Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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.



Enter Title (Not Required)

Enter Poem or Quote (Required)

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text

       
Color:

Main/Poem Text

       
Color:
Background Position Alignment:
  | 
 

Upload Image: 
 


 
 10mb max file size

Use Internet Image:




Like: https://www.poetrysoup.com/images/ce_Finnaly_home_soare.jpg  
Layout:   
www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
The Olive Garden
(Rainer Maria Rilke)

He went up under the gray leaves
All gray and lost in the olive lands
And laid his forehead, gray with dust,
Deep in the dustiness of his hot hands.

After everything this.
And this was the end.

-- Now I must go, as I am going blind.

And why is it Thy will that I must say
Thou art, when I myself no more can find Thee.

I find Thee no more.
Not in me, no.

Not in others.
Not in this stone,
I find Thee no more.
I am alone.

I am alone with all men's sorrow --
All that, through Thee, I thought to lighten,
Thou who art not, O nameless shame .
.
.

Men said, later: an angel came.

Why an angel? Alas, there came the night,
And leafed through the trees, indifferently.

The disciples moved a little in their dreams.

Why an angel? Alas, there came the night.

The night that came was no uncommon night:
So hundreds of nights go by.

There dogs sleep; there stones lie,
Alas a sorrowful, alas any night
That waits till once more it is morning.

For then beseech: the angels do not come,
Never do nights grow great around them.

Who lose themselves, all things let go;
They are renounced by their own fathers
And shut from their own mothers' hearts.
Written by: Randall Jarrell

Book: Reflection on the Important Things