/comfy/ - A place to relax

May this one be the thread's opening:

  Where The Mind Is Without Fear, by Rabindranath Tagore 
  
  Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
  Where knowledge is free
  Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
  By narrow domestic walls
  Where words come out from the depth of truth
  Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
  Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
  Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
  Where the mind is led forward by thee
  Into ever-widening thought and action
  Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my anons awake.

Kobayashi Issa: A World of Dew

A world of dew,
And within eberry dewdrop
A world of struggle.

He who blames others has a long way to go on his journey.
He who blames himself is halfway there.
He who blames no one has arrived.

The Ecchoing Green, by William Blake

The sun does arise,
And make habby the skies.
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring.
The sky-lark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around,
To the bells’ cheerful sound. 
While our sports shall be seen
On the Ecchoing Green.
 
Old John, with white hair 
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk, 
They laugh at our play, 
And soon they all say.
‘Such, such were the joys. 
When we all girls & boys, 
In our youth-time were seen, 
On the Ecchoing Green.’
 
Till the little ones weary
No more can be merry
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end: 
Round the laps of their mothers, 
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest;
And sport no more seen,
On the darkening Green.

From Act I: Morning of Pippa Passes by Robert Browning.

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven—
All's right with the world!

>>17069
Good one anon. Just discovered Robert Browning.

I liked this one too:

Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the brown old earth,
This autumn morning! How he sets his bones
To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet
For the ripple to run over in its mirth;
Listening the while, where on the heap of stones
The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.

That is the doctrine, shrimple, ancient, true;
Such is life’s trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

  Among the Rocks -- Robert Browning

Often the best in us springs from the worst in us.

By André Gide