him, “But nobody’s holding you there, my friend. Life is a stream where men sink or swim, And the drifters come to a sorry end;

But there’s two of you living and breathing still— The fellow you are, and he’s tough to see, And another chap, if you’ve got the will, The man that you still have a chance to be.”

He laughed with scorn. “Is there two of me? I thought I’d murdered the other one. I once knew a chap that I hoped to be, And he was decent, but now he’s gone.”

“Well,” says I, “it may seem to you That life has little of joy in store, But there’s always something you still can do, And there’s never a man but can try once more.

“Go Give the World” by Otto Leland Bohanan

I do not crave to have thee mine alone, dear Keeping thy charms within my jealous sight; Go, give the world the blessing of thy beauty, That other hearts may share of my delight!

I do not ask, thy love should be mine only While others falter through the dreary night; Go, kiss the tears from some wayfarer’s vision, That other eyes may know the joy of light!

Where days are sad and skies are hung with darkness, Go, send a smile that sunshine may be rife; Go, give a song, a word of kindly greeting, To ease the sorrow of some lonely life!

“Good Life, Long Life” by Ben Jonson

It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night,— It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see, And in short measures life may perfect be.

“On Looking Up by Chance at the Constellations” by Robert Frost

You’ll wait a long, long time for anything much To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves. The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch, Nor strike out fire from each other nor crash out loud. The planets seem to interfere in their curves But nothing ever happens, no harm is done. We may as well go patiently on with our life, And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane. It is true the longest drought will end in rain, The longest peace in China will end in strife. Still it wouldn’t reward the watcher to stay awake In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break On his particular time and personal sight. That calm seems certainly safe to last to-night.

“Poets! Towers of God!” by Rubén Darío

Poets! Towers of God Made to resist the fury of the storms Like cliffs beside the ocean Or clouded, savage peaks! Masters of lightning! Breakwaters of eternity!

Hope, magic-voiced, foretells the day When on the rock of harmony The Siren traitorous shall die and pass away, And there shall only be The full, frank-billowed music of the sea.

Be hopeful still, Though bestial elements yet turn From Song with rancorous ill-will And blinded races one another spurn! Perversity debased Among the high her rebel cry has raised. The cannibal still lusts after the raw, Knife-toothed and gory-faced.

Towers, your laughing banners now unfold. Against all hatreds and all envious lies Upraise the protest of the breeze, half-told, And the proud quietness of sea and skies…

“This Life” by William Drummond of Hawthornden

This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children’s breath, Who chase it everywhere And strive who can most motion it bequeath. And though it sometimes seem of its own might Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there, And firm to hover in that empty height, That only is because it is so light. —But in that pomp it doth not long appear; For when ’t is most admired, in a thought, Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.

Poems About Happiness In Life

“The Character of a Happy Life” by Sir Henry Wotton

How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another’s will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise, Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise, Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumors freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great;

Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend, And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend,—

This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And, having nothing, yet hath all.

“Light Is More Important Than the Lantern” by Nizar Qabbani

Light is more important than the lantern, The poem more important than the notebook, And the kiss more important than the lips. My letters to you Are greater and more important than both of us. They are the only documents Where people will discover Your beauty And my madness.

“Life’s Grandest Things” by Jean Blewett

What is the greatest work of all? The work that comes every day; The work that waits us on ev’ry hand Is work that, for us, is truly grand, And the love of work is our pay.

What is the highest life of all? It is living, day by day, True to ourselves and true to the right, Living the truth from dawn till the night, And the love of truth for our pay.

What is the grandest thing of all – Is it winning Heaven some day? No, and a thousand times say no; ‘Tis making this old world thrill and glow With the sun of love till each shall know Something of Heaven here below, And God’s well done for our pay.

“The Optimist” by J. W. Hammond

Who would have the sky any color but blue, Or the grass any color but green? Or the flowers that bloom the summer through Of other color or sheen?

How the sunshine gladdens the human heart— How the sound of the falling rain Will cause the tender tears to start, And free the soul from pain.

Oh, this old world is a great old place! And I love each season’s change, The river, the brook of purling grace, The valley, the mountain range.

And when I am called to quit this life, My feet will not spurn the sod, Though I leave this world with its beauty rife,— There’s a glorious one with God!

“My Heart Leaps Up” by William Wordsworth

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

“Happy Days” by Mary Hannay Foott

A fringe of rushes — one green line Upon a faded plain; A silver streak of water-shine — Above, tree-watchers twain. It was our resting-place awhile, And still, with backward gaze, We say: “‘Tis many a weary mile — But there were happy days.”

And shall no ripple break the sand Upon our farther way? Or reedy ranks all knee-deep stand? Or leafy tree-tops sway? The gold of dawn is surely met In sunset’s lavish blaze; And — in horizons hidden yet — There shall be happy days.

“Fantasy in Purple” by Langston Hughes

Beat the drums of tragedy for me. Beat the drums of tragedy and death. And let the choir sing a stormy song To drown the rattle of my dying breath.

Beat the drums of tragedy for me, And let the white violins whir thin and slow, But blow one blaring trumpet note of sun To go with me to the darkness where I go.

“A September Night” by George Marion McClellan

The full September moon sheds floods of light, And all the bayou’s face is gemmed with stars, Save where are dropped fantastic shadows down From sycamores and moss-hung cypress trees. With slumberous sound the waters half asleep Creep on and on their way, ’twixt rankish reeds, Through marsh and lowlands stretching to the Gulf. Begirt with cotton fields, Anguilla sits Half bird-like, dreaming on her Summer nest. Amid her spreading figs and roses, still In bloom with all their Spring and Summer hues, Pomegranates hang with dapple cheeks full ripe, And over all the town a dreamy haze Drops down. The great plantations, stretching far Away, are plains of cotton, downy white. O, glorious is this night of joyous sounds; Too full for sleep. Aromas wild and sweet, From muscadine, late blooming jessamine, And roses, all the heavy air suffuse. Faint bellows from the alligators come From swamps afar, where sluggish lagoons give To them a peaceful home. The katydids Make ceaseless cries. Ten thousand insects’ wings Stir in the moonlight haze and joyous shouts Of Negro song and mirth awake hard by The cabin dance. O, glorious is this night! The Summer sweetness fills my heart with songs, I can not sing, with loves I can not speak.

“A Prayer in Spring” by Robert Frost

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; And make us happy in the happy bees, The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird That suddenly above the bees is heard, The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill, And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love, The which it is reserved for God above To sanctify to what far ends He will, But which it only needs that we fulfil.

“I Seek for Rhythmic Whisperings” by Zinaida Gippius (Babette Deutsch and Avrahm Yarmolinsky)

I seek for rhythmic whisperings Where noises bandy— For life I listen wistfully In footless banter.

I cast wide nets and tentative In lakes of sorrow. I go toward final tenderness By pathways sordid.

I look for dewdrops glistering In falsehood’s gardens. I save truth’s globules glistening, From dust-heaps garnered.

I fain would fathom fortitude Through years of wormwood— And pierce the mortal fortalice, Yet live, a worldling.

My cup, through ways impassable, To bear, untainted; By tenebrous bleak passages To joy attaining.

“Confession” by Countee Cullen

If for a day joy masters me, Think not my wounds are healed; Far deeper than the scars you see, I keep the roots concealed.

They shall bear blossoms with the fall; I have their word for this, Who tend my roots with rains of gall, And suns of prejudice.

“Together” by Carrie Williams Clifford

O, come, Love, let us take a walk, Down the Way-of-Life together; Storms may come, but what care we, If be fair or foul the weather.

When the sky overhead is blue, Balmy, scented winds will after Us, adown the valley blow Haunting echoes of our laughter.

When Life’s storms upon us beat Crushing us with fury, after All is done, there’ll ringing come Mocking echoes of our laughter.

So we’ll walk the Way-of-Life, You and I, Love, both together, Storm or sunshine, happy we If be foul or fair the weather.

“The Flower at My Window” by Lucian B. Watkins

O! my heart now feels so cheerful as I go with footsteps light In the daily toil of my dear home; And I’ll tell to you the secret that now makes my life so bright— There’s a flower at my window in full bloom.

It is radiant in the sunshine, and so cheerful after rain; And it wafts upon the air its sweet perfume. It is very, very lovely! May its beauties never wane— This dear flower at my window in full bloom.

Nature has so clothed it in such glorious array, And it does so cheer our home, and hearts illume; Its dear mem’ry I will cherish though the flower fade away— This dear flower at my window in full bloom.

Oft I gaze upon this flower with its blossoms pure and white. And I think as I behold its gay costume, While through life we all are passing may our lives be always bright Like this flower at my window in full bloom.

• Poems About Life

Poems about life can entertain you, motivate you, calm you, encourage you, soothe you and lift you up. Life's ups and downs in a poem. Enjoy!

Life Inspirational Poem

This life inspirational poem covers a lot of different types of life's struggles.

In life, there will be people who hurt you. Spend more time with those who love you. You will make mistakes. Mistakes are ammunition against future catastrophes. You may have regrets. Unless you can get time back, focus on happiness now. You may lose people you love. Pour that love on people who need it. You will bump against obstacles to your goals. Obstacles are challenges that sharpen your motivation and resolve. You may have worries that hold you back. Every fear you overcome makes you stronger and better. You are overcoming.

By Joanna Fuchs Poemsource.com

Happiness Tip

Happiness comes not from what goes on outside of you but rather in how you perceive life from the inside.

The healthy tendency to focus on and emphasize positive experiences and file them away for frequent recall while dimming memories of distressing times is one of the major components of a happy life.

Think of a happy memory right now. 

By Joanna Fuchs

You may also like our page on Inspirational Words .

Boredom is rest, relaxation, free time. This free verse poem about life focuses on the positive aspects of boredom.

The Gift of Boredom

Are you bored?

Millions of people spend every waking moment working brutally hard to put meager food on the table and a roof over their heads.

Be grateful for your boredom.

Our time on the planet always SEEMS unlimited; but it's not. This free verse poem about life emphasizes the importance of controlling what we do with the time we have.

Running Out of Time

Life is complicated. There will always be problems. Stress is a distraction from what’s really important.

Don’t wait for things to get better. Count your blessings; Learn to be happy right now, Otherwise you might run out of time.

Poem about Life Is Short

Do you relate to this situation? I do! I wrote this poem about life from experience. Life is short; we only have so much time. We cannot let others steal that time making us unhappy. Note: In this poem, I am not referring to letting go of people who can't take care of themselves physically or mentally, but rather normal people who seem to take delight in provoking you.

Sometimes you have to let people go, to preserve your sanity, guard your health, protect your heart.

Sometimes those people are family, especially family, because they know what buttons to push.

Sometimes you have to forgive, release, and move on.

Life poems often talk about dealing with pressure and stress. Here's a poem about life that gives a solution.

Peace Amidst Chaos

In the midst of chaos, pressure, confusion and noise, create and inhabit your bubble of peace.

Life Celebration Poem

In the 1980s, I attended a self-improvement seminar, like EST, but not EST. An assignment was to "write a short poem about yourself." I wrote the following poem about celebrating life:

With the past as a brilliant teacher And the future as a beckoning light She rode the buoyant waves of now-- Reveling in the cool, wet sparkle of being.

Life Lesson Poems

A life lesson poem can make you aware of things you did not realize, such as, life does not give you what you want instantly. You have to work for your goals, have persistence, and be patient.

Things take time

Things take time. The efforts you are making today, the tasks you are doing, rarely produce instant results. Be patient. Watch, make adjustments, polish your plan. The seeds you have planted will bud and bloom at the right time, giving you even more results than you hoped for.

You take a huge leap forward when you understand the life lesson that your thoughts control your feelings and actions. A good life requires rest, needs sleep. For some, sleeplessness may be a physical problem, a chemical imbalance, some other bodily discomfort. But for many, it’s all about what does on in the mind, what you are thinking, that keeps you awake.

Time To Go To Sleep

"It’s time to go to sleep, but I don’t think I’ll be able to..." the first step on the wretched road to insomnia. Muscles tighten in knots, stomach groans in fearful anticipation, thoughts are entirely pessimistic. "Another sleepless night." 

"It’s time to go to sleep, to rest, restore, rejuvenate. Mmm...looking forward to it." Head on soft pillow, snuggling into blanket, blessed peace, escape from chaos, letting go. Thoughts tuned by choice to happy memories, optimistic tomorrows, then...nothing. "Zzzzzzz."

Poems about Life's Journey

This poem about life's journey describes life's ups and downs.

That’s Life

A world full of corrupt, evil-doers can blind you to the decent people… loyal, pleasurable friends, honest, trustworthy strangers. A world full of immorality can make you forget the rewards of clinging to what is right. A world full of nastiness can block your awareness of all that’s nice in your life. Protect yourself against the bad. Embrace and enjoy the good. That’s life. 

Life's journey is full of mistakes. Most people feel bad about mistakes. The smart ones us them to make their life's journey better, asking "What can I learn from this?"

Valuable Mistakes

A mistake is a valuable teacher with a lesson you can use for life. When you make an error, ask yourself: What can I learn from this? Write this new knowledge down. Apply it to make your life better. A better life from a beautiful mistake.

Stress Less

To ease stress, stop trying to get from people what they cannot or will not give. If they can’t or won’t do what you want if they can’t or won’t be who you want, trying to change them creates stress, frustration, sadness and anger. You can flee from them, or you can choose to accept them the way they are, living your life the way you want as much as you can, getting your needs met in other ways.

This poem about life is a mood lifter. It's a life poem that encourages you to look at the big picture, rather than just what' s happening right now.

Dark Times Life has dark times that make you stronger and smarter when the light returns.

This poem about life talks about how to deal with the seasons of life.

Gently look at the past. Enjoy pleasant memories. Learn from the past so you don’t repeat mistakes. Rein in the past when it creates sadness or anger. You are in control of what you choose to think, see and feel. Never let the past withdraw energy from the present.

Live in the moment. Stop to see, hear, smell, taste, feel. Wallow in the sensual pleasures of the present. Take time to escape the past and the future. Set yourself free to live now, right now.

Plan for the future, but don’t overdo it. Some things you can handle when they come, if they come. Resist canceling the present moment by overplanning the future. Peace is not needing to know everything that will happen.

Grab today. Squeeze all the juice out of it. Know you did well.

Poem about Life Struggles

Poems about life struggles are popular, so here's a free verse poem about life  that can help you move past the pain.

Sometimes life hands us burdens we can't change, but we try anyway, using up a lot of energy and experiencing a lot of pain in the process.

Accept things you can't change. Accept, accept, accept. Then take that time and energy you've been wasting and focus it on something that will bring you pleasure.

You deserve it.

Poems about life always include problems with other people. Here's a cautionary message to help you be careful.

SOME PEOPLE ARE LIKE THE DARK. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT'S IN THERE THAT COULD HURT YOU UNTIL IT'S TOO LATE.

Those who write popular sayings about life always include the advice to let go of the past, plan but don't worry about the future, and always live in the present.

Take life one day at a time. Enjoy what there is to enjoy TODAY. The past cannot be changed. Fill your life with new pleasures TODAY. Stop worrying about a future that may or may not happen. See the exciting possibilities of TODAY.

Say, out loud, right now: I will make the most of TODAY!

The best sayings to live by come from the Bible.

DO NOT WORRY ABOUT TOMORROW, FOR TOMORROW WILL TAKE CARE OF ITSELF. EACH DAY HAS ENOUGH TROUBLE OF ITS OWN

Matthew 6:34

Curious about the Christian religion? What is Christianity? What is a Christian? What is Christian faith? To see the answers and find out how to become a Christian, check out this Web site .

There are more than 1,000 poems at this site.

Always remember to check out our  SITE MAP to access all of our poems.

• Terms of Use

Thanks for reading these poems about life! These life poems are free for use on personal greeting cards, provided that the author's name and our Web site address, www.poemsource.com, appear beneath the poem. (It can be small print; just so it's there) All other uses require permission. See our  Terms of Use  for details. 

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10 Of The Best Poems About Life Ever To Have Been Written

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Great poetry manages to express the very essence of its subject – and when it comes to life, that’s quite the challenge.

To capture something that is so varied, but that binds us together as brothers and sisters in arms takes real skill and craft.

Luckily for us, the best poets through the ages have penned many a classic and beautiful verse to help us understand – nay decipher – life in all its glory.

Here are 10 of the most deep and meaningful poems about life. Some long, some short, some famous, some less so.

If viewing on a mobile device, we recommend turning the screen landscape to ensure correct formatting of each poem as you read it.

10 Beautiful Poems About Life

1. a psalm of life by henry wadsworth longfellow.

This rhyming poem is the spark that can reignite the fires within you. It challenges you to go out and live your life in the present moment as a “ hero ” and leave your mark on this world.

Act! Take Action! Be Active!

Tell 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-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s 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 labor and to wait.

2. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Life is made up of a succession of choices. This famous poem begins at a fork in a wooded path and ushers the reader along one “road” as a means of explaining that we must choose one way or another and not dilly-dally in life.

No matter which way we go, we cannot foresee where it will take us, nor how the other would have turned out.

We can do our best to make good decisions, but we’ll never truly know how much worse or better an alternative might have been. And so, we mustn’t regret the road not taken.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

3. If— by Rudyard Kipling

Life will challenge you – physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. This poem calls out for you to endure, keep going through, and rise above the adversity you will face.

It inspires , it motivates, it provides an example to follow. It’s like a recipe for life – and it provides a most satisfying meal.

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

4. Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas

Death is inevitable, and as this poem states (‘death’ being ‘dark’), it is right. But the author urges us not to yield to death too easily and to fight for life ‘til our last breath.

It reminds us in a powerful and persuasive way that life is fleeting and we ought to make the most of the time we have on this planet.

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

5. Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

This prose poem is like an instruction manual for life. It is hugely uplifting and affirms life as something to be journeyed through with integrity and compassion.

It touches upon many areas of existence from our relationships and careers to ageing and our mental well-being.

Truly, a deep and meaningful composition if ever there were one.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

6. Leisure by W. H. Davies

This short poem could not be more pertinent to the world of today if it tried. It counsels us to take the time to “stand and stare” or, in other words, to slow down and observe all the beauty that surrounds you.

Don’t let the world rush by without notice; open your eyes and see – really see – it in all its glory. Make space in your life for this simplest act of leisure.

What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And 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 can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.

7. Opportunity by Berton Braley

You may ask yourself what the point of life is if all you do is repeat what others have done before you. This poem serves to remind us that the world never tires of creation and that you are a creator.

It talks of great acts and great deeds, but also of love and romance and laughter and loyalty – things that every man or woman is capable of.

Value what you have to contribute to this world.

With doubt and dismay you are smitten You think there’s no chance for you, son? Why, the best books haven’t been written, The best race hasn’t been run, The best score hasn’t been made yet, The best song hasn’t been sung, The best tune hasn’t been played yet, Cheer up, for the world is young! No chance? Why the world is just eager For things that you ought to create, It’s store of true wealth is still meager, It’s needs are incessant and great, It yearns for more power and beauty, More laughter and love and romance, More loyalty, labor and duty, No chance–why there’s nothing but chance! For the best verse hasn’t been rhymed yet, The best house hasn’t been planned, The highest peak hasn’t been climbed yet, The mightiest rivers aren’t spanned, Don’t worry and fret, faint hearted, The chances have just begun, For the best jobs haven’t been started, The best work hasn’t been done.

8. What Life Should Be by Pat A. Fleming

Stepping away from the famous and classic works, we find this gem of a poem by an amateur writer (just goes to show that anyone can create pieces of great meaning).

Much like those more well-known poems above, it talks us through how we ought to try to live our lives. It’s simple, yet inspiring.

To learn while still a child What this life is meant to be. To know it goes beyond myself, It’s so much more than me. To overcome the tragedies, To survive the hardest times. To face those moments filled with pain, And still manage to be kind. To fight for those who can’t themselves, To always share my light. With those who wander in the dark, To love with all my might. To still stand up with courage, Though standing on my own. To still get up and face each day, Even when I feel alone. To try to understand the ones That no one cares to know. And make them feel some value When the world has let them go. To be an anchor, strong and true, That person loyal to the end. To be a constant source of hope To my family and my friends. To live a life of decency, To share my heart and soul. To always say I’m sorry When I’ve harmed both friend and foe. To be proud of whom I’ve tried to be, And this life I chose to live. To make the most of every day By giving all I have to give. To me that’s what this life should be, To me that’s what it’s for. To take what God has given me And make it so much more To live a life that matters, To be someone of great worth. To love and be loved in return And make my mark on Earth.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/what-life-should-be

9. What Is Our Life? by Sir Walter Raleigh

This is the shortest poem on the list at just 10 lines, but it encapsulates how life should not be taken seriously . Instead, the author suggests that life is a comedy and that the earth is our stage.

So what should we do? Act well. Make people laugh. Play our part in the world until the curtain falls and we depart this life.

What is our life? The play of passion. Our mirth? The music of division: Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be, Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy. The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is, Who sits and views whosoe’er doth act amiss.  The graves which hide us from the scorching sun Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus playing post we to our latest rest, And then we die in earnest, not in jest.

10. The Builders by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We started with a poem by this author and so we shall end with another. Here, we are taught that life sits atop the building blocks of time and that our actions today give rise to our tomorrows.

We are the architects and builders of our lives and if we want to attain our own version of success, we must put in the hard work and energy.

All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build. Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen. In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire, and clean. Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb. Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place. Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky.

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About The Author

Steve Phillips-Waller is the founder and editor of A Conscious Rethink. He has written extensively on the topics of life, relationships, and mental health for more than 8 years.

34+ Poems About Life: Beautiful Journey in Verses

Beautiful poems about life will inspire, uplift, and illuminate your the path. From the ups and downs to the in-betweens, poetry has the power to heal, inspire, and elevate your spirits.

Life unfolds its tales of joy, challenges, dreams, and triumphs with each passing moment. Inspirational life poems can express the inexpressible, resonate with your soul, and help you see the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Famous Poems About Life

Risk by anais nin.

And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

Hope is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me.

The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives might be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Life Is by Mother Teresa

Life is an opportunity, benefit from it. Life is beauty, admire it. Life is a dream, realize it. Life is a challenge, meet it. Life is a duty, complete it. Life is a game, play it. Life is a promise, fulfill it. Life is sorrow, overcome it. Life is a song, sing it.

Life is a struggle, accept it. Life is a tragedy, confront it. Life is an adventure, dare it. Life is luck, make it. Life is life, fight for it.

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean— the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down— who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

The Guest House by Rumi

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.

Sonnet 29 by William Shakespeare

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

I took my Power in my Hand by Emily Dickinson

I took my Power in my Hand— And went against the World— ‘Twas not so much as David—had— But I—was twice as bold—

I aimed by Pebble—but Myself Was all the one that fell— Was it Goliath—was too large— Or was myself—too small?

Transformative Poems About Life

O me o life by walt whitman.

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d, Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me, Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined, The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

What Is This Life by Sir Walter Raleigh

What is our life? A play of passion; Our mirth the music of division; Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be, Where we are dressed for this short comedy. Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is, That sits and marks still who doth act amiss; Our graves that hide us from the searching sun Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus march we, playing, to our latest rest, Only we die in earnest – that’s no jest.

Stream Of Life by Rabindranath Tagore

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Each life converges to some centre by Emily Dickinson

Each life converges to some centre Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be, Too fair For credibility’s temerity To dare.

Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven, To reach Were hopeless as the rainbow’s raiment To touch,

Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance; How high Unto the saints’ slow diligence The sky!

Ungained, it may be, by a life’s low venture, But then, Eternity enables the endeavoring Again.

A Question by Robert Frost

A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth.

Leisure by William Henry Davies

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

No time to stand beneath the boughs And 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 can Enrich that smile her eyes began.

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

Life by Sarojini Naidu

CHILDREN, ye have not lived, to you it seems Life is a lovely stalactite of dreams, Or carnival of careless joys that leap About your hearts like billows on the deep In flames of amber and of amethyst.

Children, ye have not lived, ye but exist Till some resistless hour shall rise and move Your hearts to wake and hunger after love, And thirst with passionate longing for the things That burn your brows with blood-red sufferings.

Till ye have battled with great grief and fears, And borne the conflict of dream-shattering years, Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife, Children, ye have not lived: for this is life.

My Inner Life by Robert W. Service

‘Tis true my garments threadbare are, And sorry poor I seem; But inly I am richer far Than any poet’s dream. For I’ve a hidden life no one Can ever hope to see; A sacred sanctuary none May share with me.

Aloof I stand from out the strife, Within my heart a song; By virtue of my inner life I to myself belong. Against man—ruling I rebel, Yet do not fear defeat, For to my secret citadel I may retreat.

Oh you who have an inner life Beyond this dismal day With wars and evil rumours rife, Go blessedly your way. Your refuge hold inviolate; Unto yourself be true, And shield serene from sordid fate The Real You.

If— by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

The Small Claim Of Bones by Cindy Williams Gutiérrez

What my body knows is not a lie it’s not a lie I tell you it is not it’s nothing short of truth and nothing larger my past lodges in my marrow and if I wanted a transplant There’d be no match Others’ sorrows dwarf my petty traumas still these bones are mine when they creak when they moan when they whine there’s only one thing I can claim these bones are mine I tell you they are mine and kind to abandon no thing that makes this pulse no one but me.

Long Poems About Life

Life by charlotte brontë.

Life, believe, is not a dream So dark as sages say; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, But these are transient all; If the shower will make the roses bloom, O why lament its fall? Rapidly, merrily, Life’s sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily Enjoy them as they fly! What though Death at times steps in, And calls our Best away? What though sorrow seems to win, O’er hope, a heavy sway? Yet Hope again elastic springs, Unconquered, though she fell; Still buoyant are her golden wings, Still strong to bear us well. Manfully, fearlessly, The day of trial bear, For gloriously, victoriously, Can courage quell despair!

A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist. Tell 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-morrow Find us farther than to-day.

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

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

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,— act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead!

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

Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s 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 labor and to wait.

Life Doesn’t Frighten Me Poem by Maya Angelou

Shadows on the wall Noises down the hall Life doesn’t frighten me at all

Bad dogs barking loud Big ghosts in a cloud Life doesn’t frighten me at all

Mean old Mother Goose Lions on the loose They don’t frighten me at all

Dragons breathing flame On my counterpane That doesn’t frighten me at all.

I go boo Make them shoo I make fun Way they run I won’t cry So they fly I just smile They go wild

Life doesn’t frighten me at all.

Tough guys fight All alone at night Life doesn’t frighten me at all.

Panthers in the park Strangers in the dark No, they don’t frighten me at all.

That new classroom where Boys all pull my hair (Kissy little girls With their hair in curls) They don’t frighten me at all.

Don’t show me frogs and snakes And listen for my scream, If I’m afraid at all It’s only in my dreams.

I’ve got a magic charm That I keep up my sleeve I can walk the ocean floor And never have to breathe.

Life doesn’t frighten me at all Not at all Not at all.

Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Opportunity by Berton Braley

With doubt and dismay you are smitten You think there’s no chance for you, son? Why, the best books haven’t been written The best race hasn’t been run, The best score hasn’t been made yet, The best song hasn’t been sung, The best tune hasn’t been played yet, Cheer up, for the world is young!

No chance? Why the world is just eager For things that you ought to create Its store of true wealth is still meagre Its needs are incessant and great, It yearns for more power and beauty More laughter and love and romance, More loyalty, labor and duty, No chance- why there’s nothing but chance!

For the best verse hasn’t been rhymed yet, The best house hasn’t been planned, The highest peak hasn’t been climbed yet, The mightiest rivers aren’t spanned, Don’t worry and fret, faint hearted, The chances have just begun, For the Best jobs haven’t been started, The Best work hasn’t been done.

The Builders by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky.

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Life is a Privilege by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life is a privilege. Its youthful days Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays. To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire, To feed with dreams the heart’s perpetual fire; To thrill with virtuous passions and to glow With great ambitions–in one hour to know The depths and heights of feeling–God! in truth How beautiful, how beautiful is youth!

Life is a privilege. Like some rare rose The mysteries of the human mind unclose. What marvels lie in earth and air and sea, What stores of knowledge wait our opening key, What sunny roads of happiness lead out Beyond the realms of indolence and doubt, And what large pleasures smile upon and bless The busy avenues of usefulness.

Life is a privilege. Though noontide fades And shadows fall along the winding glades; Though joy-blooms wither in the autumn air, Yet the sweet scent of sympathy is there. Pale sorrow leads us closer to our kind, And in the serious hours of life we find Depths in the soul of men which lend new worth And majesty to this brief span of earth.

Life is a privilege. If some sad fate Sends us alone to seek the exit gate; If men forsake us as the shadows fall, Still does the supreme privilege of all Come in that reaching upward of the soul To find the welcoming presence at the goal, And in the knowledge that our feet have trod Paths that lead from and must lead back to God.

The Room of My Life by Anne Sexton

Here, in the room of my life the objects keep changing. Ashtrays to cry into, the suffering brother of the wood walls, the forty-eight keys of the typewriter each an eyeball that is never shut, the books, each a contestant in a beauty contest, the black chair, a dog coffin made of Naugahyde, the sockets on the wall waiting like a cave of bees, the gold rug a conversation of heels and toes, the fireplace a knife waiting for someone to pick it up, the sofa, exhausted with the exertion of a whore, the phone two flowers taking root in its crotch, the doors opening and closing like sea clams, the lights poking at me, lighting up both the soil and the laugh. The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart. Each day I feed the world out there although birds explode right and left. I feed the world in here too, offering the desk puppy biscuits. However, nothing is just what it seems to be. My objects dream and wear new costumes, compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands and the sea that bangs in my throat.

Life is Fine by Langston Hughes

I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered! I came up twice and cried! If that water hadn’t a-been so cold I might’ve sunk and died.

I took the elevator Sixteen floors above the ground. I thought about my baby And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered! I stood there and I cried! If it hadn’t a-been so high I might’ve jumped and died.

So since I’m still here livin’, I guess I will live on. I could’ve died for love— But for livin’ I was born

Though you may hear me holler, And you may see me cry— I’ll be dogged, sweet baby, If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

Suppose by E. E. Cummings

suppose Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

young death sits in a café smiling,a piece of money held between his thumb and first finger

(i say “will he buy flowers” to you and “Death is young life wears velour trousers life totters,life has a beard” i

say to you who are silent.—”Do you see Life?he is there and here, or that, or this or nothing or an old man 3 thirds asleep,on his head flowers,always crying to nobody something about les roses les bluets yes, will He buy? Les belles bottes—oh hear ,pas chères”)

and my love slowly answered I think so. But I think I see someone else

there is a lady,whose name is Afterwards she is sitting beside young death,is slender; likes flowers.

Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: ‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves; And mid-May’s eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

Dockery and Son by Philip Larkin

‘Dockery was junior to you, Wasn’t he?’ said the Dean. ‘His son’s here now.’ Death-suited, visitant, I nod. ‘And do You keep in touch with—’ Or remember how Black-gowned, unbreakfasted, and still half-tight We used to stand before that desk, to give ‘Our version’ of ‘these incidents last night’? I try the door of where I used to live:

Locked. The lawn spreads dazzlingly wide. A known bell chimes. I catch my train, ignored. Canal and clouds and colleges subside Slowly from view. But Dockery, good Lord, Anyone up today must have been born In ’43, when I was twenty-one. If he was younger, did he get this son At nineteen, twenty? Was he that withdrawn

High-collared public-schoolboy, sharing rooms With Cartwright who was killed? Well, it just shows How much … How little … Yawning, I suppose I fell asleep, waking at the fumes And furnace-glares of Sheffield, where I changed, And ate an awful pie, and walked along The platform to its end to see the ranged Joining and parting lines reflect a strong

Unhindered moon. To have no son, no wife, No house or land still seemed quite natural. Only a numbness registered the shock Of finding out how much had gone of life, How widely from the others. Dockery, now: Only nineteen, he must have taken stock Of what he wanted, and been capable Of … No, that’s not the difference: rather, how

Convinced he was he should be added to! Why did he think adding meant increase? To me it was dilution. Where do these Innate assumptions come from? Not from what We think truest, or most want to do: Those warp tight-shut, like doors. They’re more a style Our lives bring with them: habit for a while, Suddenly they harden into all we’ve got

And how we got it; looked back on, they rear Like sand-clouds, thick and close, embodying For Dockery a son, for me nothing, Nothing with all a son’s harsh patronage. Life is first boredom, then fear. Whether or not we use it, it goes, And leaves what something hidden from us chose, And age, and then the only end of age.

Ode To Broken Things by Pablo Neruda

Things get broken at home like they were pushed by an invisible, deliberate smasher. It’s not my hands or yours It wasn’t the girls with their hard fingernails or the motion of the planet. It wasn’t anything or anybody

It wasn’t the wind It wasn’t the orange-colored noontime Or night over the earth It wasn’t even the nose or the elbow Or the hips getting bigger or the ankle or the air. The plate broke, the lamp fell All the flower pots tumbled over one by one. That pot

which overflowed with scarlet in the middle of October, it got tired from all the violets and another empty one rolled round and round and round all through winter until it was only the powder of a flowerpot, a broken memory, shining dust.

And that clock whose sound was the voice of our lives, the secret thread of our weeks, which released one by one, so many hours for honey and silence for so many births and jobs, that clock also fell and its delicate blue guts vibrated among the broken glass its wide heart unsprung.

Life goes on grinding up glass, wearing out clothes making fragments breaking down forms and what lasts through time is like an island on a ship in the sea, perishable surrounded by dangerous fragility by merciless waters and threats.

Let’s put all our treasures together — the clocks, plates, cups cracked by the cold — into a sack and carry them to the sea and let our possessions sink into one alarming breaker that sounds like a river. May whatever breaks be reconstructed by the sea with the long labor of its tides. So many useless things which nobody broke but which got broken anyway.

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The Rhythms of Life and the Tracks

Metaphoric journeys, the lure of the unknown.

Trains, with their mechanical symphony, evoke a sense of rhythm that mirrors the heartbeat of existence. Just as life's experiences shape us, the clickety-clack of wheels on tracks leads us forward, carrying us through the ups and downs of our journey. The poem "Train Rhythm" by Langston Hughes brilliantly captures this essence:

Train Rhythm by Langston Hughes

Train ride Rhythm of the wheels The iron track Sudden night Only the song Of the steel Only the song Of the wheels Rainy dawn And the song Of the wheels Again.

In these few lines, Hughes distills the essence of a train ride, emphasizing the repetitive nature of life's challenges and the importance of finding solace in those rhythms.

Trains are not merely physical entities; they symbolize the intricate passages we navigate in life. The train's journey from station to station mirrors our own journeys from one phase of life to another. In "Traveling Through the Dark," poet William Stafford uses a train as a metaphor for the choices we make on our life's path:

Traveling Through the Dark by William Stafford

Traveling through the dark I found a deer dead on the edge of the Wilson River road. It is usually best to roll them into the canyon: that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead. By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing; she had stiffened already, almost cold. I dragged her off; she was large in the belly. My fingers touching her side brought me the reason— her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting, alive, still, never to be born. Beside that mountain road I hesitated. The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights; under the hood purred the steady engine. I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red; around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

In this haunting poem, Stafford confronts the choices we face and the moral dilemmas that arise during our journey through life. The train becomes a symbol of the path we are on, and the decisions we make can have profound consequences.

Trains also evoke a sense of adventure and the allure of the unknown. They beckon us to explore beyond the boundaries of our comfort zones. In "The Golden Journey to Samarkand," poet James Elroy Flecker beautifully captures the spirit of wanderlust inspired by trains:

The Golden Journey to Samarkand by James Elroy Flecker

We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage And swear that beauty lives though lilies die, We poets of the proud old lineage Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why— What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest, Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales, And winds and shadows fall towards the West. And there the world’s first huge white-bearded kings In dim glades sleeping, murmur while they sleep; And closer round their breasts the ivy clings, Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep. And how beguile you? Death has no repose Warmer and deeper than that Orient sand Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

Flecker's poem speaks to the allure of distant lands and the irresistible call to explore the unknown. Just as trains carry us to new destinations, the poem transports readers to a realm of imagination and adventure.

Poems about trains and life encapsulate the essence of our own journeys, reminding us of the rhythmic nature of existence, the choices we face, and the allure of the unknown. Through the vivid imagery and poignant metaphors found in train poetry, we gain a deeper understanding of the transformative power of life's journey. So, next time you board a train, take a moment to reflect on the profound symbolism it holds and perhaps even pen your own ode to the train that carries you through this ever-changing voyage we call life.

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The Journey

By mary oliver.

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice— though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do— determined to save the only life you could save.

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The Practice

Counselling and psychotherapy in central london, poems of transformation: the journey, by mary oliver.

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice– though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do– determined to save the only life you could save.

–Mary Oliver

The Journey is a poem of transformation. It speaks of the moment when you dare . When you dare to listen to your own truth and set sail into a new life.

It is a poem in which you might catch a reflection of your own story. It invites you to find yourself and your own experience at its centre–the experience of a kind of knowing . A knowing that may lie dormant perhaps for many years, then one day suddenly bursts into life. A knowing that reveals the true journey of your life.

Perhaps this all sounds a bit too dramatic—but this poem can speak to anyone, wherever you are on your journey. Yet it is not quite enough merely to know . You have to take that first step in the dark, you have to begin though you are uncertain and filled with doubt. The mystic-poet Rumi said,

Start walking, start walking towards Shams, Your legs will get heavy and tired. Then comes the moment of feeling the wings you’ve grown lifting.

It can take a lifetime to prepare for the moment when this kind of knowing comes. A lifetime of being softened, broken down, and cooked in grief or mourning, while not essential, tends to pave the way into a new life for many. A new life requires a death of some kind, a letting go. What you let go of is a way of being in the world that you have outgrown.

And yet there are no guarantees. You cannot know where the road will take you. Nevertheless embarking upon the ‘road less travelled’ is an essential human experience. On some deep level every human heart yearns to follow its archetypal path.

“The Journey” speaks to the birth of a new self, a deeper identity that was in you all along. This new self does not flee from the world, but walks deeply into it. You cannot know where its voice will lead you. But you alone can respond to its call.

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• Poems about Life Struggles

The Journey Of Life

Poem about life struggles, a nostalgic look at life and how it can be personified..

Who would be the voice of this poem God or a Mother?

Share your story! (2)

Published by Family Friend Poems January 2009 with permission of the Author.

I was the sunshine that cradled your day that tried to push the clouds away I was the sand that ran between your toes when you were four years old that soon became the rain you danced in from seven to eleven And I watched you grow in the glow of a moon that beamed when you turned thirteen How unfair you thought I'd become when you turned twenty-one because you lost a few dreams But I stayed awake when you were out late I was the stars 'till you turned twenty-eight And when you found your love "the one" I was the glimmer in the eye, the blue sky, the sun Then you turned thirty-one I became cloud, thunder, and shower there weren't enough minutes to put in your hour You forgot how to dance in the rain 'till you turned forty all you did was complain Then you took off your shoes and went back to the sand I was now the warmth of your child's hand At forty-three you spent more time with me You began to understand And when you stood fifty years old you stayed warm to me even though at times I was cold How close we grew when you turned sixty-two The breeze was I that hung your grandchild's kite in the sky And I'm sorry I made you sad when I took "the one" away But I was proud when you pushed aside that cloud and cradled 'me' in the sun for the remainder of our day

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I read this and it gave me some inspiration on what I should write my journey poem for Language Arts. Thank you. <3 Lolz

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For National Poetry Month, tell NPR about a poem that's changed your life

Suzanne Nuyen

The Academy of American Poets launched National Poetry Month in April 1996 to celebrate the role of poets and poetry in American culture. Since then, it's become one of the largest literary celebrations in the world.

This year, NPR wants to know about the poems and poets that have shaped your life. Have you read a poet who changed your outlook on life? Has a poem stuck with you over the years, or brought you pure joy? Perhaps you are a poet yourself. Tell us about how poetry has impacted your life, and you could be featured in an upcoming edition of the Up First newsletter.

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With your responses, please tell us your first and last name, age and where you're from. Please share a voice recording of yourself reading a poem if you'd like.

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Piquant Short Stories and Succulent Poems

Publisher description.

Piquant Short Stories and Succulent Poems is about a journey through life as a child and an adult. People of all ages and backgrounds can learn from someone else's growing trials. Some of the poems and short stories can help someone who may not have a close friend or has a nonexistent relative. Piquant Short Stories and Succulent Poems is like a little guide with a twist of laughter. This book serves as a relief for me through hurt and smiles. It will also provide enlightenment and insight to another reader who has purchased it. The south was (Gwendolyn Roscoe) aka G. Roscoe's home region. She was raised by her mother, who was a cafeteria aid, and her father was a sharecropper and a construction worker. She graduated from Roxbury Community College in Boston, Massachusetts, with a degree in Associate of Science. Her ninth-grade teacher, Mrs. Charley, encouraged her to write. At age 13, she produced her first piece. Her first plays were Slaves Not for Sale and Our Trip to China, a short narrative. Her enthusiasm for writing increased tenfold. The book "Piquant Short Stories and Succulent Poems" is a combination of both fiction and non-fiction. "I hope you enjoy reading my short stories and poems!"