I have selected a few of my favourite poems.  I do hope you enjoy them as much as I did :
BELIEVE ME, if all those endearing charms
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms
Like fairy-gifts fading away.
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art
Let thy loveliness — fade as it will
And around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thy own
And thy cheeks– unprofaned by a tear
That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known
To which time will make thee more dear.
No, the heart that has truly loved —never forgets
But, as truly, loves on to the close
As the sunflower turns on his God, when he sets
The same look ——- which she turned when he rose.
—- Thomas Moore.
alone girl
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY, like the night
 Of cloudless climes and starry skies
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and in her eyes
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o’er her face
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear ——- their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent
The smiles that win, the tints that glow
But tell of days—– in goodness spent
A mind at peace with all below
A heart whose love is innocent.
——- Lord Byron 
One autumn morn
I chanced to cross
A field of corn
And there it was
That blessed morn
To sinful me
The grace was given
On earth to see
The ways of Heaven
I saw a bird
And heard a voice
I ne’er before
Had seen or heard
I did rejoice
Yet with my joy
Was Holy Awe
At what I saw
And what I said
I know not well
For strange to tell
I instantly
Was on my knee
The bird saw too
 Yet did not stir
And, ‘Who are you
To ask me, sir ?
It said, and I
Did thus reply
Grown bolder now
I know not how
‘An untaught poet
Of trees and birds
Whom no man knoweth
And, wanting words
But dreams and sings
Of simple things’.
‘Peace ! all Heaven knoweth
 From Heaven come I
Come, simple poet’
The bird rejoined.
So, I drew near
And heard it say
That blessed day
To an ear of corn
A tiny ear
throughout the field
A bird, and clear
A voice, ‘Spare, spare !’
Was it my prayer
That blessed morn
While I did cross
The field of corn ?
Perchance it was
To sinful me
Such grace was given
On earth to see
The ways of Heaven.
——Joseph Furtado

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