Behold! The Night Mare
Ive faced the fathoms in your deep
Withstood the suitors quiet siege
Pulled down the heavens just to please you
Appease you
The wind blows and I know
I cant go on, digging roses from you grave
To linger on, beyond the beyond
Where the willows weep
And whirlpools sleep, youll find me
The coarse tide reflects sky
And the night mare rides on, and the night mare rides on
With a december black psalm
And the night mare rides on
What I fear is lost here
The wind blows and I know
All you have to do is run away
And steal yourself from me
Become a mystery to gaze into
Youre so cruel in all you do
But still I believe, I believe in you
So may you come with your own knives
Youll never take me alive
With all the force of what is true
Is there nothing I can do?
I cant go on, digging roses from you grave
To linger on, beyond the beyond
Where the willows weep
And whirlpools sleep, youll find me
And the night mare rides on, and the night mare rides on
With a december black psalm
And the night mare rides on
Ive faced the fathoms in your deep
Withstood the suitors quiet siege
Pulled down the heavens just to please you
To hold the flower I cant keep
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Dyes Cast
Each night
As he drops his head
To the deep dream
Of the dark bed,
A shape beckons him
Wellaway
From the starlight
And the dim day.
A mare
Black as a spade, calls
From the dark hill
As the wind falls,
The reeds mutter
The night is black
As he leaps blind
To the mare’s back.
Then like the roar
Of an ill wind
Or a black flame
From the devil’s kiln,
The mare speeds
To the night’s work
By the old mill
And the dark Kirk.
Shapes flutter
And leap alight
Before they sputter
And, out of sight
Disport and mutter
Of black arts
To see the mare
And the rider pass.
Hour on hour
He clings to scenes
Of dark images,
Wild dreams
And chance friends
From the dead past
In the grim haunts
Of dyes cast.
His face burns
And tears stream
In the long night
Of the dark dream,
He clings grim
To the mare’s back
For his soul’s sake
And a long lack.
The day brinks
At night’s mist;
‘There may be nothing
More than this, ’
The mare fades
From his wide eyes –
But the thoughts bide,
And the old lies.
‘There may be nothing
More than this! ’
And his mind seeks
The mare, the mist;
‘There may be nought
But the dead past,
And the dark haunts
Of dyes cast.’
27 December 1978
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Long Grey Mare
Written by peter green.
Ive got a long grey mare, she wont let me ride
I got a long grey mare, she wont let me ride
She makes me brush her in the morning
And put her to bed every night
Long grey mare, why cant we be just like before
Long grey mare, why cant we be just like before
We used to ride so hard
Until we just couldnt ride no more
Break:
Look at me grey mare, dont I feed you everyday
Look at me grey mare, dont I feed you everyday
But when I dig you with my spurs
You turn around the other way
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girl In The Swing
Do you see them coming through fields of snow?
do you see them riding through fields of snow?
One rides for a woman who has no name
one rides for a king
And one just rides and rides and rides and rides
for the girl in the swing
They race like phantoms in the Belmont light
you see them follow the Belmont light
They ride through places where the walls are white
where the noble voices of women sing
A brace of thanks and silent night
and a song for the girl in the swing
Well, you just asked me do I know what love is
well, sure I know, sure I know what love is
It's the thief of sleep, a boy and his dog
a red rubber ball, these old foolish things
A rain that falls a long, long way from home
it lives in the girl in the swing!
It lives in the girl in the swing...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Girl In The Swing
Do you see them coming through fields of snow?
Do you see them riding through fields of snow?
One rides for a woman who has no name
One rides for a king
And one just rides and rides and rides and rides
For the girl in the swing
They race like phantoms in the belmont light
You see them follow the belmont light
They ride through places where the walls are white
Where the noble voices of women sing
A brace of thanks and silent night
And a song for the girl in the swing
Well, you just asked me do I know what love is
Well, sure I know, sure I know what love is
Its the thief of sleep, a boy and his dog
A red rubber ball, these old foolish things
A rain that falls a long, long way from home
It lives in the girl in the swing!
It lives in the girl in the swing...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Girl In The Swing
Do you see them coming through fields of snow?
Do you see them riding through fields of snow?
One rides for a woman who has no name
One rides for a king
And one just rides and rides and rides and rides
For the girl in the swing
They race like phantoms in the belmont light
You see them follow the belmont light
They ride through places where the walls are white
Where the noble voices of women sing
A brace of thanks and silent night
And a song for the girl in the swing
Well, you just asked me do I know what love is
Well, sure I know, sure I know what love is
Its the thief of sleep, a boy and his dog
A red rubber ball, these old foolish things
A rain that falls a long, long way from home
It lives in the girl in the swing!
It lives in the girl in the swing...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dat Ol' Mare O' Mine
Want to trade me, do you, mistah? Oh, well, now, I reckon not,
W'y you could n't buy my Sukey fu' a thousan' on de spot.
Dat ol' mare o' mine?
Yes, huh coat ah long an' shaggy, an' she ain't no shakes to see;
Dat's a ring-bone, yes, you right, suh, an' she got a on'ry knee,
But dey ain't no use in talkin', she de only hoss fu' me,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Co'se, I knows dat Suke 's contra'y, an' she moughty ap' to vex;
But you got to mek erlowance fu' de nature of huh sex;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Ef you pull her on de lef han'; she plum 'termined to go right,
A cannon could n't skeer huh, but she boun' to tek a fright
At a piece o' common paper, or anyt'ing whut's white,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Wen my eyes commence to fail me, dough, I trus'es to huh sight,
An' she 'll tote me safe an' hones' on de ve'y da'kes' night,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Ef I whup huh, she jes' switch huh tail, an' settle to a walk,
Ef I whup huh mo', she shek huh haid, an' lak ez not, she balk.
But huh sense ain't no ways lackin', she do evah t'ing but talk,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
But she gentle ez a lady w'en she know huh beau kin see.
An' she sholy got mo' gumption any day den you or me,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
She's a leetle slow a-goin,' an' she moughty ha'd to sta't,
But we 's gittin' ol' togathah, an' she 's closah to my hea't,
An' I does n't reckon, mistah, dat she 'd sca'cely keer to pa't;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
W'y I knows de time dat cidah 's kin' o' muddled up my haid,
Ef it had n't been fu' Sukey hyeah, I reckon I 'd been daid;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
But she got me in de middle o' de road an' tuk me home,
An' she would n't let me wandah, ner she would n't let me roam,
Dat's de kin' o' hoss to tie to w'en you 's seed de cidah's foam,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
You kin talk erbout yo' heaven, you kin talk erbout yo' hell,
Dey is people, dey is hosses, den dey's cattle, den dey's--well--
Dat ol' mare o' mine;
She de beatenes' t'ing dat evah struck de medders o' de town,
An' aldough huh haid ain't fittin' fu' to waih no golden crown,
D' ain't a blessed way fu' Petah fu' to tu'n my Sukey down,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Another One Rides The Bus
(parody of queens another one bites the dust)
Riding in the bus down the boulevard
And the place was pretty packed (yeah!)
Couldnt find a seat so I had to stand
With the perverts in the back
It was smelling like a locker room
There was junk all over the floor
Were already packed in like sardines
But were stopping to pick up more, look out
(chorus)
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another comes on and another comes on
Another one rides the bus
Hey, hes gonna sit by you
Another one rides the bus
Theres a suitcase poking me in the ribs
Theres an elbow in my ear
Theres a smelly old bum standing next to me
Hasnt showered in a year
I think Im missing a contact lens
I think my wallets gone
And I think this bus is stopping again
To let a couple more freaks get on look out
(chorus)
(weird sound effects)
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus ow
Another one rides the bus hey hey
Another one rides the bus hey-ey-ey-ey
The window doesnt open and the fan is broke
And my face is turning blue (yeah)
I havent been in a crowd like this
Since I went to see the who
Well I shouldve got off a couple miles ago
But I couldnt get to the door
There isnt any room for me to breathe
And now were gonna pick up more
(chorus)
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Nightmare
The job
Waking up when you’re fired
Leaving office when you’re tired
Reaching home when you’re wired
The shadows of the day mired
The horror
That concludes a day’s strains
And the anxiety
That follows the soul’s trail
In the darkness full of pain
The game
Caught up in the middle
With nowhere to go but the centre
With nothing to do but playing on
For a reward that is peanuts
The highway
Taking the paths of worries
Feeding on a meal of anxieties
Buried in a grave of pity…
WAKE UP, WAKE UP from the night mare!
The sunrise
And it is no longer dark
Rain fall
And the land is no longer dry
WAKE UP, WAKE UP from the night mare!
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Jack Cornstalk as a Lover
'For he rides hard to dull the pain,
Who rides from him who loves him best;
But he rides slowly home again,
Whose restless heart must rove for rest.'
poem by Henry Lawson
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He Is Worthy
From this time forth and forevermore
Our Lord is worthy of all praise
Blessed be the name of Christ our King
Into His holiness we all shall gaze
From the rising of the sun to its going down
His name shall be praised forever
His glory is high above the heavens
And His praise shall not end, no never
Who is like unto the Lord our God
He is glorious in majesty
He shall come victoriously in the sky above
And surely every eye shall see
That He rides upon a horse with a crown on His head
And a two-edged sword in His hand
He rides victoriously, this Lion of Judah
He rides all across the land.
poem by Frank McEleny
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Psalm 113
From this time forth and forevermore
Our Lord is worthy of all praise
Blessed be the name of Christ our King
Into His holiness we all shall gaze
From the rising of the sun to its going down
His name shall be praised forever
His glory is high above the heavens
And His praise shall not end, no never
Who is like unto the Lord our God
He is glorious in majesty
He shall come victoriously in the sky above
And surely every eye shall see
That He rides upon a horse with a crown on His head
And a two-edged sword in His hand
He rides victoriously, this Lion of Judah
He rides all across the land.
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jindgi Ne Lehro
jindgi ni lehro ma bhinajavu 6 mare Pan..
jindgi ni kef ma rachavu tu mare pan...
pan swarth ane samay na aa hisabo na sarvala ma j gunchavayo 6u Aaje..
jya khovayo hato tya sodhu 6u mujane..
pan Aa bhrstachar na dambhi kef ma ranagi gayo 6u...
bus svaas pan har pal meet mandi ne bethi 6 mot ni..
bus
jindgi na Aakhari palo ne to moaj ma rami dau...
bus jara Aam to karto jaav mara pran to beeja na name karto jaav...
jindgi ni lehro ma bhinajavu 6 mare Pan..
jindgi ni kef ma rachavu tu mare pan...
jindagi...
poem by Sandeep Jahaal
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Sleep
When all, and birds, and creeping beasts,
When the dark of night is deep,
From the moving wonder of their lives
Commit themselves to sleep.
Without a thought, or fear, they shut
The narrow gates of sense;
Heedless and quiet, in slumber turn
Their strength to impotence.
The transient strangeness of the earth
Their spirits no more see:
Within a silent gloom withdrawn,
They slumber in secrecy.
Two worlds they have--a globe forgot,
Wheeling from dark to light;
And all the enchanted realm of dream
That burgeons out of night.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Still They Ride
Jesse rides through the night
Under the main street light
Ridin slow
This ol town, aint the same
Now nobody knows his name
Times have changed, still he rides.
Traffic lights, keepin time
Leading the wild and restless
Through the night
Still they ride, on wheels of fire
They rule the night
Still they ride, the strong will survive
Chasing thunder
Spinning round, in a spell
Its hard to leave this carrousel
round and round
And round and round
(chorus)
song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Get Wet Because Im Dry
It’s cold and dark everywhere
The clouds kissed the mountains near
The hungry rivers are shouting and swelling
Help! The grassland is drowning
The dampen bird ceased to fly
An old horse prayed to calm the sky
In the other end, there’s the disgusted mare
The frog’s endless cry she claimed to beauty is bare
The angry thunder in heavens begun to roar
But the lighting is quick and warned to moor
To the overly drunk trees in the forest
Hold tight the dampen bird to your chest!
The night falls but of no distinction
The day’s sun is as dark as the midnight moon
But in the gloom, a circle of light appeared
It’s from a hungry feline’s eyes dazzled red
Hours, days, nights, weeks, birds, frogs, horse passed
Oh dear, the torment has ultimately stopped
The dampen birds found hope and start to hop
The old horse hugs the mare and slashes the loop
Sadly, no singing frog welcomed the new day
Because the hungry cat ended his song instantly
And the mare slept well all that night
The next morning is a goodbye to the bird’s faraway flight.
poem by Ayi Escalona
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The Haunted Oak
Pray why are you so bare, so bare,
Oh, bough of the old oak-tree;
And why, when I go through the shade you throw,
Runs a shudder over me?
My leaves were green as the best, I trow,
And sap ran free in my veins,
But I say in the moonlight dim and weird
A guiltless victim's pains.
They'd charged him with the old, old crime,
And set him fast in jail:
Oh, why does the dog howl all night long,
And why does the night wind wail?
He prayed his prayer and he swore his oath,
And he raised his hand to the sky;
But the beat of hoofs smote on his ear,
And the steady tread drew nigh.
Who is it rides by night, by night,
Over the moonlit road?
And what is the spur that keeps the pace,
What is the galling goad?
And now they beat at the prison door,
"Ho, keeper, do not stay!
We are friends of him whom you hold within,
And we fain would take him away
"From those who ride fast on our heels
With mind to do him wrong;
They have no care for his innocence,
And the rope they bear is long."
They have fooled the jailer with lying words,
They have fooled the man with lies;
The bolts unbar, the locks are drawn,
And the great door open flies.
Now they have taken him from the jail,
And hard and fast they ride,
And the leader laughs low down in his throat,
As they halt my trunk beside.
Oh, the judge, he wore a mask of black,
And the doctor one of white,
And the minister, with his oldest son,
Was curiously bedight.
Oh, foolish man, why weep you now?
'Tis but a little space,
And the time will come when these shall dread
The mem'ry of your face.
I feel the rope against my bark,
And the weight of him in my grain,
I feel in the throe of his final woe
The touch of my own last pain.
And never more shall leaves come forth
On the bough that bears the ban;
I am burned with dread, I am dried and dead,
From the curse of a guiltless man.
And ever the judge rides by, rides by,
And goes to hunt the deer,
And ever another rides his soul
In the guise of a mortal fear.
And ever the man he rides me hard,
And never a night stays he;
For I feel his curse as a haunted bough,
On the trunk of a haunted tree.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Hairdressers Nightmare
On the windswept pavement
The moonbeams tried to pierce the night
As moaning filled the air,
In the basement of the salon
It was night dark damp and dismal,
I entered the room pitch black
It was full of naked women,
The haircut bitchiness of them
Told me they were hair salon dropp outs
Unable to show their true colours.
The dyed curly head wrong set
Unable to show their faces,
They only could moan and grown
I could not find the light switch,
Being a man I could not
Feel my way around.
Oh my God
Someone is licking my face
OMG it’s my own dog
In my own bed
Oh heavens I have been riding
On a night mare
Horribus dyedidus hair rising action... cut
poem by Ken e Hall
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Hairdressers Nightmare
On the windswept pavement
The moonbeams tried to pierce the night
As moaning filled the air,
In the basement of the salon
It was night dark damp and dismal,
I entered the room pitch black
It was full of naked women,
The haircut bitchiness of them
Told me they were hair salon dropp outs
Unable to show their true colours.
The dyed curly head wrong set
Unable to show their faces,
They only could moan and grown
I could not find the light switch,
Being a man I could not
Feel my way around.
As I knelt on the ground
Oh my God
Someone is licking my face
OMG it’s my own dog
In my own bed
Oh heavens I have been riding
On a night mare
Horribus dyedidus hair rising action... cut
poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sliprails and the Spur
The colours of the setting sun
Withdrew across the Western land --
He raised the sliprails, one by one,
And shot them home with trembling hand;
Her brown hands clung -- her face grew pale --
Ah! quivering chin and eyes that brim! --
One quick, fierce kiss across the rail,
And, `Good-bye, Mary!' `Good-bye, Jim!'
Oh, he rides hard to race the pain
Who rides from love, who rides from home;
But he rides slowly home again,
Whose heart has learnt to love and roam.
A hand upon the horse's mane,
And one foot in the stirrup set,
And, stooping back to kiss again,
With `Good-bye, Mary! don't you fret!
When I come back' -- he laughed for her --
`We do not know how soon 'twill be;
I'll whistle as I round the spur --
You let the sliprails down for me.'
She gasped for sudden loss of hope,
As, with a backward wave to her,
He cantered down the grassy slope
And swiftly round the dark'ning spur.
Black-pencilled panels standing high,
And darkness fading into stars,
And blurring fast against the sky,
A faint white form beside the bars.
And often at the set of sun,
In winter bleak and summer brown,
She'd steal across the little run,
And shyly let the sliprails down.
And listen there when darkness shut
The nearer spur in silence deep;
And when they called her from the hut
Steal home and cry herself to sleep.
. . . . .
{Some editions have four more lines here.}
And he rides hard to dull the pain
Who rides from one that loves him best;
And he rides slowly back again,
Whose restless heart must rove for rest.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part. 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf VI. -- The Wraith Of Odin
The guests were loud, the ale was strong,
King Olaf feasted late and long;
The hoary Scalds together sang;
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The door swung wide, with creak and din;
A blast of cold night-air came in,
And on the threshold shivering stood
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The King exclaimed, 'O graybeard pale!
Come warm thee with this cup of ale.'
The foaming draught the old man quaffed,
The noisy guests looked on and laughed.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Then spake the King: 'Be not afraid;
Sit here by me.' The guest obeyed,
And, seated at the table, told
Tales of the sea, and Sagas old.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
And ever, when the tale was o'er,
The King demanded yet one more;
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said,
''T is late, O King, and time for bed.'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The King retired; the stranger guest
Followed and entered with the rest;
The lights were out, the pages gone,
But still the garrulous guest spake on.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
As one who from a volume reads,
He spake of heroes and their deeds,
Of lands and cities he had seen,
And stormy gulfs that tossed between.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Then from his lips in music rolled
The Havamal of Odin old,
With sounds mysterious as the roar
Of billows on a distant shore.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
'Do we not learn from runes and rhymes
Made by the gods in elder times,
And do not still the great Scalds teach
That silence better is than speech?'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Smiling at this, the King replied,
'Thy lore is by thy tongue belied;
For never was I so enthralled
Either by Saga-man or Scald,'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The Bishop said, 'Late hours we keep!
Night wanes, O King! 't is time for sleep!'
Then slept the King, and when he woke
The guest was gone, the morning broke.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
They found the doors securely barred,
They found the watch-dog in the yard,
There was no footprint in the grass,
And none had seen the stranger pass.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
King Olaf crossed himself and said:
'I know that Odin the Great is dead;
Sure is the triumph of our Faith,
The one-eyed stranger was his wraith.'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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