En.Citatepedia^®.ro

That Wind I Used to Hear it Swelling

That wind I used to hear it swelling
With joy divinely deep
You might have seen my hot tears welling
But rapture made me weep.

I used to love on winter nights
To lie and dream alone
Of all the hopes and real delights
My early years had known.

And oh above the rest of those
That coming time should bear
Like heaven's own glorious stars they rose
Still beaming bright and fair.

poem by Emily Brontë from The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë (1908)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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That Wind I Used to Hear it Swelling

That wind I used to hear it swelling
With joy divinely deep
You might have seen my hot tears welling
But rapture made me weep

I used to love on winter nights
To lie and dream alone
Of all the hopes and real delights
My early years had known

And oh above the rest of those
That coming time should [bear]
Like heaven's own glorious stars they rose
Still beaming bright and fair

poem by Emily Jane Brontë
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Song of Winter’s Night

Love song of winter’s night
With many thoughts to give
Stars falling above bright
Promising wishes to live
Within them everyone's dream
In a love light that glows
Coming through darkish gleam
Before it soft again goes

Love songs for you and me
Everything from the heart
From the beats of eternity
Where everything’s to start
Hopes with clear promises
Somewhere out in their dark
The joy of man's caresses
That tomorrow might spark

Love songs of winter’s high
With many thoughts found
Hello delights and goodbye
Everything comes around
So much joy in everything
From nights of winter’s come
Highest tones now to sing
Where spark of snow’s from

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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His Youth

Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.

'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.

'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.

'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.

'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.

'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?

''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.

'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.

'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.

'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Years of Tears

Years of tears for no ears to hear, lonely for years am I
Years of tears for no ears to hear in silence they dropp and die
Years of tears, hidden deep, I cannot weep, nor cry.
Years of tears, for many fears of dying alone, I sigh.
Years of tears which no one hears as many years go by.
Years of tears in the lonely sky, my tears grow wings and fly.
Years of tears, my smile shines, through its little lines, I lie.
Years of tears, my somber peers through my melancholy eye
Tears of tears, Years of Years, in my soul, I tie.
Years of tears for no ears to hear my tears weep goodbye….

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Too Early For The Sun

I have never known a love like this,
Before in my life,
Tears can turn into bliss,
With only a kiss, only a kiss.
And I have never held a girl,
Like you so close in my arms,
You appeared in my world,
And offered me hope for one more time.
Ive never been so afraid,
That love is just a dream,
Darling Ill awake and youll be gone,
Never believe that Ill love somebody,
Ill love somebody, someone like you,
Ill love somebody, I could love somebody.
Youre too early for the sun,
Too early for the moon,
Too early for the rain,
Coming down on me,
You make me feel so close to home,
So far away, like nowhere else Ive never been.
Youre too early for the stars,
Too early for the wind,
Too early for my heart,
To open up again,
But when I see you I just laugh,
And I believe, Im right where Im supposed to be.
I have never known a life like this,
Except in my dreams,
One kiss and I was renewed,
Now Im alive, I have survived.
I have never loved a girl,
Like you, except in my dreams,
All my songs are for you,
I finally see my dreams come true.
Ive never been so afraid,
That love is just a dream,
Darling Ill awake and youll be gone,
Never believe that Ill love somebody,
Ill love somebody, someone like you,
Ill love somebody, I could love somebody.
Youre too early for the sun,
Too early for the moon,
Too early for the rain,
Coming down on you,
You make me feel so close to home,
So far away, like nowhere else Ive never been.
Youre just too early for the stars,
Too early for the wind,
Too early for my heart,
To open up again.
But when I see you I just laugh,
And I believe, Im right where Im supposed to be.
Ooh, darling, welcome to the wind,
As we sail our ship of dreams into uncharted waters,
Forget about the stars, and love will lead you higher,
So girl, lets ride the wind.
Surrender to the sun,
Surrender to the moon,
Surrender to the rain,
Surrender to the stars,
Surrender to your heart,
Surrender to the wind.
Take a chance,
Open up, let me love again.
Surrender to the sun,
Surrender to the moon,
Surrender to the rain,
Surrender to the stars,
Surrender to your fears,
Surrender to your tears,
Take a chance,
Open up, let me love again.

song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Heavenly Dream

How could I
So Much without love
Come to speak secret things
From Heaven above?

Born of my need
Only love I desired
I flew angel speed
To Heaven up higher

I saw things so dear
My eyes were made new
A splendor so clear
Like the first morning dew

What there I did hear
Made my heart all anew
It was given to me
So to share it with you

The Love in that place
Is beyond all desire
They call it God's Grace
In heaven up higher

It was given to me
But not mine to keep
It's yours too you see
So to stars we can leap!

This Glorious Love
I knew in my sleep
From High up above
In my heart now so deep

Just dream of Love Pure
All the Love you desire
It's yours to be sure
From Heaven up higher

This Love in my dream
So unknown just before
To stars must I stream
To sense it once more?

This Love I know true
In my heart tho' broken
Is all here for you
In these tender words spoken:

'I Love you! We Love you! '
Three words o' so dear
From His heaven up Higher
To your hearts down here

poem by Lawrence Kelley III
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Winter is coming............

Children awaken me in the early light;
'Winter is coming' they shout in unison
'The leaves have danced off the limbs and the the trees are going to sleep, Mama.' says one.
'Winter is coming' claps two and three as they parade around on my bed
'Hot chocolate' screamed one
'with marshmallows' yelled two
'I will pop the popcorn' states three
'Winter is coming, Mama, we had our first frost. I thought it was dew, but it crunched under my feet.' says one with bright open eyes and cold feet on my toasty legs.
'Winter is coming, Mama, no more mosquitoes to bite us when we play.' cried two in excitement
'Winter is coming, Mom, I better go out and chop some wood for the family.' states nostalgic three
Yawn
Stretch
pull the covers closer
Sleepy answers
'Oh good, Winter is coming. I can crochet you a new scarf.' pointing to one
'I can make you a new doll' pointing to two
'And for you' beaming at three, 'I will bake some fresh bread for you my darling'
Hugs all around
Wiggle
Jump
Skip
'Winter is coming! '
'Winter is coming! '
Hooray! ! Winter is coming! '

poem by Shala Drake
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Four Score

I count the mercifullest part of all
God's mercies, in this coil of eighty years,
Is that no sense of being disappears
Or fails; I see the signal, hear the call,
Can calmly estimate the rise and fall
Of moth-like mortals in this "vale of tears";
And all His glorious works--the heavenly spheres,
The ocean, and the earth's unending wall--
Remain, for thought and wonder! Marvellous
Is God's creation, with its endless space
And those inhabited bright worlds by law
Divinely governed, as they shine on us,
Still keeping through all time their ordered place;
I bow my head in rapture and in awe.

poem by Sir Henry Parkes
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Rondel

THESE many years since we began to be,
What have the gods done with us? what with me,
What with my love? they have shown me fates and fears,
Harsh springs, and fountains bitterer than the sea,
Grief a fixed star, and joy a vane that veers,
These many years.

With her, my love, with her have they done well?
But who shall answer for her? who shall tell
Sweet things or sad, such things as no man hears?
May no tears fall, if no tears ever fell,
From eyes more dear to me than starriest spheres
These many years!

But if tears ever touched, for any grief,
Those eyelids folded like a white-rose leaf,
Deep double shells wherethrough the eye-flower peers,
Let them weep once more only, sweet and brief,
Brief tears and bright, for one who gave her tears
These many years.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Us Go

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying 'If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leave-Taking

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying 'If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Leave-Taking

A Leave-Taking

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing?time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as we all love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying, `If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon?flower making all the foam?flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Growing Old

I’M growing old — ‘t is surely so;
And yet how short it seems
Since I was but a sportive child,
Enjoying childish dreams!

I cannot see the change that comes
With such an even pace;
I mark not when the wrinkles fall
Upon my fading face.

I know I’m old; and yet my heart
Is just as young and gay
As e’er it was before my locks
Of bright brown turned to gray.

I know these eyes to other eyes
Look not so bright and glad
As once they looked; and yet ‘tis nor
Because my heart’s more sad.

I never watched with purer joy
The floating clouds and glowing skies,
While glistening tears of rapture fill
These old and fading eyes.

And when I mark the cheek, wkere once
The bright rose used to glow,
It grieves me not to see instead
The almond crown my brow.

I’ve seen the flower grow old and pale,
And withered more than I;
I’ve seen it lose its every charm,
Then droop away and die.

And then I’ve seen it rise again,
Bright as the beaming sky,
And young and pure and beautiful—
And felt that so shall I.

Then what if I am growing old?
My heart is changeless still,
And God has given me enough
This loving heart to fill.

I love to see the sun go down,
And lengthening shadows throw
Along the ground, while o’er my head
The clouds in crimson glow.

I see, beyond those gorgeous clouds,
A country bright and fair,
Which needs no sun: God and the Lamb
Its light and beauty are.

I seem to hear the wondrous song
Redeemed sinners sing;
And my heart leaps to join the throng
To praise the Heavenly King.

I seem to see three cherub boys,
As hand in hand they go,
With golden curls and snowy wings,
Whose eyes with rapture glow.

When I was young I called them mine —
Now Heaven’s sweet ones are they;
But I shall claim my own again,
When I am called away.

Perhaps, when heaven’s bright gate I’ve passed,
They’ll know from every other
The one who gave them back to God,
And haste to call me mother.

0! 1 am glad I’m growing old!
For every day I spend
Shall bring me one day nearer that
Bright day that has no end.

poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Orphan

Alone, alone! - no other face
Wears kindred smile, kindred line;
And yet they say my mother's eyes.
They say my father's brow, is mine;
And either had rejected to see
The other's likeness in my face,
But now it is a stranger's eye,
That finds some long forgotten trace.

I heard them name my father's death,
His home and tomb alike the wave;
And I was early taught to weep,
Beside my youthful mother's grave.
I wish I could recall one look, -
But only one familiar tone;
If I had aught of memory,
I should not feel so all alone.

My heart is gone beyond the grave,
In search of love I cannot find,
Till I could fancy soothing words
Are whisper'd by the ev'ning wind:
I gaze upon the watching stars,
So clear, so beautiful above,
Till I could dream they look on me
With something of an answering love.

My mother! does thy gentle eye
Look from those distant stars on me?
Or does the wind at ev'ning bear
A message to thy child from thee?
Dost thou pine for me, as I pine
Again a parent's love to share?
I often kneel beside thy grave,
And pray to be a sleeper there.

The vesper bell! - 'tis eventide,
I will not weep, but I will pray:
God of the fatherless, 'tis Thou
Alone canst be the orphan's stay!
Earth's meanest flower, heaven's mightiest star,
Are equal to their Maker's love.
And I can say, 'Thy will be done,'
With eyes that fix their hopes above.

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Where Your First Rose?

Someone use to remember loved once after many years (first rose-First love) that we never forget. Looking for it again hence nothing can accomplishes first love. Time has changed every things...
____________________________________ ______________________

Where your first rose?

Where your first rose?
I know you looking for it
But you cannot find...

Where your first rose?
I know you having forget it
Somewhere that you don’t know...

Where your first rose?
Hiding some where
You cannot ever reach...

Where your first rose?
Beneath someone heart
That you don’t know the person...

Where your first rose?
That cherish for ever
You forget to rescue it...

Where your first rose?
That you need to smell it
But you didn’t...

Where your first rose?
Smell like angels perfume
You once smell...

Where your first rose?
That you looking every where
Run away from you...

Where your first rose?
That born together in every soul
But you chased away...

Where your first rose?
That gives you happiness
Forever and forever...

Where your first rose?
That you kissed it every day
When you have it...

Where your first rose?
That you still looking for it
After many years left by...

Where your first rose?
That gives you every thing
Warm, happiness and true love...

Where your first rose?
That only dedicated you
By a true angel on earth...

Where your first rose?
You will have it never
Again with jealous eyes...

Where your first rose?
That gives to you
Behalf of true love...

Where your first rose?
That’s become a disappear
After you say no...

Where your first rose?
That has an ocean deep of value
You value it forever...

Where your first rose?
Away from you now
That’s you call every day...

Where your first rose?
You call by dreams
But really cannot touch...

Where your first rose?
You call by name
But didn’t hear your voice...

Where your first rose?
Whispering with you
Every nights and days...

Where your first rose?
That sung a songs ever nights
To lullaby...

Where your first rose?
That you don’t know

where its still...

That’s with me

By
O.W.Palitha Ariyarathna
Copyright, O.W. Palitha Ariyarathna.2010
All Rights Reserved By Author: 2010

poem by Palitha Ariyarathna
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A Black Rose

A black rose can stop the beat of ones heart
A black rose bring the scent of death as it tears love apart

A black rose makes nightmares relity
A black rose fills my life with unsertanty

A black rose is forgoten hopes and dream
A black rose is a broken man laying in tears and painful screams

A black rose is the pain of a widowed wife
A black rose is lost love in my hopless life

A black rose is the memorys that haunt my restless soul
A black rose took everthing from me that once made me whole

poem by Glenn McGahan
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O Little Town Of Bethlehem

(Philips BrooksLewis H. Redner)
O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see the lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.
For Christ is born of Mary,
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
The hopes ans fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is This The Price

Is this the price
I have to pay for love.
Remember when
We shared the sky above
We picnicked in the moonlight
The stars poured our champagne
To words of love
I'll never hear again.
The memories
That tap me on the shoulder
The lonliness
When nights are growing colder.
My empty bed
Where tears are shed
As I reach for a dream.
Your kisses fade
To misty blue
Chased by moonbeam.
Do we live there still
In a rainbow
That was born of our tears.
Or in the dawn of that wish
Of halcyon years.
Is this the price
I have to pay
For treading heaven's road
For just a day.

poem by Kevin East
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The Farewell To The Dead

Come near!-ere yet the dust
Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow,
Look on your brother, and embrace him now,
In still and solemn trust!
Come near!-once more let kindred lips be press'd
On his cold cheek; then bear him to his rest!

Look yet on this young face!
What shall the beauty, from amongst us gone,
Leave of its image, ev'n where most it shone,
Gladdening its hearth and race?

Dim grows the semblance on man's heart impress'd-
-Come near, and bear the beautiful to rest!

Ye weep, and it is well!
For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday
Song was upon the lips of this pale clay,
And sunshine seem'd to dwell
Where'er he mov'd-the welcome and the bless'd!
-Now gaze! and bear the silent unto rest!

Look yet on him, whose eye
Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth!
Was he not fair amidst the sons of earth,
The beings born to die?
-But not where death has power may love be bless'd--
Come near! and bear ye the belov'd to rest!

How may the mother's heart
Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again?
The spring's rich promise hath been given in vain,
The lovely must depart!
Is he not gone, our brightest and our best?
Come near! and bear the early-call'd to rest!

Look on him! is he laid
To slumber from the harvest or the chase?
-Too still and sad the smile upon his face,
Yet that, ev'n that, must fade!
Death holds not long unchang'd his fairest guest,-
Come near! and bear the mortal to his rest!

His voice of mirth hath ceas'd
Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place
For him whose dust receives your vain embrace,
At the gay bridal feast!
Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast;
Come near! weep o'er him! bear him to his rest!

Yet mourn ye not as they
Whose spirit's light is quench'd!-for him the past
Is seal'd. He may not fall, he may not cast
His birthright's hope away!
All is not here of our belov'd and bless'd-
-Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Crusader's Return

Rest pilgrim, rest!-thou'rt from the Syrian land,
Thou'rt from the wild and wondrous east, I know
By the long-withered palm-branch in thy hand,
And by the darkness of thy sunburnt brow.
Alas! the bright, the beautiful, who part,
So full of hope, for that far country's bourne!
Alas! the weary and the chang'd in heart,
And dimm'd in aspect, who like thee return!

Thou'rt faint-stay, rest thee from thy toils at last,
Through the high chesnuts lightly plays the breeze,
The stars gleam out, the Ave hour is pass'd,
The sailor's hymn hath died along the seas.
Thou 'rt faint and worn-hear'st thou the fountain welling
By the grey pillars of yon ruin'd shrine?
Seest thou the dewy grapes, before thee swelling?
-He that hath left me train'd that loaded vine!

He was a child when thus the bower he wove,
(Oh! hath a day fled since his childhood's time?)
That I might sit and hear the sound I love,
Beneath its shade-the convent's vesper-chime.
And sit thou there!-for he was gentle ever;
With his glad voice he would have welcomed thee,
And brought fresh fruits to cool thy parch'd lips' fever-
-There in his place thou 'rt resting-where is he?

If I could hear that laughing voice again,
But once again!-how oft it wanders by,
In the still hours, like some remember'd strain,
Troubling the heart with its wild melody!
-Thou hast seen much, tired pilgrim! hast thou seen
In that far land, the chosen land of yore,
A youth-my Guido-with the fiery mien,
And the dark eye of this Italian shore?

The dark, clear, lightning eye!-on Heaven and earth
It smiled-as if man were not dust-it smiled!
The very air seem'd kindling with his mirth,
And I-my heart grew young before my child!
My blessed child!-I had but him-yet he
Fill'd all my home ev'n with o'erflowing joy,
Sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep free-
-Where is he now?-my pride, my flower, my boy!

His sunny childhood melted from my sight,
Like a spring dew-drop-then his forehead wore
A prouder look-his eye a keener light-
-I knew these woods might be his world no more!
He loved me-but he left me!-thus they go,
Whom we have rear'd, watch'd, bless'd, too much adored!
He heard the trumpet of the red-cross blow,
And bounded from me, with his father's sword!

Thou weep'st-I tremble-thou hast seen the slain
Pressing a bloody turf; the young and fair,
With their pale beauty strewing o'er the plain
Where hosts have met-speak! answer!-was he there?
Oh! hath his smile departed?-Could the grave
Shut o'er those bursts of bright and tameless glee?
-No! I shall yet behold his dark locks wave-
That look gives hope-I knew it could not be!

Still weep'st thou, wanderer?-some fond mother's glance
O'er thee too brooded in thine early years-
Think'st thou of her, whose gentle eye, perchance,
Bath'd all thy faded hair with parting tears?
Speak, for thy tears disturb me!-what art thou?
Why dost thou hide thy face, yet weeping on?
Look up!-oh! is it-that wan cheek and brow!-
Is it-alas! yet joy!-my son, my son!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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