Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.
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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I have been stricken like a fool who utters all his mind, And the fullness of the hope that I desire is still deferred. So shall I say I am not sick? I have been beaten like a mad man smitten with a wounded spirit; And the blessings I gave is counted as a curse to me. So shall I say I felt it not? I hurt. When shall I awake? This nightmare is not my dream, And now like those who tarry long at wine, They that go to seek mixed wine, when it is sparkling in the cup, I have woe and sorrow. I have redness of eyes and wounds without cause. I have contentions and babblings within. My soul was full, but now it's hungry, And every bitter thing is sweet: My eyes are surrounded by strange women, but they are narrow pits. My heart utters perverse things, but a wise man keeps it in till afterwards. So I shall not be as him that lieth down in the midst of the sea Or as he that lieth upon the top of the mast. Yet, my heart is heavy. I hurt. So let me drink and forget my poverty, and remember my misery no more. Give this burdened soul the red wine that makes glad the heart of man And the vessel which holds it. Give this thirsty soul the cold waters of refreshing And the river from which it flows. Give this hungry soul the sweet honey that strengthens the mind of a man And the honeycomb from which it drips Give this longing soul golden apples of life And the tree which bears them, For the soul of this turtledove is given to you, just as all of this turtledove is yours. Yet he mourns, and when doves cry, the die. The dream fades, but the nightmare ceases, So when shall I awake? This nightmare is not my dream. My heart again is sick; my heart again feels pain. I have been stricken and beaten. I hurt. Where is the fullness of the hope That I thought I first received; where is the blessing? I will seek it yet again that if haply my heart might be fulfilled
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