Friendship Poetry

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Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We\'ll tak a cup o\' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye\'ll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I\'ll be mine!
And we\'ll tak a cup o\' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We\'ll tak a cup o\' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu\'d the gowans fine;
But we\'ve wandered mony a weary fit
Sin\' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We\'ll tak a cup o\' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i\' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin\' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We\'ll tak a cup o\' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And there\'s a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie\'s a hand o\' thine!
And we\'ll tak a right guid-willie waught

For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We\'ll tak a cup o\' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Robert Burns

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Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull\'d by the moonlight have all pass\'d away!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life\'s busy throng.

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea,
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E\'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Stephen Foster

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Now must I these three praise
Three women that have wrought
What joy is in my days:
One because no thought,
Nor those unpassing cares,
No, not in these fifteen
Many-times-troubled years,
Could ever come between
Mind and delighted mind;
And one because her hand
Had strength that could unbind
What none can understand,
What none can have and thrive,
Youth's dreamy load, till she
So changed me that I live
Labouring in ecstasy.
And what of her that took
All till my youth was gone
With scarce a pitying look?
How could I praise that one?
When day begins to break
I count my good and bad,
Being wakeful for her sake,
Remembering what she had,
What eagle look still shows,
While up from my heart's root
So great a sweetness flows
I shake from head to foot.

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: William Butler Yeats

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Goliath and David
(For D.C.T., killed at Fricourt, March 1916)
Robert Graves

Once an earlier David took
Smooth pebbles from a brook:
Out between the lines he went
To that one-sided tournament,
A shepherd boy who stood out fine
And young to fight a Philistine
Clad all in brazen mail. He swears
That he's killed lions, he's killed bears,
And those that scorn the God of Zion
Shall perish so like bear or lion.
But . . . the historian of that fight
Had not the heart to tell it right.

Striding within javelin range
Goliath marvels at this strange
Goodly-faced boy so proud of strength.
David's clear eye measures the length;
With hand thrust back, he cramps one knee,
Poises a moment thoughtfully,
And hurls with a long vengeful swing.
The pebble, humming from the sling
Like a wild bee, flies a sure line
For the forehead of the Philistine;
Then . . . but there comes a brazen clink.
And quicker than a man can think
Goliath's shield parries each cast.
Clang! clang! and clang! was David's last.
Scorn blazes in the Giant's eye,
Towering unhurt six cubit's high.
Says foolish David, 'Damn your shield!
And damn my sling! but I'll not yield.'

He takes his staff of Mamre oak,
A knotted shepherd-staff that's broke
The skull of many a wolf and fox
Come filching lambs from Jesse's flocks.
Loud laughs Goliath, and that laugh
Can scatter chariots like blown chaff
To rout: but David, calm and brave,
Holds his ground, for God will save.
Steel crosses wood, a flash, and oh!
Shame for Beauty's overthrow!
(God's eyes are dim, His ears are shut.)
One cruel backhand sabre cut --
'I'm hit! I'm killed!' young David cries,
Throws blindly foward, chokes . . . and dies.
And look, spike-helmeted, grey, grim,
Goliath straddles over him.

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Robert Graves

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You may talk o\' gin and beer
When you\'re quartered safe out \'ere,
An\' you\'re sent to penny-fights an\' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An\' you\'ll lick the bloomin\' boots of \'im that\'s got it.
Now in Injia\'s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin\' of \'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was \"Din! Din! Din!
You limpin\' lump o\' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it!Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.\"

The uniform \'e wore
Was nothin\' much before,
An\' rather less than \'arf o\' that be\'ind,
For a piece o\' twisty rag
An\' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment \'e could find.
When the sweatin\' troop-train lay
In a sidin\' through the day,
Where the \'eat would make your bloomin\' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted \"Harry By!\"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped \'im \'cause \'e couldn\'t serve us all.
It was \"Din! Din! Din!
You \'eathen, where the mischief \'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I\'ll marrow you this minute
If you don\'t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!\"

\'E would dot an\' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An\' \'e didn\'t seem to know the use o\' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin\' nut,
\'E\'d be waitin\' fifty paces right flank rear.
With \'is mussick on \'is back,
\'E would skip with our attack,
An\' watch us till the bugles made \"Retire\",
An\' for all \'is dirty \'ide
\'E was white, clear white, inside
When \'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was \"Din! Din! Din!\"
With the bullets kickin\' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
\"Hi! ammunition-mules an\' Gunga Din!\"

I shan\'t forgit the night
When I dropped be\'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should \'a\' been.
I was chokin\' mad with thirst,
An\' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin\', gruntin\' Gunga Din.
\'E lifted up my \'ead,
An\' he plugged me where I bled,
An\' \'e guv me \'arf-a-pint o\' water-green:
It was crawlin\' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I\'ve drunk,
I\'m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was \"Din! Din! Din!
\'Ere\'s a beggar with a bullet through \'is spleen;
\'E\'s chawin\' up the ground,
An\' \'e\'s kickin\' all around:
For Gawd\'s sake git the water, Gunga Din!\"

\'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An\' a bullet come an\' drilled the beggar clean.
\'E put me safe inside,
An\' just before \'e died,
\"I \'ope you liked your drink\", sez Gunga Din.
So I\'ll meet \'im later on
At the place where \'e is gone --
Where it\'s always double drill and no canteen;
\'E\'ll be squattin\' on the coals
Givin\' drink to poor damned souls,
An\' I\'ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I\'ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin\' Gawd that made you,
You\'re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Rudyard Kipling

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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!

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Rudyard Kipling

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Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree—
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly\'s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Emily Bronte

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Stella this day is thirty-four,
(We shan't dispute a year or more:)
However, Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy size and years are doubled,
Since first I saw thee at sixteen,
The brightest virgin on the green;
So little is thy form declin'd;
Made up so largely in thy mind.

Oh, would it please the gods to split
Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit;
No age could furnish out a pair
Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair;
With half the lustre of your eyes,
With half your wit, your years, and size.
And then, before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle Fate,
(That either nymph might have her swain,)
To split my worship too in twain

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Jonathan Swift

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What boots it, thy virtue,
What profit thy parts,
While one thing thou lackest,
The art of all arts!
The only credentials,
Passport to success,
Opens castle and parlor,
Address, man, Address.

The maiden in danger
Was saved by the swain,
His stout arm restored her
To Broadway again:

The maid would reward him,
Gay company come,
They laugh, she laughs with them,
He is moonstruck and dumb.

This clenches the bargain,
Sails out of the bay,
Gets the vote in the Senate,
Spite of Webster and Clay;

Has for genius no mercy,
For speeches no heed,
It lurks in the eyebeam,
It leaps to its deed.

Church, tavern, and market,
Bed and board it will sway;
It has no to-morrow,
It ends with to-day.

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Who prop, thou ask'st in these bad days, my mind?
He much, the old man, who, clearest-souled of men,
Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen,
And Tmolus hill, and Smyrna bay, though blind.

Much he, whose friendship I not long since won,
That halting slave, who in Nicopolis
Taught Arrian, when Vespasian's brutal son
Cleared Rome of what most shamed him.But be his

My special thanks, whose even-balanced soul,
From first youth tested up to extreme old age,
Business could not make dull, nor passion wild;

Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole;
The mellow glory of the Attic stage,
Singer of sweet Colonus, and its child.

Category: Friendship Poetry Author: Matthew Arnold

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