Dedication to Poets Past

I bow before you

On humbled knee

In silent worship

Of words from thee

You touched the souls

Of those who read

The flowing words

That your heart’s bled

A legacy of beauty

Gives us inspiration

To look upon the wonder

Of the Lord’s creation

To see with open eyes

Listen with open ears

To love, hope and laughter

Pain, despair and tears

To you, I give this moment

In honor of your life and time

When you did lovingly quill

Wondrous words of rhyme.

Many of these poets lost their parents at an early age or went through tragic lives, but still found beauty to put into words and share and leave a legacy to inspire us.

Too many to mention all but here are a few of the best.

Born in Cumberland in the Lake District, England on April 7, 1770 - Died April 13, 1850.

His Mother died when he was 8 and his Father when he was 13 and he was separated from his Sister Dorothy

I wandered lonely as a cloud

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,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Born in Boston, Massachusetts on 19 January 1809- Died On October 7, 1849

He was abandoned by his Father at the age of one and his Mother when he was two. He also was separated from his siblings

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted- nevermore!

Born at Alloway, near Ayr, on January 25, 1759 – died July 21, 1796

Robert Burns worked as a farm labourer, and it was there that he met his first love, Nelly Kirkpatrick. It was her who inspired him to try his hand at poetry.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,

The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove.

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love

Born in LondonEngland on 22 January 1788 – Died 19 April 1824

Christened George Gordon Byron but was never called george

He was born with a club foot and was very sensitive about this.

Around the age of 6 he and his Mother were abandoned by his Father after he had squandered everything they had. His Mother Catherine had to sell her land and title to pay off the debts. At the age of 10 he became the 6^th Baron Byron. It is rumored that he was sexually abused by both his uncle the 5^th Baron and his governess

Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,

And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush

Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,

My heart would wish away that ruder glow:

And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes---but, oh!

While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,

And into mine my mother's weakness rush,

Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.

For, though thy long dark lashes low depending,

The soul of melancholy Gentleness

Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending,

Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;

At once such majesty with sweetness blending,

I worship more, but cannot love thee less.

Born in London on October 31, 1795 – Died February 23, 1821

At the age of eight his Father was killed in an accident. His mother remarried 2 months later. She soon regretted this and left leaving her new husband with everything including her children, because by law everything now belonged to him. Luckily his maternal Grandmother took custody of the children. His Mother returned when he was 14 but died when he was only 15. From then on he was separated from his siblings

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,

Before high-piled books, in charactery,

Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Born in Bombay (now Mumbai) 30 December 1865 – died 18 January 1936

At the young age of five his parents decided to send him to England to be educated.

He lived with Madam Rosa, the landlady of the lodge where over next six years his life was a misery due to beatings and victimization.

My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach,

And the koil sings above it, in the siris by the well,

From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel's chattering speech,

And the blue jay screams and flutters where the cheery sat-bhai dwell.

But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the koil's note is strange;

I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom-burdened bough.

Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds of Springtime range --

Give me back one day in England, for it's Spring in England now!

Born of British parents in Bloemfontein, South Africa in January of 1892 – died September 2, 1973.

He lost both his parents before he was twelve. His Father died of rheumatic fever while still in South Africa and shortly after his Mother succumbed to diabetes and died.

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

Born at Somersby, Lincolnshire, England, August 6, 1809 – died Oct. 6, 1892,

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

‘Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!’ he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’

Was there a man dismay’d?

Not tho’ the soldier knew

Someone had blunder’d:

Their’s not to make reply,

Their’s not to reason why,

Their’s but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley’d and thunder’d;

Born in Hampshire, England December 16th, 1775 – Died July 18th 1817

Ode to Pity

Ever musing I delight to tread
The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove
Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed
On disappointed Love.
While Philomel on airy hawthorn Bush
Sings sweet and Melancholy, And the thrush
Converses with the Dove.

Born at Field Place, near Horsham, in Sussex, August 4, 1792 – Died July 8, 1822,

The boat he was aboard sank in the Bay of Spezia, and all on board perished. When his body floated to shore a volume of Keats' poetry was found in Shelley's coat pocket.

I weep for Adonais--he is dead!

Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears

Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years

To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,

And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me

Died Adonais; till the Future dares

Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be

An echo and a light unto eternity!"

Born in London, England on May 7, 1812 – Died –December 12 1889

Any Wife To Any Husband

My love, this is the bitterest, that thou
Who art all truth and who dost love me now
As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say—
Shouldst love so truly and couldst love me still
A whole long life through, had but love its will,
Would death that leads me from thee brook delay!

Vincent Moore left a beautiful poem in the comment section here

He has now published this on his own pages

You will be able to find Vincent's beautiful piece here 'Who Were We'