Friendship Poems

Auld lang syne a Friendship poem by Robert Burns Goliath and David a Friendship poem by Robert Graves
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.
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. 
Friends a Friendship poem by William Butler Yeats Beautiful Dreamer a Friendship poem by Stephen Foster
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.
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!
If a Friendship poem by Rudyard Kipling Love and Friendship a Friendship poem by Emily Bronte
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!
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. 
Stellas Birthday a Friendship poem by Jonathan Swift Love and Friendship a Friendship poem by Emily Bronte
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
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. 
Stellas Birthday a Friendship poem by Jonathan Swift Tact a Friendship poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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

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.