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                          I Am!

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the best
Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

John Clare (1793 – 1864) was an English poet. The son of a farm laborer born in the English village of Helpstonhe. He became known for his celebrations of the English countryside and sorrows at its disruption. With little formal education, Clare wrote numerous poems and prose pieces. His work was first published in 1820 with more published posthumously.  He is now seen as a major 19th-century poet after his work underwent major re-evaluation in the late 20th century.

Through the eyes
of the beholder,
her beauty came through.
She has skin like satin,
to name just a few.

Her lips the color of
the reddest rose,
the eyes were, as if,
made of coal.

When she smiled, her teeth,
white as new snow.
She was short, but was
proportioned, just so.

You would never leave her,
for there's no place to go.

When April's here and meadows wide
Once more with spring's sweet growths are pied
I close each book, drop each pursuit,
And past the brook, no longer mute,
I joyous roam the countryside.

Look, here the violets shy abide
And there the mating robins hide—
How keen my sense, how acute,
When April's here!

And list! down where the shimmering tide
Hard by that farthest hill doth glide,
Rise faint strains from shepherd's flute,
Pan's pipes and Berecyntian lute.
Each sight, each sound fresh joys provide
When April's here.

This poem by Jessie Redmon Fause is in the public domain.

Jessie Redmon Fauset (1882 – 1961) was a poet, essayist, novelist, educator and editor from the Harlem Renaissance. Her literary work helped sculpt African-American literature in the 1920s as she focused on portraying a true image of African-American life and history. She wrote several novels, including There Is Confusion (1924) and Plum Bun (1928). Fauset also served as the editor of The Crisis from 1919–26.... Wikipedia

Be Independent - Do not be dependent on others . 

The first known use was in the 1844 book  " The Settlers of Canada by Frederick Marryat. There is also an 1850 poem by Sarah T. Bolton titled "Paddle Your Own Canoe",

A Comment by MFish

Your avatar
MFish • 03/06/2023 at 02:42AM • Like 1 Profile

Certainly. Hard to do with all the dependency issues we face today

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