Dearly I love a friend; yet a foe I may turn to my profit;
Friends show me that which I can; foes teach me that which I should.

by Friedrich Schiller.

What's friendship? The hangover's faction,
The gratis talk of outrage,
Exchange by vanity, inaction,
Or bitter shame of patronage.

by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin.

There Once Was A Fellow Called Croll

There once was a fellow called Croll,
Who loved to hear periods roll
On his musical tongue.
It is he who has sung,
'Ev'n sev'n heav'ns giv'n buy not my soul'.

by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis.

Friend, whatever you are, you must not stand still

Friend, whatever you are, you must not stand still:
One must from one light into the other spill

English version by Gabriel Rosenstock
Original Language German

by Angelus Silesius.

My Friend Must Be A Bird

92
My friend must be a Bird—
Because it flies!
Mortal, my friend must be,
Because it dies!
Barbs has it, like a Bee!
Ah, curious friend!
Thou puzzlest me!

by Emily Dickinson.

Selection Of Men

From an ignorant being, I expect not eulogy,
It be a friend or foe, I listen to all and sundry,
Verily, the flavor of friendship fades not,
I remove thorns and pluck the flowers gently.

by Mir Babar Ali Anees.

Dear friend, if there be any bond
Which friendship wins not much beyond—
So old and fond, since thought began—
It may be that whose subtle span
Binds Shakespear to an English man.

by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

My Friend Attacks My Friend!

118

My friend attacks my friend!
Oh Battle picturesque!
Then I turn Soldier too,
And he turns Satirist!
How martial is this place!
Had I a mighty gun
I think I'd shoot the human race
And then to glory run!

by Emily Dickinson.

Impromptu, On A Long-Nosed Friend

Going along the other day,
Upon a certain plan;
I met a nose upon the way,
Behind it was a man.

I called unto the nose to stop,
And when it had done so -
The man behind it - he came up;
They made Zenobio.

by Thomas Paine.

You Smile Upon Your Friend To-Day

You smile upon your friend to-day,
To-day his ills are over;
You hearken to the lover's say,
And happy is the lover.

'Tis late to hearken, late to smile,
But better late than never;
I shall have lived a little while
Before I die for ever.

by Alfred Edward Housman.

The sun is sinking on the sacred lands
Wherein the grain ungarnered beckoning stands.


Who loses never finds, nor can, nor may,
The common, human glory of the day.


Close, let us enter, tear-blind as we must;
Reapers, not gleaners of a solemn trust.

by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward.

Stanzas Written By Thomson On The Blank Leaf Of A Copy Of His 'seasons' Sent By Him To Mr. Lyttleton, Soon After The Death Of His Wife

Go, little book, and find our Friend,
Who Nature and the Muses loves,
Who cares the public virtues blend
With all the softness of the groves.

A fitter time thou canst not choose,
His fostering friendship to repay;
Go then, and try, my rural muse,
To steal his widowed hours away.

by James Thomson.

Friend, Your White Beard Sweeps The Ground

Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground.
Why do you stand, expectant?
Do you hope to see it
In one of your withered days?
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of justice?
Do not wait, friend!
Take your white beard
And your old eyes
To more tender lands.

by Stephen Crane.

Impromptu, In Reply To A Friend

When, from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
My thoughts their dungeon know too well;
Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent cell.

by George Gordon Byron.

Beautiful and rich is an old friendship,
Grateful to the touch as ancient ivory,
Smooth as aged wine, or sheen of tapestry
Where light has lingered, intimate and long.
Full of tears and warm is an old friendship
That asks no longer deeds of gallantry,
Or any deed at all - save that the friend shall be
Alive and breathing somewhere, like a song.

by Eunice Tietjens.

Palavras A Um Amigo Triste

Meu querido amigo triste,
eu nunca encontrei as palavras.
Digo, as palavras certas e verdadeiras,
porque as outras são ditas fáceis
e logo, sempre esquecidas.
Eu falo daquelas palavras amigas,
justamente significativas para o pranto
da dor maior quando sofrida.
Essas eu acho que não existem,
pois jamais puderam dizer-me.

by Coelho Neto.

A Shady Friend For Torrid Days

A shady friend for torrid days
Is easier to find
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hour of mind.

The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy,

Who is to blame? The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise!
So notelessly are made!

by Emily Dickinson.

Everyone's Friend

“Nobody's enemy save his own”—
(What shall it be in the end?)—
Still by the nick-name he is known—
“Everyone’s Friend.”
“Nobody’s Enemy” stands alone
While he has money to lend,
“Nobody’s Enemy” holds his own,
“Everyone’s Friend”

“Nobody’s Enemy” down and out—
Game to the end—
And he mostly dies with no one about—
“Everyone’s Friend.”

by Henry Lawson.

Everyone's Friend

“Nobody's enemy save his own”—
(What shall it be in the end?)—
Still by the nick-name he is known—
“Everyone’s Friend.”
“Nobody’s Enemy” stands alone
While he has money to lend,
“Nobody’s Enemy” holds his own,
“Everyone’s Friend”

“Nobody’s Enemy” down and out—
Game to the end—
And he mostly dies with no one about—
“Everyone’s Friend.”

by Henry Lawson.

Inscription On A Cenotaph In A Garden, Erected To A Deceased Friend

Ye lib'ral souls who rev'rence Friendship's name,
Who boast her blessings, and who feel her flame;
Oh! if from early youth one friend you've lov'd,
Whom warm affection chose, and taste approv'd;
If you have known what anguish rends the heart,
When such, so known, so lov'd, for ever part;
Approach! - For you the mourner rears this stone,
To soothe your sorrows, and record his own.

by Hannah More.

To The Rev. A. A. In The Country From His Friend In London

Thou little village curate,
Come quick, and do not wait;
We'll sit and talk together,
So sweetly _tete-a-tete_.

Oh do not fear the railway
Because it seems so big--
Dost thou not daily trust thee
Unto thy little gig.

This house is full of painters,
And half shut up and black;
But rooms the very snuggest
Lie hidden at the back.
Come! come! come!

by Horace Smith.

To My Dear Old Friend, Mr. A. Shuman


NOT many friends
Wish I you;
Love makes amends
For the few.

Slight bonds are best
For the new;
Here is the test
Of the true:

Pay to your friend
Your own due;
Lone to the end,
Through and through;
Let him, commend,
And not you.

Friends of this kind,
Tried and true,
May you, friend, find,—
Just a few.

by John Boyle O'Reilly.

Fame Is A Food That Dead Men Eat

Fame is a food that dead men eat,-
I have no stomach for such meat.
In little light and narrow room,
They eat it in the silent tomb,
With no kind voice of comrade near
To bid the banquet be of cheer.

But Friendship is a nobler thing,-
Of Friendship it is good to sing.
For truly, when a man shall end,
He lives in memory of his friend,
Who doth his better part recall,
And of his faults make funeral.

by Henry Austin Dobson.

My Sweet Friend

My sweet friend, and in this quiet home,
Beats a fever me, the same.
I can't find a place in quiet home
By its always peaceful flame!

Voices sing, a blizzard calls, I hear,
Comfort is my cross….
E'en behind your shoulders, oh my dear,
Someone's eyes wait for me close!

There, behind your shoulders so quiet,
The wings' tremble I feel,
Pierces me with his look of a fire
The storms' angel - Israfil!

by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok.

I THOUGHT of friendship
As a golden ring,
Round as the world
Yet fitted to my finger;
I thought of friendship
As a path in spring
Where there are flowers
And the footsteps linger;
I thought of friendship
As a globe of light,
Yellow before the doorway of my life,
A flame diffused
Yet potent against night;
I thought--but thought itself in ruin lies
Since, yesterday, you passed with lowered eyes!

by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay.

May never more of pensive melancholy
Within thy heart, beneath thy roof appear,
Than just to break the charm of idle folly,
And prompt for others' woes the melting tear;
No more than just that tender gloom to spread
Where thy beloved Muses wont to stray,
To lift the thought from this low earthy bed,
Or bid hope languish for a brighter day;
And deeper sink within thy feeling heart
Love's pleasing wounds, or friendship's polished dart!

by Anna Laetitia Barbauld.

Love And Friendship

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 contantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who wil 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.

by Emily Jane Brontë.

The Soil Is In Ferment, O Friend

The soil is in ferment, O friend
Behold the diversity.
The soil is the horse, so is the rider
The soil chases the soil, and we hear the clanging of soil
The soil kills the soil, with weapons of the soil.
That soil with more on it, is arrogance
The soil is the garden so is its beauty
The soil admires the soil in all its wondrous forms
After the circle of life is done it returns to the soil
Answer the riddle O Bulleh, and take this burden off my head.'

by Bulleh Shah.

Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door and look out on
the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
by what far edge of the frowning forest,
through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading
thy course to come to me, my friend?

by Rabindranath Tagore.

Lines Written On A Blank Leaf Of 'The Pleasures Of Memory'

Absent or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn thy converse and thy song.

But when the dreaded hour shall come
By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
And `MEMORY' o'er her Druid's tomb
Shall weep that aught of thee can die,

How fondly will she then repay
Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, to
And blend, while ages roll away,
Her name immortally with thine!


April 19, 1812

by George Gordon Byron.

Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door and look out on
the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
by what far edge of the frowning forest,
through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading
thy course to come to me, my friend?

by Rabindranath Tagore.

Antony's Friend.

Bring me my robes and crown!
I must make a brave end,
Charmian, fitting the renown
Of Antony's friend.
Caesar shall find me so,
'Tired like a royal bride,
When he comes in, and the lights are low,
And I'm by Antony's side —
Wedded in Death's bright hall
Beyond the Egyptian air,
My crown and robes on me, and all
The love that made me fair.
My women! sooth to tell
Soft is the aspic's bite:
It would have pleased my Roman well
So to have said good-night.

by Robert Crawford.

Dead Friend Of My Youth

Now when you come all that way to meet me
From the country house of your death,
I know that you would remove your hat
To greet someone already old to you.

You'd only half recognize this gentleman
Whose face has become so very different.
But to me you'd burn in that former pureness
Kept young by death, a light out of boyhood.

If you would suddenly deign not to dissolve
Your highness and withdraw from my presence,
Perhaps I could simply just close my eyes then,
Perhaps I could also get down on my knees.

by Franz Werfel.

I Have A White Rose To Tend (Verse Xxxix)

I have a white rose to tend
In July as in January;
I give it to the true friend
Who offers his frank hand to me.
And for the cruel one whose blows
Break the heart by which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I give:
For him, too, I have a white rose.

CULTIVO UNA ROSA BLANCA... (Verso XXXIX)

Cultivo una rosa blanca,
En julio como en enero,
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca.
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazón con que vivo,
Cardo ni oruga cultivo:
Cultivo la rosa blanca.

by Jose Marti.

Two days ago with dancing glancing hair,
With living lips and eyes:
Now pale, dumb, blind, she lies;
So pale, yet still so fair.

We have not left her yet, not yet alone;
But soon must leave her where
She will not miss our care,
Bone of our bone.

Weep not; O friends, we should not weep:
Our friend of friends lies full of rest;
No sorrow rankles in her breast,
Fallen fast asleep.

She sleeps below,
She wakes and laughs above:
To-day, as she walked, let us walk in love;
To-morrow follow so.

by Christina Georgina Rossetti.

Envy Not Your Friend

Envy not your friend if hes more handsome,
More intelligent or wealthier than you.
Let his merits and let his successes
Not tear up the laces on your shoe.

Move along your way without a care,
Smile still broader out of his success!
Maybe hell face darkness and despair
And your porch will be adorned with bliss!

Laugh with him, and cry with his distresses:
Feel him with your heart, and for all time!
Do not block your friend from his successes:
Its a sin to do so! Truly, its a crime!

by Igor Severyanin.

Will Drawn For An Old And Faithful Friend

I, Sarah L____w, better known
As Giddle when I lived alone,
Having observed that humble folk
Must like their betters one day croak,
Though trusting much in dose and pill,
Do notwithstanding make my will.
Briefly to speak, my worldly gear .
I leave unto my husband dear—
Quibblers, be still, I mean my all,
Let it be real or personal :
My memory unto those I served ;
Long be it with their lives preserved !
To earth my body I commit,
My soul to Christ who died for it.
So welcome death when death must be,—
This is the testament of me.

by Richard Crawley.

'He is my friend,' I said,--
'Be patient!' Overhead
The skies were drear and dim;
And lo! the thought of him
Smited on my heart--and then
The sun shone out again!

'He is my friend!' The words
Brought summer and the birds;
And all my winter-time
Thawed into running rhyme
And rippled into song,
Warm, tender, brave, and strong.

And so it sings to-day.--
So may it sing alway!
Though waving grasses grow
Between, and lilies blow
Their trills of perfume clear
As laughter to the ear,
Let each mute measure end
With 'Still he is thy friend.'

by James Whitcomb Riley.

I ask but one thing of you, only one,
That always you will be my dream of you;
That never shall I wake to find untrue
All this I have believed and rested on,
Forever vanished, like a vision gone
Out into the night. Alas, how few
There are who strike in us a chord we knew
Existed, but so seldom heard its tone
We tremble at the half-forgotten sound.
The world is full of rude awakenings
And heaven-born castles shattered to the ground,
Yet still our human longing vainly clings
To a belief in beauty through all wrongs.
O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs!

by Amy Lowell.

Grief dies like joy; the tears upon my cheek
Will disappear like dew. Dear God! I know
Thy kindly Providence hath made it so,
And thank thee for the law. I am too weak
To make a friend of Sorrow, or to wear,
With that dark angel ever by my side
(Though to thy heaven there be no better guide),
A front of manly calm. Yet, for I hear
How woe hath cleansed, how grief can deify,
So weak a thing it seems that grief should die,
And love and friendship with it, I could pray,
That if it might not gloom upon my brow,
Nor weigh upon my arm as it doth now,
No grief of mine should ever pass away.

by Henry Timrod.