En.Citatepedia^®.ro

To ----

Within these leafless trees,
That bare against the sky,
Their naked branches rear;
Leaves, buds, and blossoms lie.

So beauty's myriad forms,
Within thy soul are sleeping;
While thou, upon their sleep,
A wintry spell art keeping.

But soon the leaves and flowers
Shall burst their living tomb,
And fill the air around
With perfume and with bloom.

And buried in thy heart,
Shall thought's fair blossoms lie,
Forever unrevealed,
To wither and to die?

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Past

I.
Wilt thou forget the happy hours
Which we buried in Love’s sweet bowers,
Heaping over their corpses cold
Blossoms and leaves, instead of mould?
Blossoms which were the joys that fell,
And leaves, the hopes that yet remain.

II.
Forget the dead, the past? Oh, yet
There are ghosts that may take revenge for it,
Memories that make the heart a tomb,
Regrets which glide through the spirit’s gloom,
And with ghastly whispers tell
That joy, once lost, is pain.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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O Lady, Leave Thy Silken Thread

O Lady, leave thy silken thread
And flowery tapestrie:
There's living roses on the bush,
And blossoms on the tree;
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find
The daisy at thy feet.
'Tis like the birthday of the world,
When earth was born in bloom;
The light is made of many dyes,
The air is all perfume;
There's crimson buds, and white and blue—
The very rainbow showers
Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell,
And sown the earth with flowers.
There's fairy tulips in the east,
The garden of the sun;
The very streams reflect the hues,
And blossom as they run:
While Morn opes like a crimson rose,
Still wet with pearly showers;
Then, lady, leave the silken thread
Thou twinest into flowers!

poem by Thomas Hood
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Sweet Death

The sweetest blossoms die.
And so it was that, going day by day
Unto the church to praise and pray,
And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully,
I saw how on the graves the flowers
Shed their fresh leaves in showers,
And how their perfume rose up to the sky
Before it passed away.

The youngest blossoms die.
They die, and fall and nourish the rich earth
From which they lately had their birth;
Sweet life, but sweeter death that passeth by
And is as though it had not been:—
All colors turn to green:
The bright hues vanish, and the odours fly,
The grass hath lasting worth.

And youth and beauty die.
So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth:
Better than beauty and than youth
Are Saints and Angels, a glad company;
And Thou, O lord, our Rest and Ease,
Are better far than these.
Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why
Prefer to glean with Ruth?

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Dead

I see them crowd on crowd they walk the earth
Dry, leafless trees no Autumn wind laid bare,
And in their nakedness find cause for mirth,
And all unclad would winter's rudeness dare;
No sap doth through their clattering branches flow,
Whence springing leaves and blossoms bright appear;
Their hearts the living God have ceased to know,
Who gives the spring time to th'expectant year;
They mimic life, as if from him to steal
His glow of health to paint the livid cheek;
They borrow words for thoughts they cannot feel,
That with a seeming heart their tongue may speak;
And in their show of life more dead they live
Than those that to the earth with many tears they give.

poem by Jones Very
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There and back again for M 'lady Chitra

There are no blossoms to be seen.
They’ve served their turn and left the stage
The trees are clad in shades of green
One further step on their passage

from the bare twigs of winter time.
Stark silhouettes against the sky
then blossom time which is sublime
Providing pleasure for the eye/

The trees are in their summer dress
More subtle than their spring attire.
Waiting for autumn to impress
with leaves that seem to be on fire.

The autumn winds well strip them bare
and spread their glory on the ground.
A coloured blanket everywhere.
and twigs now dancing to the sound

of early winter gales that blow.
Creating eerie harmonies,
bare branches moving to and fro
produce discordant melodies.

The trees endure the winters rage,
the bitter cold and falling snow,
The know it’s just another stage
they’re well prepared to undergo.

Before the welcome spring returns
to prompt new tender leaves to grow
Followed by blossoms in their turn.
As seasons come and seasons go,

07/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Life Blossoms into vitality

Petals blossoms into flowers,
Clouds blossom into rain,
Seeds blossoms into trees,
Minutes blossom into hours,
Bricks blossom into dwellings,
Anger blossoms into destruction,
Exuberance blossoms into newness,
Nervousness blossoms into exhaustion,
Teamwork blossoms into unity,
Perseverance blossoms into success,
Beauty blossoms into enchantment,
Intrigue blossoms into enigma,
Trends blossom into innovations,
Eggs blossom into fledglings,
Rose blossoms into scent,
Sun blossoms into optimism,
Stars blossom into radiation,
Soil blossoms into vegetation,
Art blossoms into exoticism,
Ice blossoms into waterfalls,
Fire blossoms into compassion,
Imagination blossoms into concepts,
Wine blossoms into sedation,
War blossoms into hatred,
Pearls blossom into resplendence,
Dreams blossom into floatation,
Fashion blossoms into style,
Roots blossom into stem,
Salt blossoms into tanginess,
Strength blossoms into fortitude,
Resilience blossoms into conviction,
Surrender blossoms into despair,
Truth blossoms into harmony,
Relationships blossom into empathy,
Violence blossoms into prejudice,
Discrimination blossoms into bloodshed,
Scalp blossoms into hair,
Love blossoms into passion,
Peace blossoms into solidarity,
Rainbow blossoms into vivacity,
Endeavor blossoms into sweetness,
Tunes blossom into songs,
Mind blossoms into ingenuity,
Wilderness blossoms into mysticism,
Flames blossom into ardor,
Corpses blossom into ghosts,
Retreat blossoms into sadness,
Bondage blossoms into rebel,
Faith blossoms into worship,
Infidelity blossoms into nemesis,
Idiosyncrasy blossoms into nothingness,
Spiders blossom into webs,
Benevolence blossoms into humanity,
Independence blossoms into character,
Renunciation blossoms into divine,
Introspection blossoms into discovering,
Emotions blossom into yearning,
Death blossoms into extinction,
And life blossoms into vitality…..

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Sweet Addiction

Tulips…Eurasian herbs
With deep shaped cup
Close kin of Lilies
From which hummingbirds sup

Begonias…. tropical herb,
showy flowers, waxy leaves…
Besieged by legions
of honeybees

Roses…often climbing shrubs…
Fragrant blossoms filling noses
Divided leaves, prickly stems
Varietal colored, bed of roses

Lavender…Mediterranean mint
Pale purple colour
Heady perfume, to scent
Bed linen and cover

Flowers, blossoms
Predilections
Scent and sight…
Sweet addictions

Dizzying choices,
A lie down in repose
The best place to compose in…
Is no bed of roses

poem by David Whalen
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Autumn Falling Leaves

When all have been and gone away,
Like leaves from green to amber orange,
Falling down and to decay,
Is the time for all in nature to fall,
And the leaves on the trees show it all,
Autumn and its falls of fall,

Where all the branches have dropped their leaves,
All have gone except the evergreens,
Showing signs to us that live among,
Four seasons weather,
Where Autumn is,

Just like in life,
When full circle of life is known,
A start in spring where buds appear,
Then in summer full bloom trees will be,
Hence, fall shows all,
When nature falls,
Begining another season,
Winter and chill tempetures,

Where nature decays,
And leaves do fall,
To generate again,
Renewing its life,
Come spring again,

Untill then,
Autumn sheads its leaves of blossom and blooms,
And soon again autumn begins,
From new to old,
And then old to new,
Buds in spring and leaves of green,

Showing birth from what did decayed,
And brought forth from,
What was bear on the trees,
From where beneath was where once,
Those Autumn falling leaves.

poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Blossoms of Bottle-Brush Vavroovahana Patra

Blossoms of Bottle-Brush smile delightfully;
Passers-by enjoy the beauty gaily.
Poets wait a while for enjoyment;

Cosy tiny green leaves adorn the tree;
In tree’s lap tiny birds are free.
Sun beam kisses the leaves and blossoms;
For people’s enjoyment the blossoms bloom.

Mild vernal breeze kisses the tree;
In Nature’s lap she is free.
Smiles in the lap of Nature;
Contents poet’s desire.

A thing of Beauty in joy for ever;
Beauteous is lap of Nature.
Poet derives peace and pleasure;
Is an innocent creature.

Nature is a Brook of Delight;
There reigns the supreme Power, the Almighty.
God’s gift is ever beautiful;
Being inspired, people become dutiful.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Lost Time

On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my lord.
Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.

Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts,
buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed
and imagined all work had ceased.
In the morning I woke up
and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Make-believe

Make-believe

The olive tree had three trunks Siamese triplets?
It was old and gnarled, some of its branches had
no leaves and it was lost in an abstract, cosmic
dream and not aware of its surround; I touched
the perennial and thus gave it soul.

A mild breeze blew, a fluttering of leaves and
the three could see the blue sky where a silvery
bird flew northward glinting in the sun. It could
also see how cute other trees looked, when aware
how ugly it was dawn dew dripped from leaves.

Wished it could be a cosmic dream again and
not know of time and place. But look, its tears
had fertilised the ground and around its trunk
flowers so rare they had still to get a Latin name,
sprung up from red/rusty soil.

They are my creation I have created beauty out
of my distress, the plant whispered as in awe.
My children, must shade them from the hot sun
and bitter winter rain. Vanity be gone, and see,
on its naked branches green leaves grew,

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Rustling Leave

In the cold wintry evening,
When it was gloam and twilight,
Covering myself with thick blanket of wool,
I used to go to a small garden,
Where my father planted the apple trees.

Often I roved around the victims,
Of callous spoiling Autumn.
The leafless branches tormented me,
Presenting undressed bare reality.
They looked like skeletons of ghosts,
Without flesh, with naked bones,
Who often disturb us in our sleep.

The swishy wind blew moaning,
Lamenting over the bodies,
Of the dried fallen leaves,
Blowing them to this or that end,
Resting nowhere to be disposed,
Some swept onto the stagnant water,
On the green surface to float.

The blown rustling leaves reminded,
Once they were fresh and green,
Fluttered resisting blows of the wind,
Sucked the honeyed sap of life,
When attached to the source.

Amid the blooming winter crops,
The grove presented a doleful contrast,
Making depressed both heart and mind,
The vanished tongue whispering a secret,
Consoled the weeping heart over the plague,
That death is the overleaf of life,
The front side overshadows the other.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Autumnale for M lady ernestine

The falling leaves dance in the breeze
and clothe the ground beneath the trees,
in autumn colours rich a rare.
The trees themselves will soon be bare.

Left no defence against the wind.
Their winter plans are well designed,
bare twigs and branches hold less snow
than useless leaves they have let go

The wintry gales to no avail
try hard but they are doomed to fail,
They can’t destroy the sturdy trees;
resisting with apparent ease.

Although they bow before the blast
they know that winter cannot last
The winds will die and fade away
the trees will they’re here to stay.

Spring will return the trees will green
as if the winter had not been.
The trees put on their new spring clothes
along with every plant that grows.

8-Oct-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To K.M.D.

In the buds, before they burst,
Leaves and flowers are moulded;
Closely pressed they lie at first,
Exquisitely folded.

Though no hope of change they felt,
Folded hard together,
Soon their sap begins to melt
In the warmer weather.

Till, when Life returns with Spring,
Through them softly stealing,
All their freshness forth they fling,
Hidden forms revealing. [606]

Who can fold those flowers again,
In the way he found them?
Or those spreading leaves restrain,
In the buds that bound them?

Trust me, Spring is very near,
All the buds are swelling;
All the glory of the year
In those buds is dwelling.

What the opened buds reveal
Tells us—Life is flowing;
What the buds, still shut, conceal,
We shall end in knowing.

Long I lingered in the bud
Doubting of the season,
Winter's cold had chilled my blood-—
I was ripe for treason.

Now no more I doubt or wait,
All my fears are vanished,
Summer’s coming, dear, though late,
Fogs and frosts are banished.

poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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The earth to the sun

Oh Sun! oh glorious Sun!
The spell of winter binds me strong and dread
In the dark sleep, the coldness of the dead;
And song and beauty from thy haunts are gone.

The skies above me lower,
The frozen tempests beat upon my breast,
That wearily by its snow-shroud is prest;
And the wild winds rave o'er me in mad power.

At thine averted gaze,
Benumbed and desolate, I droop and die:
Life of my life! Lord of my destiny!
Shine on me with thy life-imparting rays.

Look from thy radiant throne,
And o'er this waste, drear and unlovely now,
Young summer's gorgeous loveliness shall glow,
And beauty clasp me in her magic zone.

Fair landscapes shall arise,
O'er which a sky of tenderest blue shall bend,
Where forest, hill, and vale, and stream shall blend
In beauty like a dream of Paradise.

And in thy living beams
The flowers shall wake, and every dewy cup
Shall send the homage of its perfume up,
And give thy brightness back in rosy gleams.

A full deep symphony,
The voice of streams, the air's melodious sighs,
Songs from all living things shall mingling rise
In one eternal hymn of love to thee.

* * * * * *

In vain, oh Earth, in vain; --
What heeds the Sun, if light or shadow rest
Upon the bosom in his smile so blest,
Or if thou perish in thine icy chain.

If from the shining host,
Like the lost Pleiad, thou wert stricken down,
He would not miss thee from his starry crown --
He would not mark one ray of brightness lost.

Then for the song and bloom,
The untold wealth of beauty, buried deep
Within thy frozen heart, in death-like sleep,
Oh! mourn thou not within thy conscious tomb.

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Den o' Fowlis

Beautiful Den o' Fowlis, most charming to be seen
In the summer season, when your trees are green;
Especially in the bright and clear month of June,
When your flowere and shrubberies are in full bloom.

There visitors can enjoy themselves during the holidays,
And be shaded by the trees from the sun's rays,
And admire the beautiful primroses that grow there;
And inhale their sweet perfume that fills the air.

There the little children sport and play,
Blythe and gay during the live-long summer day,
In its beautiful green and cool shady bowers,
Chasing the bee and butterfly, and pulling the flowers.

There the Minnows loup and play;
In the little rivulet all the day;
Right in the hollow of that fairy-like Den,
Together in little shoals of nine or ten

And the Mavis and Blackbird merrily sing,
Making the Den with their notes to ring;
From high noon till sunset at night,
Filling the visitor's heart with delight.

Tis most lovely to see the trees arched overhead,
And the little rivulet rolling o'er its pebbly bed,
Ane near by is an old Meal Mill;
Likewise an old Church and Churchyard where the dead lie still.

The Den is always cool in the summer time,
Because it is so closely shaded from the sunshine,
By the spreading branches of the trees,
While the murmuring of the rivulet is heard on the night breeze.

It is a very magnificent spot the Den o' Fowlis,
And where oft the wintry wind it howls,
Among its bare end leafless withered trees,
And with fear wonld almost make one's heart to freeze.

To be walking through it on a dark wintry night,
Because the bare trees seem like spectres to your sight,
And everything around seems dark and drear,
And fills the timid mind with an undefinable fear.

But in the summer season it is most lovely to see;
With its fair flowers and romantic scenery,
Where the people can enjoy themselves all the day,
In the months of July, June, or May.

There the people can drink pure water when they are dry;
From the wells of spring water in the Den near by,
Which God has provided for his creatures in that lonely spot,
And such a blessing to the people shouldn't be forgot.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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A Paraphrase Of Heine

(LYRIC INTERMEZZO)

There fell a star from realms above--
A glittering, glorious star to see!
Methought it was the star of love,
So sweetly it illumined me.

And from the apple branches fell
Blossoms and leaves that time in June;
The wanton breezes wooed them well
With soft caress and amorous tune.

The white swan proudly sailed along
And vied her beauty with her note--
The river, jealous of her song,
Threw up its arms to clasp her throat.

But now--oh, now the dream is past--
The blossoms and the leaves are dead,
The swan's sweet song is hushed at last,
And not a star burns overhead.

poem by Eugene Field
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The Child’s Dream

Buried in childhood’s cloudless dreams, a fair-haired nursling lay,
A soft smile hovered round the lips as if still oped to pray;
And then a vision came to him, of beauty, strange and mild,
Such as may only fill the dreams of a pure sinless child.

Stood by his couch an angel fair, with radiant, glitt’ring wings
Of hues as bright as the living gems the fount to Heaven flings;
With loving smile he bent above the fair child cradled there,
While sounds of sweet seraphic power stole o’er the fragrant air.

“Child, list to me,” he softly said, “on mission high I’m here:
Sent by that Glorious One to whom Heav’n bows in loving fear;
I seek thee now, whilst thou art still on the threshold of earth’s strife,
To speak of what thou knowest not yet, this new and wond’rous life.

“Dost cling to it? dost find this earth a fair and lovely one?
Dost love its bright-dyed birds and flowers, its radiant golden sun?
I come to bid thee leave it all—to turn from its bright bloom,
And, having closed thine eyes in death, descend into the tomb.

“Thou shudderest, child! with restless gaze from me thou turn’st away;
’Mid summer flowers and singing birds wouldst thou remain to play;
Thou still wouldst bask in the dear light of thy fond father’s smile,
And on thy mother’s doating heart would linger yet awhile.

“’Tis well, sweet child, I blame thee not, but in spheres far away
Are blossoms lovelier far than those which tempt thee here to stay;
And if the love of parents fond with joy thy heart doth fill,
In those bright distant realms is One who loves thee better still!

“That One for thee in suffering lived—for thy sake, too, he died;
Oh! like the ocean is His love, as deep, my child, as wide.
Leave, then, this earth ere hideous sin thy spotless brow shall dim—
One struggling breath, one parting pang, and then thou’lt be with Him!”

A smile lit up the sleeper’s face, but soon it softly fled,
The rose leaf cheeks and lips grew wan—could it be the child was dead?
Yes, dead—and spared the ills of life, and in bright bliss above
The pure soul nestles in the light of God’s unbounded Love.

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Austere purity.

It’s autumn now; the trees discard
their final leaves in readiness
When winter comes times will be hard.
Their leafless branches suffer less.
From winter gales and hold less snow
Than they would in summer dress.
The time has come to let leaves go
Although bare branches don’t impress.
Mere silhouettes against the sky.
A tracery of black and white
They can still catch a poet’s eye
and may inspire him to write.
In praise of the simplicity
of winters cold sterility.

Friday,15 October 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Enduring beauty for M'ladyCatherine Rica Coso

From bare black twigs against the sky.
Transformed by spring to blossoms white.
To me a more than welcome sight.
Which alas too soon will die.
But in their place new greenery
Leaves seem to unfurl overnight
in shades of green which catch sunlight
Add lustre to the scenery.
The leaves will last the summer long.
Before they don their autumn dress
in garish colours to impress
The winds which sing the winters song.
The trees return to nakedness
Retaining beauty none the less.

31-May-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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