What is the name of the poem that ends with "I had a friend"
I don't know a poem that ends EXACTLY like that.
There are a jillion poems on line that contain the words "I had a friend."
Might you be thinking of this one?
A Poison Tree
by William Blake (1757-1827)
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunnèd it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Thanks, but that's not the poem. I think the last two lines are, let it be said I had a friend.
I thoiught it might be by Yeats or Keats.
Searching for ["I had a friend" + Keats], I found this except from a letter written by Emily Dickinson -- not what you're looking for, but worth sharing I think:
You inquire my books. For poets I have Keats, and
Mr. and Mrs. Browning. For prose, Mr. Ruskin, Sir
Thomas Browne, and the Revelations. I went to school,
but in your manner of the phrase had no education.
When a little girl, I had a friend who taught my Immortality;
but venturing too near, himself, he never returned.
Soon after my tutor died, and for several years
my lexicon was my only companion. Then I found one
more, but he was not contented I be his scholar, so he
left the land.
Searching for ["I had a friend" + Yeats], I found this:
"Aedh Laments the Loss of Love"
PALE brows, still hands and dim hair,
I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end:
She looked in my heart one day
And saw your image was there;
She has gone weeping away.
... and a couple of other things that are not what you're looking for.
If you can dredge up from memory ANYTHING ELSE, even a word or phrase, we'll keep looking!
I found the poem:
Think where man's glory
most begins and ends
and say my glory was
I had such a friend.
Good catch, deb! Here's the whole thing-
The Municipal Gallery Revisited
by William Butler Yeats
AROUND me the images of thirty years:
An ambush; pilgrims at the water-side;
Casement upon trial, half hidden by the bars,
Guarded; Griffith staring in hysterical pride;
Kevin O'Higgins' countenance that wears
A gentle questioning look that cannot hide
A soul incapable of remorse or rest;
A revolutionary soldier kneeling to be blessed;
An Abbot or Archbishop with an upraised hand
Blessing the Tricolour. "This is not,' I say,
"The dead Ireland of my youth, but an Ireland
The poets have imagined, terrible and gay.'
Before a woman's portrait suddenly I stand,
Beautiful and gentle in her Venetian way.
I met her all but fifty years ago
For twenty minutes in some studio.
Heart-smitten with emotion I Sink down,
My heart recovering with covered eyes;
Wherever I had looked I had looked upon
My permanent or impermanent images:
Augusta Gregory's son; her sister's son,
Hugh Lane, "onlie begetter' of all these;
Hazel Lavery living and dying, that tale
As though some ballad-singer had sung it all;
Mancini's portrait of Augusta Gregory,
"Greatest since Rembrandt,' according to John Synge;
A great ebullient portrait certainly;
But where is the brush that could show anything
Of all that pride and that humility?
And I am in despair that time may bring
Approved patterns of women or of men
But not that selfsame excellence again.
My mediaeval knees lack health until they bend,
But in that woman, in that household where
Honour had lived so long, all lacking found.
Childless I thought, "My children may find here
Deep-rooted things,' but never foresaw its end,
And now that end has come I have not wept;
No fox can foul the lair the badger swept --
(An image out of Spenser and the common tongue).
John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought
All that we did, all that we said or sang
Must come from contact with the soil, from that
Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong.
We three alone in modern times had brought
Everything down to that sole test again,
Dream of the noble and the beggar-man.
And here's John Synge himself, that rooted man,
"Forgetting human words,' a grave deep face.
You that would judge me, do not judge alone
This book or that, come to this hallowed place
Where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon;
Ireland's history in their lineaments trace;
Think where man's glory most begins and ends,
And say my glory was I had such friends.
It's from the Municipal Gallery revisited by W. B. Yeats, here's a link to the entire poem:
The portion of the poem you were looking for was in Seinfeld. I was just looking for it too
When you smile so bright
I know everything is right!
For when I look at you
I know “hey!” you’ll pull me through!
Your so comforting when the “boy” lets me down
Cause I can bet you’re around!
You know I would do the same
Threw all you pain!
Because your something to me
You’re my friend
tell the very very end
I love you guys!
this is my favorite
Threw all you pain!
What are you a pitcher?
I know a poem not so food but it has if i had a friend i made it up!
I stand in the hallway waiting for a friend,
I hope to find one but this search may never end,
I eat in the bathroom but for only one day(hopefully),
The next day come I cry in the gym locker,
Just saying I wish I had a friend,
Soo six months go by no luck yet,
But hopefully i will find a friend!
A new girl in school already June,
She comes up to me and says if I had a friend,
I say I need one too,
We talk for some days and then...
We become friends.