How about him ?---Pablo Neruda
Since Pablo Neruda was mentioned by some members on the bookforum, I took up couple of poetry books by him the other day, and .....really liked his poems. Read this(ignore the fleck of the translation, just follow the image created as you read):
IMAGE
I am keeping the name of a woman
I barely knew locked up: it's in a box,
and now and then I pick out the syllables
that are rusted and creak like rickety pianos:
soon those trees come out, and then the rain,
the jasmine, the long victorious braids
of a woman now without a body, lost,
drowned in time as in a slow lake:
there her eyes went out like coals.
Nevertheless, there is in dissolution
the sweet scent of deth, buried arteries,
or simply a life aomng other lives.
It smells good to turn our face
only in the direciton of purity:
to feel the pulse of the raining sky
of our diminished youth:
to twirl a ring in the emptiness,
to cry out to heaven.
I regret not having time for my lives,
even for the slightest thing, the souvenir left in a compartment
of a train, in a bedroom or at the brewery,
like an umbrella left there in the rain:
perhaps these are the imperceptible lips
that speak like the cadence of the sudden
sea, in a careless moment on the road.
For that reason, Irene or Rose, Mary or Leonore,
empty boxes, dry flowers pressed in a book,
they call out from their lonely corners
and we need to open them, to hear the one without a voice,
to see those things that do not exist.
From Winter Garden
By the way, if you are interested, go check allpoetry.com.
Note:
sorry, Infinity, for my previous quote (I leave it there anyway) which seems to be inappropriate. I was being absentminded, so didn't notice that you wanted one for your ENGLISH class.
How about William Wordsworth,
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, to perish never...
or Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
Let us, then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
.....
*****
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted,
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters returning
Back to their springs, like the rain shall fill them full of refreshment;
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.