Find and share the perfect poems.
Be it dark; be it bright;
Be it pain; be it rest;
Be it wrong; be it right—
It must be for the best.
Some good must somewhere wait,
And sometime joy and pain
Must cease to alternate,
Or else we live in vain.
From The Poems of Alexander Lawrence Posey (Crane & Co., 1910). This poem is in the public domain.
A winged bit of Indian sky
Strayed hither from its home on high.
Far, far, far are my silver waters drawn;
The hills embrace me loth to let me go;
The maidens think me fair to look upon,
And trees lean over glad to hear me flow.
Thro’ field and valley, green because of me,
I wander, wander to the distant sea.
I picked up shells with ruby lips
That spoke in whispers of the sea,
Upon a time, and watched the ships,
On white wings, sail away to sea.
The ships I saw go out that day
Live misty—dim in memory;
But still I hear, from far away,
The blue waves breaking ceaselessly.