Some poems I've been thinking about

I've been rather morose lately, so I find myself thinking of somewhat unhappy poems. The first I remember from 8th grade English class. We were in a war then, too. The second, I stumbled across in a poetry book I bought from a used book store in San Francisco (Acorn something or other, I think it was called).

The Tear - Lord Byron

  When Friendship or Love
  Our sympathies move;
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
   The lips may beguile,
   With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear:

   Too oft is a smile
   But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation, or fear;
   Give me the soft sigh,
   Whilst the soultelling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear:

   Mild Charity's glow,
   To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
   Compassion will melt,
   Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear:

   The man, doom'd to sail
   With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
   As he bends o'er the wave
   Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear;

   The Soldier braves death
   For a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;
   But he raises the foe
   When in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

   If, with high-bounding pride,
   He return to his bride!
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear;
   All his toils are repaid
   When, embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

   Sweet scene of my youth!
   Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Where Love chas'd each fast-fleeting year
   Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,
   For a last look I turn'd,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear:

   Though my vows I can pour,
   To my Mary no more,
My Mary, to Love once so dear,
   In the shade of her bow'r,
   I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

   By another possest,
   May she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:
   With a sigh I resign,
   What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

   Ye friends of my heart,
   Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:
   If again we shall meet,
   In this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

   When my soul wings her flight
   To the regions of night,
And my corse shall recline on its bier;
   As ye pass by the tomb,
   Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.


A Poison Tree - William Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.

And finally, a poem whose first introduction I cannot remember, but have always loved.

To Sleep - John Keats

O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
   Shutting with careful fingers and benign
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embower'd from the light,
   Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
   In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws
   Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, or the passèd day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
   Save me from curious conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole
   Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards,
And seal the hushèd casket of my soul.