Classic poem of the day
Therefore, when thou wouldst pray, or dost thine alms,
Blow not a trump before thee: Hypocrites
Do thus, vaingloriously; the common streets
Boast of their largess, echoing their psalms.
On such the laud of men, like unctuous balms,
Falls with sweet savor. Impious Counterfeits!
Prating of heaven, for earth their bosom beats!
Grasping at weeds, they lose immortal palms!
Member poem of the day
Circles spread on the surface
And disappear in the pool
And do it so lightly - it must
Be starting to sprinkle.
Where are the grayish clouds
I should see in the reflection?
Where are the tapping sounds
And the shift in the wind?
No - my eyes are dripping tears
I didn't see coming.
Catch them - merciful waters -
And put them away from me.
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