My favorite poems by favorite poets


                  – 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 !


Sonnet 116

                 by  William Shakespeare (1564-1616) 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

Oh no! It is an ever fixèd mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken.

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickles compass come.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.



How Do I Love Thee…

                  by: Elizabeth Barrett Browning


How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love with a passion put to use

In my old grief’s, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.


The Road Not Taken

                by: Robert Lee 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.



Veenai yadi Nee Enaku

                    –  by Bharathiyar


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