The thoughts that arise in me.
Like currents journeying through the windless deep.
And everything but sleep.
They are quiet, as under the sea.
Dreamers, mark the honey bee;
Full of sweet dreams, and health and quiet breathing
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Yet it well might be that never be for me.
John Clare: “Song’s Eternity”
George Meredith: “Dirge in Woods”
Alfred, Lord Tennyson: “Break, Break, Break”
Willam Cullen Bryant: “The Poet”
Algernon Charles Swinburne “The Garden of Proserpine”
Margaret E. Sangster: “Our Own”
John Keats: “A Thing of Beauty”
Henry Wandsworth Longfellow: “The Village Blacksmith”
April 5th Prompt: A cento is a poem composed of lines from various sources, pieced together like a quilt – as its name in Latin, “patchwork,” suggests. If you’ve been keeping a notebook, you can mine it to write a cento. If not, go on the lookout for many disparate lines and then stitch them up into a poem.