Related quotes: The battle has passed from...

The battle had passed from the height

The battle has passed from the height,
And still did evening fall;
While heaven with its restful night
Gloriously canopied all.

The dead around were sleeping
On heath and granite grey,
And the dying their last watch were keeping
In the closing of the day.

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How golden bright from earth and heaven
The summer day declines!
How gloriously o'er land and sea
The parting sunbeam shines!
There is a voice in the wind that waves
Those bright rejoicing trees.

Not a vapour had stained the breezeless blue,
Not a cloud had dimmed the sun,
From the time of morning's earliest dew
Till the summer day was done.

And all as pure and all as bright
The sun of evening died,
And purer still its parting light
Shone on Lake Elnor's tide.

Waveless and calm lies that silent deep
In its wilderness of moors,
Solemn and soft the moonbeams sleep
Upon its heathy shores.

The deer are gathered to their rest,
The wild sheep seek the fold.
Only some spires of bright green grass
Transparently in sunshine quivering.

The sun has set, and the long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind;
And the wild bird has flown from that old grey stone,
In some warm nook a couc hto find.

In all the lonely landscape round
I see no light and hear no sound,
Except the wind that far away
Comes sighing o'er the healthy sea.

Lady, in thy palace hall,
Once perchance thy face was seen;
Can no memory now recall
Thought again to what has been?

poem by Emily Brontë from The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë (1908)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes

The Sun Has Set

The sun has set, and the long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind;
And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone
In some warm nook a couch to find.

In all the lonely landscape round
I see no light and hear no sound,
Except the wind that far away
Comes sighing o'er the heathy sea.

poem by Emily Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Sun Has Set

The sun has set, and the long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind;
And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone
In some warm nook a couch to find.

In all the lonely landscape round
I see no light and hear no sound,
Except the wind that far away
Come sighing o'er the healthy sea.

poem by Emily Jane Brontë
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sound Sleep

Some are laughing, some are weeping;
She is sleeping, only sleeping.
Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;
There the wind is heaping, heaping
Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping.
By the corn-fields ripe for reaping.

There are lilies, and there blushes
The deep rose, and there the thrushes
Sing till latest sunlight flushes
In the west; a fresh wind brushes
Through the leaves while evening hushes.

There by day the lark is singing
And the grass and weeds are springing;
There by night the bat is winging;
There for ever winds are bringing
Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing.

Night and morning, noon and even,
Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven:
The long strife at lent is striven:
Till her grave-bands shall be riven
Such is the good portion given
To her soul at rest and shriven.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair

1 I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
2 Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;
3 I see her tripping where the bright streams play,
4 Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.
5 Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour.
6 Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er:
7 Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
8 Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

9 I long for Jeanie with the daydawn smile,
10 Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile;
11 I hear her melodies, like joys gone by,
12 Sighing round my heart o'er the fond hopes that die: --
13 Sighing like the night wind and sobbing like the rain, --
14 Wailing for the lost one that comes not again:
15 Oh! I long for Jeanie, and my heart bows low,
16 Never more to find her where the bright waters flow.

17 I sigh for Jeanie, but her light form strayed
18 Far from the fond hearts round her native glade;
19 Her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown,
20 Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone.
21 Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore
22 While her gentle fingers will cull them no more:
23 Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair,
24 Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

poem by Stephen C. Foster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spirit of Poetry, The

And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill
The world; and, in these wayward days of youth,
My busy fancy oft embodies it,
As a bright image of the light and beauty
That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues
That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds
When the sun sets. Within her tender eye
The heaven of April, with its changing light,
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung,
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair
Is like the summer tresses of the trees,
When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek
Blushes the richness of an autumn sky,
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath,
It is so like the gentle air of Spring,
As, front the morning's dewy flowers, it comes
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy
To have it round us, and her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Earlier Poems : The Spirit Of Poetry

There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind blows;
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade,
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air,
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread.
With what a tender and impassioned voice
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought,
When the fast ushering star of morning comes
O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf;
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandalled Eve,
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate,
Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves
In the green valley, where the silver brook,
From its full laver, pours the white cascade;
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods,
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter.
And frequent, on the everlasting hills,
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself
In all the dark embroidery of the storm,
And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid
The silent majesty of these deep woods,
lts presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth,
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades.
For them there was an eloquent voice in all
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way,
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds,
The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun
Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes,
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in,
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale,
The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees,
In many a lazy syllable, repeating
Their old poetic legends to the wind.
And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill
The world; and, in these wayward days of youth,
My busy fancy oft embodies it,
As a bright image of the light and beauty
That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues
That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds
When the sun sets. Within her tender eye
The heaven of April, with its changing light,
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung,
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair
Is like the summer tresses of the trees,
When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek
Blushes the richness of an autumn sky,
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath,
It is so like the gentle air of Spring,
As, front the morning's dewy flowers, it comes
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy
To have it round us, and her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Modern Love XLV: It Is the Season

It is the season of the sweet wild rose,
My Lady's emblem in the heart of me!
So golden-crownèd shines she gloriously,
And with that softest dream of blood she glows:
Mild as an evening heaven round Hesper bright!
I pluck the flower, and smell it, and revive
The time when in her eyes I stood alive.
I seem to look upon it out of Night.
Here's Madam, stepping hastily. Her whims
Bid her demand the flower, which I let drop.
As I proceed, I feel her sharply stop,
And crush it under heel with trembling limbs.
She joins me in a cat-like way, and talks
Of company, and even condescends
To utter laughing scandal of old friends.
These are the summer days, and these our walks.

poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Days Get Long

When summer days get extremely long
the sky becomes a much deeper hue,
a myriad of birds fill the cobalt blue,
constantly singing their gorgeous song

it is as if everything do belong
to the coming spring, are singing true
like some beautiful birds and insects do,
while colourful swarming in their great throng

over the gentle meadow and the valley
filling the tranquil grey evening sky
softly singing a sweet kind of medley
while in jubilance they still do fly
over fields of hay and fields of barley,
sunny day after sunny day pass by.

Sunny day after sunny day pass by
with almost a kind of smothering heat
the fields, the open veldt and dirt road lie
far to hot to tread with just bare feet.

Everything shimmers, the poplars that rears
like huge fingers pointing to the sun,
massive broad oak trees of many years
and grass and flowers where life has just begun

glitters in a new emerald green sheen,
the wind rustles things touching one by one
as if finding things where there had not been,
between huge black boulders rocks and stone

the sun blazes on every day the same,
I see the sun making wings of hot flame.

III

I see the sun making wings of hot flame
on the few white clouds in dazzling colours
and in the west there are some small wild game
drinking water while the evening hours

brings the white and blue stars out dazzling clear
with night predators in the pitch black sky
and some more wild game are drawing near,
I hear the hyenas laughing, wild dogs cry,

the growls of lions, the howling of jackals,
I get the smells of the earth and the bush,
I hear some leopards growling, their calls
that are where they are lying in ambush,

at night the predators are hunting prey,
making a living in the dying day.

Making a living in the dying day
swarms of birds fly calling with flapping wings
poplars, cedars and many trees do sway
while the twilight is grey, full of life, brings

as if by some magic, all at play
flying leaves, bats insects and flying things
with a few that lonesome away stray,
most are flying to nests in trees that swings

and eventually places of rest receives
the many small things that are fluttering,
the wind settles among the moving leaves,
the numerous evening birds start to sing

until the full moon shines its silver rays,
when night fades slowly as on other days.

When night fades slowly as on other days,
man is still bound by nature and destiny
to the world in which he works and plays
as it probably will be to eternity.

The yellow sun, the cobalt blue heaven
is like it has been from its very birth
with its joyous bright splendour even
like any other day upon this earth

but a time will come when man will be free
from all death and all kinds of destruction
from heartache, the sorrows that he see
with a new amazing introduction

to a place that’s holy, pure and bright;
now suddenly it is silver twilight.

Now suddenly it is silver twilight
and the sheer darkness of night flees away
before the coming new breaking day
with the blazing sheer redness of sunlight

constantly reflecting against the bright
unclouded sky open in its solid grey
with the red blossoming as if its to stay
and in the veldt guinea fowl flees in fright

while a small jackal laughs out its delight
and the few milling dark clouds do stray
before a strong wind as if in spite
and through bushes and grass rocking it plays
churning up eddies before going out of sight
while the hot sun rises with its golden rays.

VII

While the hot sun rises with its golden rays,
you come from a country where rivers meander
where the rain sieves down for many days
where some beautiful wild birds do wander

in lush overgrown tranquil water-meadows,
far away from the busy big city,
filled with thick green living hedgerows
where many bright wild flowers are pretty

but I still do wonder what you will see
in a land where vicious savage beasts
have no civility and do roam free
where the natives have very weird feasts,

where the flaming sun does spare no one,
when summer days get extremely long.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wild As The Wind (feat. Trisha Yearwood)

Johnny grew up
On the dark side of the law
Livin' in the shadow
Of the light he never saw
Rosie came 'round
In the way that true love does
Just when you're lookin' elsewhere
For the thing that never was
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
So they team up
And they traveled on thier way
Lookin' for forever
For every yesterday
She brings him hope
In the way that Angels do
Takin' him to heaven
In ways he never knew
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Every so often
He gets a stray look in his eye
She knows how to hold him
Without ever askin' why
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love

song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wild As The Wind

Johnny grew up
On the dark side of the law
Livin in the shadow
Of the light he never saw
Rosie came round
In the way that true love does
Just when youre lookin elsewhere
For the thing that never was
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
So they team up
And they traveled on thier way
Lookin for forever
For every yesterday
She brings him hope
In the way that angels do
Takin him to heaven
In ways he never knew
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Every so often
He gets a stray look in his eye
She knows how to hold him
Without ever askin why
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love

song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting For A Blue Sky

He sits upon the empty sand
and gazes up to the endless grey
The weathered face
and battered hands
Protest the soul
that carried them so far this way
The beaten skin
is turning to a wrinkled smile
And his eyes light up
and give his soul away
He said, I'm waiting for a blue sky
I am waiting for a bright day
I'll be there thru the wind and rain
Don't care what anybody says
I'm waiting for a morning bright
that fills the day with all its clean bright light
I'm waiting for a blue sky
I'm waiting for a blue sky
I'm waiting for a bright day
I'll be there thru the wind and rain
Don't care what anyone else says
I'm waiting for a morning bright
that fills the day with all its clean bright light
I'm waiting for a blue sky

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wild Geese

Wild geese fly overhead
In the wild Autumn weather.
Souls of the newly-dead
Crying and flying together.

Home from the last great fight,
The souls of the Irish farin'
With a wild heart in the night,
A grey eye turned to Erin.

High and high in the sky,
From the red fields of slaughter
Ever they fly and cry
For the brown bog, the grey water.

Wild geese in the wild even,
Steady and strong their flight,
Their beds are made in Heaven,
All of the down white.

They have forgone that bliss
Till they have seen once more
The little land of peace,
Green and bright as of yore.

High o'er the sheep and cattle,
The bogs and the mountains lone,
The souls new-home from the battle
Cry their love and are flown.

poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Harvest Moon

Drinking the dripping light
Of the Harvest Moon,
I lie on my back, only
The sound of some crickets
Is trembling around.
The stillness to me is now a boon!
The wet grass land calms
My feverish head.
The cool air blows and I
Remain as a person dead.
Insects roam beside my body though
I do not leave them away!
This is the evening I want, I know
Every time, to be alone, alone....
No one with me on this special day,
When the evening will embrace night,
The moonlight will focus on me.
I shall bathe with his color bright
The green darkness will hug me soon!
No human eye can watch my love in the lea,
With the Evening harvest moon...

poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wild Wind

For the time of year, the weather is mild,
But the raging wind is running wild.
The rain has stopped, and now there’s sun,
But the wild wind is very far from done.

Bins are upended – their contents spilled.
Weeping willows wave their long tendrils.
A garden fence rocks dangerously to and fro;
A sudden gust comes along, and over it goes.

By a cottage doorway, wind-chimes dangle;
Caught by the wind, they now joyously jangle.
With such brutal force, I am blown along;
Helped on my way, by the wind, so strong.

Trees take a battering; some have broken boughs.
The wild wind lets out one long, horrendous howl.
Across the ground, crinkled leaves skip and skitter,
As do pieces of paper, crisp packets, and other litter.

The clothes on my washing-line, are, very soon, dry;
They are securely pegged, so that, away, they don’t fly.
By the wild wind, an open gate is slammed, firmly shut.
On the radio, there are numerous reports of power cuts.

The sky is a mixture of dull grey and bright blue;
The weather is undecided on what it wants to do.
By the time evening arrives, the wind has died down;
It gives one last wave, and with that, it slowly drowns.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lullaby Of London

As I walked down by the riverside
One evening in the spring
Heard a long gone song
From days gone by
Blown in on the great north wind
Though there is no lonesome corncrakes cry
Of sorrow and delight
You can hear the cars
And the shouts from bars
And the laughter and the fights
May the ghosts that howled
Round the house at night
Never keep you from your sleep
May they all sleep tight
Down in hell tonight
Or wherever they may be
As I walked on with a heavy heart
Then a stone danced on the tide
And the song went on
Though the lights were gone
And the north wind gently sighed
And an evening breeze coming from the east
That kissed the riverside
So I pray now child that you sleep tonight
When you hear this lullaby
May the wind that blows from haunted graves
Never bring you misery
May the angels bright
Watch you tonight
And keep you while you sleep

song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Grass.

'Tis as if I saw it all — sat now in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat now in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
The two of them in the wood, below me there by the rill;
He with the light on his brow, she in the shadow still;
And a cloud so white goes over the blue on the gleaming hill.
My nest in the grass was good: they deemed that none might see —
Ah God in heaven! my eyes looked out of the hell in me,
As his arm went round her waist, and his lips where mine might be —
Touched hers, as her face drew up like a flower in the light to his —
Touched hers, as I felt her soul shine out in a dream of bliss;
While mine with the pangs of hell was alive in a world like this!
I dared not move, nor could I shut my eyes to it all;
And still they clung and kissed: I heard the waterfall,
I heard the warm wind sing till the day began to pall.
And then they rose, the twain who had taken my life from me;
I did not rise, but lay where none might hear or see,
In the grass in the dark and sobbed, 'Would God that the end might be!'
The years have come since then, and the years have gone but I,
Though the fever of death was strong upon me, did not die;
And though I am old and weak as upon my couch I lie,
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat still in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat still in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.

poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lily-Bell and Thistledown Song I

Awake! Awake! for the earliest gleam
Of golden sunlight shines
On the rippling waves, that brightly flow
Beneath the flowering vines.
Awake! Awake! for the low, sweet chant
Of the wild-birds' morning hymn
Comes floating by on the fragrant air,
Through the forest cool and dim;
Then spread each wing,
And work, and sing,
Through the long, bright sunny hours;
O'er the pleasant earth
We journey forth,
For a day among the flowers.

Awake! Awake! for the summer wind
Hath bidden the blossoms unclose,
Hath opened the violet's soft blue eye,
And awakened the sleeping rose.
And lightly they wave on their slender stems
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair,
Waiting for us, as we singing come
To gather our honey-dew there.
Then spread each wing,
And work, and sing,
Through the long, bright sunny hours;
O'er the pleasant earth
We journey forth,
For a day among the flowers.

poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Isle Of Founts

Son of the stranger! wouldst thou take
O'er yon blue hills thy lonely way,
To reach the still and shining lake
Along whose banks the west-winds play?
-Let no vain dreams thy heart beguile,
Oh! seek thou not the Fountain-Isle!

Lull but the mighty serpent king,
'Midst the grey rocks, his old domain;
Ward but the cougar's deadly spring,
-Thy step that lake's green shore may gain;
And the bright Isle, when all is pass'd,
Shall vainly meet thine eye at last!

Yes! there, with all its rainbow streams,
Clear as within thine arrow's flight,
The Isle of Founts, the Isle of dreams,
Floats on the wave in golden light;
And lovely will the shadows be
Of groves whose fruit is not for thee!

And breathings from their sunny flowers,
Which are not of the things that die,
And singing voices from their bowers
Shall greet thee in the purple sky;
Soft voices, e'en like those that dwell
Far in the green reed's hollow cell.

Or hast thou heard the sounds that rise
From the deep chambers of the earth?
The wild and wondrous melodies
To which the ancient rocks gave birth?
-Like that sweet song of hidden caves
Shall swell those wood-notes o'er the waves.

The emerald waves!-they take their hue
And image from that sunbright shore;
But wouldst thou launch thy light canoe,
And wouldst thou ply thy rapid oar,
Before thee, hadst thou morning's speed,
The dreamy land should still recede!

Yet on the breeze thou still wouldst hear
The music of its flowering shades,
And ever should the sound be near
Of founts that ripple through its glades;
The sound, and sight, and flashing ray
Of joyous waters in their play!

But woe for him who sees them burst
With their bright spray-showers to the lake!
Earth has no spring to quench the thirst
That semblance in his soul shall wake,
For ever pouring through his dreams,
The gush of those untasted streams!

Bright, bright in many a rocky urn,
The waters of our deserts lie,
Yet at their source his lip shall burn,
Parch'd with the fever's agony!
From the blue mountains to the main,
Our thousand floods may roll in vain.

E'en thus our hunters came of yore
Back from their long and weary quest;
-Had they not seen th' untrodden shore,
And could they 'midst our wilds find rest?
The lightning of their glance was fled,
They dwelt amongst us as the dead!

They lay beside our glittering rills,
With visions in their darken'd eye,
Their joy was not amidst the hills,
Where elk and deer before us fly;
Their spears upon the cedar hung,
Their javelins to the wind were flung.

They bent no more the forest-bow,
They arm'd not with the warrior-band,
The moons wan'd o'er them dim and slow-
-They left us for the spirit's land!
Beneath our pines yon greensward heap
Shows where the restless found their sleep.

Son of the stranger! if at eve
Silence be 'midst us in thy place,
Yet go not where the mighty leave
The strength of battle and of chase!
Let no vain dreams thy heart beguile,
Oh! seek thou not the Fountain-Isle!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the long night

In the long night
The long, long night
How bright
The light of passion shines!

The summer heat
How obstinate
It is:
Yet in the night
The long, long night
How bright
The light of passion shines!

And winter frost
And neighing wind
Behind the window panes
And doors:
And the shrill call
Of nightingales
In Spring:
No difference will make:
For
In the long, long night
How bright
The light of passion shines!

poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The battle had passed from the height

Related quotes

The Sun Has Set

The Sun Has Set

Sound Sleep

Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair

Spirit of Poetry, The

Earlier Poems : The Spirit Of Poetry

Modern Love XLV: It Is the Season

When Days Get Long

Wild As The Wind (feat. Trisha Yearwood)

Wild As The Wind

Waiting For A Blue Sky

The Wild Geese

The Harvest Moon

The Wild Wind

Lullaby Of London

In The Grass.

Evening Star

Lily-Bell and Thistledown Song I

The Isle Of Founts

In the long night

En.Citatepedia®.ro

The battle had passed from the height

Related quotes

The Sun Has Set

The Sun Has Set

Sound Sleep

Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair

Spirit of Poetry, The

Earlier Poems : The Spirit Of Poetry

Modern Love XLV: It Is the Season

When Days Get Long

Wild As The Wind (feat. Trisha Yearwood)

Wild As The Wind

Waiting For A Blue Sky

The Wild Geese

The Harvest Moon

The Wild Wind

Lullaby Of London

In The Grass.

Evening Star

Lily-Bell and Thistledown Song I

The Isle Of Founts

In the long night

En.Citatepedia^®.ro