These are a couple of my favorite poems   SONNET 116 William Shakespeare   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; O no: it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken: It is the star to every wandering bark, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's 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.   IN MEMORIAM A.H.H. XXVI Alfred, Lord Tennyson   I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods;   I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time, Unfettered by the sense of crime, To whom a conscience never wakes;   Nor, what may county itself as blest, The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; Nor any want-begotten rest.   I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most: "Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all...   TREES Joyce Kilmer   I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree;   A tree  whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;   A tree that looks at God all day And lifts her leafy arms to pray;   A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair;   Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.   Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.   STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING Robert Frost   Whose woods these are I think I know, His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.   My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods adn frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.   He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.   The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.   THE TIGER William Blake   Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?   In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?   And what shoulder, and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet?   What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terror clasp?   When the stars threw down their spears And watered heaven with their tears. Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?   Tiger! Tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame they fearful symmetry?   I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD William Wordsworth   I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluterring and dancing in the breeze.   Continuous as the stars that shines And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing theur heads in sprightly dance.   The waves beside them danced; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee; A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company: I gazed--and gazed--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought.   For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.   Here's one of my own:   THE DARK PRINCE Tin   Embracing the moonlit blanket of Night, Noble and gallant a dark figure emerges. Deep in the shadows  who've never seen light; Yonder he walks  where the mist converges. Mystical Prince with red rose in hand; Image of an immortal knight in armor shining. O Phantom of anonymity living in a make-believe land, Nourish and imbue the love of a love longing.