3 more of my Fav's:
-The Tiger-
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
Burned the fire of thin 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? What dread feet?
What the hammer, what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors 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 forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
-William Blake-
The Walrus and The Carpenter
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might,
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
It's very rude of him, she said,
To come and spoil the fun!
The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sand was dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead,
There were no birds to fly.
The walrus and the carpenter
Were walking close at hand:
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
If this were only cleared away,
They said, it really would be grand!
If seven maids with sweeping mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose, the walrus said,
That they could get it clear?
I doubt it, said the carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
O oyster come and walk with us!
The walrus did beseech.
A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.
The eldest oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head---
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
but four young oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know
They hadn't any feet.
Four other oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The walrus and the carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And the they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little oysters stood
And waited in a row.
The time has come, the walrus said,
To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings.
But wait a bit, the oysters cried,
Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!
No hurry, said the carpenter,
They all thanked him much for that.
A loaf of bread, the walrus said,
Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if your ready, oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.
But not on us, the oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!
The night is fine, the walrus said.
Do you admire the view?
It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!
The carpenter said nothing but
Cut us another slice.
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!
It seems a shame, the walrus said,
To play them such a trick.
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!
The carpenter said nothing but
The butters spread to thick!
I weep for you, the walrus said:
I deeply sympathize.
With sobs and tears he sorted our
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
O oysters, said the carpenter,
You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten everyone.
-Lewis Carroll-
To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence
I who am dead a thousand years,
And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
The way i shall not pass along.
I care not if you bridge the seas,
Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build commutate palaces
Of metal or of masonry.
But have you wine and music still,
And statues and bright eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill?
And prayers to them who sit above?
How shall we conquer? Like a wind
That falls at eve our fancies blow,
As old maeonides the blind
Said three thousand years ago.
O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my word at night, alone:
I was a poet, i was young!
Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you, you will understand.
James Elroy Flecker
I have to look for them first 
