He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.
by WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827)
Public Domain Poetry
Tag Archives: Joy
life, death & rollick
maybe we can all be pretty
& live our lives in sumptuous sin
the world’s troubles all so petty
ain’t worth a wrinkle on our smooth skin
futility is the language of
those who damn themselves
let’s make sprees & merry whoopees
over the slough of despond
& even when old age outruns us
ageless wonder inside shall bloom
we’ll indulge in all the fun and fuss
ignore that tired-from-waiting tomb
futility is the language of
those who damn themselves
let’s make sprees & merry whoopees
over the slough of despond
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
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TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Christmas. by Thomas Frederick Young
Old father Time, his cruel scythe
Has swung full oft around,
Since last the merry Christmas, bells
Rang out their cheerful sound.
With cruel vigor he has held
His great, impartial sway,
And many thousands mown to earth,
Who saw last Christmas day.
For some have left this world for aye,
Who dwelt with us last year;
Glad voices heard amongst us then,
We never more shall hear.
But still we’ll build our Christmas fires,
And sing our Christmas songs,
And for one day forget our griefs,
Our failures and our wrongs.
Then ring, ye joyful bells, ring out;
Ye crashing cymbals fall;
And for old Christmas, hale and stout,
Sound up, ye harps and all.
Let music’s loud and sweetest strain
Beat from our hearts each ill;
Let thoughts of those assuage our pain,
Who are around us still.
Oh, winsome maid, oh, hearty youth,
I urge you on to glee,
For, in your innocence and truth,
You all are dear to me.
Nor youth, nor age should cherish gloom,
And voices oft should sing,
So give the gladsome voices room,
And let the joy-bells ring.
by THOMAS FREDERICK YOUNG (1892-1940)
Public Domain Poetry
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briar recusant
as much as i fear dying
i’m leaning into persistence
and yes i will endure
as much as i know the rules
i’m leaning into the impromptu
and yes i will dance and play
as much as i remember
i’m leaning into here and now
and yes i will believe for tomorrow
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023
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TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Solitude. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all;
There are none to decline your nectar’d wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX (1855-1919)
Public Domain Poetry
unbolt me 