IV. The Dead
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
The Dead: IV
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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1914 IV: The Dead
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rose Of Battle
ROSE of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurled
Above the tide of hours, trouble the air,
And God's bell buoyed to be the water's care;
While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a band
With blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand,
Turn if you may from battles never done,
I call, as they go by me one by one,
Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,
For him who hears love sing and never cease,
Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade:
But gather all for whom no love hath made
A woven silence, or but came to cast
A song into the air, and singing passed
To smile on the pale dawn; and gather you
Who have sougft more than is in rain or dew,
Or in the sun and moon, or on the earth,
Or sighs amid the wandering, starry mirth,
Or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lips,
And wage God's battles in the long grey ships.
The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,
To these Old Night shall all her mystery tell;
God's bell has claimed them by the little cry
Of their sad hearts, that may not live nor die.
Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring
The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.
Beauty grown sad with its eternity
Made you of us, and of the dim grey sea.
Our long ships loose thought-woven sails and wait,
For God has bid them share an equal fate;
And when at last, defeated in His wars,
They have gone down under the same white stars,
We shall no longer hear the little cry
Of our sad hearts, that may not live nor die.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Dining-Room Tea
When you were there, and you, and you,
Happiness crowned the night; I too,
Laughing and looking, one of all,
I watched the quivering lamplight fall
On plate and flowers and pouring tea
And cup and cloth; and they and we
Flung all the dancing moments by
With jest and glitter. Lip and eye
Flashed on the glory, shone and cried,
Improvident, unmemoried;
And fitfully and like a flame
The light of laughter went and came.
Proud in their careless transience moved
The changing faces that I loved.
Till suddenly, and otherwhence,
I looked upon your innocence.
For lifted clear and still and strange
From the dark woven flow of change
Under a vast and starless sky
I saw the immortal moment lie.
One instant I, an instant, knew
As God knows all. And it and you
I, above Time, oh, blind! could see
In witless immortality.
I saw the marble cup; the tea,
Hung on the air, an amber stream;
I saw the fire's unglittering gleam,
The painted flame, the frozen smoke.
No more the flooding lamplight broke
On flying eyes and lips and hair;
But lay, but slept unbroken there,
On stiller flesh, and body breathless,
And lips and laughter stayed and deathless,
And words on which no silence grew.
Light was more alive than you.
For suddenly, and otherwhence,
I looked on your magnificence.
I saw the stillness and the light,
And you, august, immortal, white,
Holy and strange; and every glint
Posture and jest and thought and tint
Freed from the mask of transiency,
Triumphant in eternity,
Immote, immortal.
Dazed at length
Human eyes grew, mortal strength
Wearied; and Time began to creep.
Change closed about me like a sleep.
Light glinted on the eyes I loved.
The cup was filled. The bodies moved.
The drifting petal came to ground.
The laughter chimed its perfect round.
The broken syllable was ended.
And I, so certain and so friended,
How could I cloud, or how distress,
The heaven of your unconsciousness?
Or shake at Time's sufficient spell,
Stammering of lights unutterable?
The eternal holiness of you,
The timeless end, you never knew,
The peace that lay, the light that shone.
You never knew that I had gone
A million miles away, and stayed
A million years. The laughter played
Unbroken round me; and the jest
Flashed on. And we that knew the best
Down wonderful hours grew happier yet.
I sang at heart, and talked, and eat,
And lived from laugh to laugh, I too,
When you were there, and you, and you.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hendecasyllabics
In the month of the long decline of roses
I, beholding the summer dead before me,
Set my face to the sea and journeyed silent,
Gazing eagerly where above the sea-mark
Flame as fierce as the fervid eyes of lions
Half divided the eyelids of the sunset;
Till I heard as it were a noise of waters
Moving tremulous under feet of angels
Multitudinous, out of all the heavens;
Knew the fluttering wind, the fluttered foliage,
Shaken fitfully, full of sound and shadow;
And saw, trodden upon by noiseless angels,
Long mysterious reaches fed with moonlight,
Sweet sad straits in a soft subsiding channel,
Blown about by the lips of winds I knew not,
Winds not born in the north nor any quarter,
Winds not warm with the south nor any sunshine;
Heard between them a voice of exultation,
'Lo, the summer is dead, the sun is faded,
Even like as a leaf the year is withered,
All the fruits of the day from all her branches
Gathered, neither is any left to gather.
All the flowers are dead, the tender blossoms,
All are taken away; the season wasted,
Like an ember among the fallen ashes.
Now with light of the winter days, with moonlight,
Light of snow, and the bitter light of hoarfrost,
We bring flowers that fade not after autumn,
Pale white chaplets and crowns of latter seasons,
Fair false leaves (but the summer leaves were falser),
Woven under the eyes of stars and planets
When low light was upon the windy reaches
Where the flower of foam was blown, a lily
Dropt among the sonorous fruitless furrows
And green fields of the sea that make no pasture:
Since the winter begins, the weeping winter,
All whose flowers are tears, and round his temples
Iron blossom of frost is bound for ever.'
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Sunset
There's no wonder,
You are loved.
No wonder...
Clouds and thunder,
Bow and step aside.
To allow such radiance,
To glow with the removal...
Of your presence shrouded in mist!
And the dew at dawn,
Slowly lifts!
With the announcement of your coming!
There is no wonder,
You are loved!
No wonder at all...
Joy appears.
To twinkles eyes,
And dry disappearing tears.
And when your rays,
Come to shine and stays...
Until you begin,
In the evening to descend.
There is no wonder 'you' are loved...
Sunset!
No wonder,
When the night comes to call...
This gift you bring,
Has delighted us all!
And there is no wonder...
You are loved.
In winter.
In Spring.
Summer...
And during the adventures,
Spellbinding Fall.
There is no wonder many find you,
In their hearts to reminisce...
Sunset!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Music, Dance And Song
Without song and dance and music how boring life would be
From the cares of life these three can set the heart free
The music inspires people to dance and song
And you with the sad face you can sing along,
Music, song and dance cross the cultural divide
These three loved by billions and performed World-wide
They soothe the savage breast and people unite
And open the soul windows to allow in light,
Song and dance and music they are part of life
On Valentine's day the man sings to his wife
And people have been dancing for thousands of years
And music can stir the feelings to laughter and tears
And though the Seasons have come and the Seasons have gone
Music, dance and song will forever live on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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At Dawn
O Hesper-Phosphor, far away
Shining, the first, the last white star,
Hear’st thou the strange, the ghostly cry,
That moan of an ancient agony
From purple forest to golden sky
Shivering over the breathless bay?
It is not the wind that wakes with the day;
For see, the gulls that wheel and call,
Beyond the tumbling white-topped bar,
Catching the sun-dawn on their wings,
Like snow-flakes or like rose-leaves fall,
Flutter and fall in airy rings;
And drift, like lilies ruffling into blossom
Upon a golden lake’s unwrinkled bosom.
Are not the forest’s deep-lashed fringes wet
With tears? Is not the voice of all regret
Breaking out of the dark earth’s heart?
She too, she too, has loved and lost; and we—
We that remember our lost Arcady,
Have we not known, we too,
The primal greenwood’s arch of blue,
The radiant clouds at sunrise curled
Around the brows of the golden world;
The marble temples, washed with dew,
To which with rosy limbs aflame
The violet-eyed Thalassian came,
Came pitiless, only to display
How soon the youthful splendour dies away;
Came, only to depart
Laughing across the gray-grown bitter sea?
For each man’s life is earth’s epitome,
And though the years bring more than aught they take,
Yet might his heart and hers well break
Remembering how one prayer must still be vain,
How one fair hope is dead,
One passion quenched, one glory fled,
With those first loves that never come again.
How many, how many generations,
Have heard that sigh in the dawn,
When the dark earth yearns to the unforgotten nations
And the old loves withdrawn,
Old loves, old lovers, wonderful and unnumbered
As waves on the wine-dark sea,
’Neath the tall white towers of Troy and the temples that slumbered;
In Thessaly?
From the beautiful palaces, from the miraculous portals,
The swift white feet are flown!
They were taintless of dust, the proud, the peerless Immortals
As they sped to their loftier throne!
Perchance they are there, earth dreams, on the shores of Hesper,
Her rosy-bosomed Hours,
Listening the wild fresh forest’s enchanted whisper,
Crowned with its new strange flowers;
Listening the great new ocean’s triumphant thunder
On the stainless unknown shore,
While that perilous queen of the world’s delight and wonder
Comes white from the foam once more.
When the mists divide with the dawn o’er those glittering waters,
Do they gaze over unoared seas—
Naiad and nymph and the woodland’s rose-crowned daughters
And the Oceanides?
Do they sing together, perchance, in that diamond splendour,
That world of dawn and dew,
With eyelids twitching to tears and with eyes grown tender,
The sweet old songs they knew,
The songs of Greece? Ah, with harp-strings mute do they falter
As the earth like a small star pales?
When the heroes launch their ship by the smoking altar
Does a memory lure their sails?
Far, far away, do their hearts resume the story
That never on earth was told,
When all those urgent oars on the waste of glory
Cast up its gold?
Are not the forest fringes wet
With tears? Is not the voice of all regret
Breaking out of the dark earth’s heart?
She too, she too, has loved and lost; and though
She turned last night in disdain
Away from the sunset-embers,
From her soul she can never depart;
She can never depart from her pain.
Vainly she strives to forget;
Beautiful in her woe,
She awakes in the dawn and remembers.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Dance, Dance Everywhere!
Dance, Dance Dance
everywhere,
When I look at the sky,
I see the clouds dance
Into steps of winds
My heart dance when I watch clouds dance!
How it can make me dance?
Without any tune or beats,
Its own beats me my heart dance.
Some strange tune it sings in silence and dance!
When I see at shore of ocean waves that dance,
Some birds in sky fly and dance,
On the waves boats that to the tune of waves, dance,
My mind sing lyricless
music to which it dance!
When I walk along the beach,
The headless crown of palm trees with wide open hands dance,
Watching them dance trees start their dance!
When I on countryside, green paddy fields dance,
Looking at them, the bird on the branch dance!
When walk along, trees with fruits dance,
And to its own rustling music, leaves dance!
When I walk in the park,
Plants with flowers dance!
Looking at the graceful dance flowerless dance,
When I move on street, hope and hap dance,
Seeing at them even hopeless an hapless to dance!
Smile on faces with hope dance,
Wrinkles on the forehead of hapless dance!
When I look at people in them mind dance,
In some happiness dance,
In some sorrowfulness dance,
Some I found with desperation dance
In some their laziness dance,
In some saintliness dance,
Most of the time wickedness dance,
And in some other dreams that dance!
Success that dance with some,
Distress that in unsuccessful dance,
In some hearts mercy that dance
Together with love and kindness dance!
Some where cookedness dance,
And some where innocence dance,
In every nation either hunger dance,
Or in people's mind anger that dance,
Either corruption in corrupt mind dance,
Or those systems on the heart of people dance!
Dance, dance, dance everywhere,
It is time for my soulful dance,
If you see somewhere some other type of dance
Just sing it dance
and let no other see the pain in your heart dance
Hide it with that unfailable lips on which smile may dance
Dance, Dance, dance,
Tune your steps with eternal dance!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Dedication
THE SEA gives her shells to the shingle,
The earth gives her streams to the sea;
They are many, but my gift is single,
My verses, the firstfruits of me.
Let the wind take the green and the grey leaf,
Cast forth without fruit upon air;
Take rose-leaf and vine-leaf and bay-leaf
Blown loose from the hair.
The night shakes them round me in legions,
Dawn drives them before her like dreams;
Time sheds them like snows on strange regions,
Swept shoreward on infinite streams;
Leaves pallid and sombre and ruddy,
Dead fruits of the fugitive years;
Some stained as with wine and made bloody,
And some as with tears.
Some scattered in seven years’ traces,
As they fell from the boy that was then;
Long left among idle green places,
Or gathered but now among men;
On seas full of wonder and peril,
Blown white round the capes of the north;
Or in islands where myrtles are sterile
And loves bring not forth.
O daughters of dreams and of stories
That life is not wearied of yet,
Faustine, Fragoletta, Dolores,
Félise and Yolande and Juliette,
Shall I find you not still, shall I miss you,
When sleep, that is true or that seems,
Comes back to me hopeless to kiss you,
O daughters of dreams?
They are past as a slumber that passes,
As the dew of a dawn of old time;
More frail than the shadows on glasses,
More fleet than a wave or a rhyme.
As the waves after ebb drawing seaward,
When their hollows are full of the night,
So the birds that flew singing to me-ward
Recede out of sight.
The songs of dead seasons, that wander
On wings of articulate words;
Lost leaves that the shore-wind may squander,
Light flocks of untameable birds;
Some sang to me dreaming in class-time
And truant in hand as in tongue;
For the youngest were born of boy’s pastime,
The eldest are young.
Is there shelter while life in them lingers,
Is there hearing for songs that recede,
Tunes touched from a harp with man’s fingers
Or blown with boy’s mouth in a reed?
Is there place in the land of your labour,
Is there room in your world of delight,
Where change has not sorrow for neighbour
And day has not night?
In their wings though the sea-wind yet quivers,
Will you spare not a space for them there
Made green with the running of rivers
And gracious with temperate air;
In the fields and the turreted cities,
That cover from sunshine and rain
Fair passions and bountiful pities
And loves without stain?
In a land of clear colours and stories,
In a region of shadowless hours,
Where earth has a garment of glories
And a murmur of musical flowers;
In woods where the spring half uncovers
The flush of her amorous face,
By the waters that listen for lovers,
For these is there place?
For the song-birds of sorrow, that muffle
Their music as clouds do their fire:
For the storm-birds of passion, that ruffle
Wild wings in a wind of desire;
In the stream of the storm as it settles
Blown seaward, borne far from the sun,
Shaken loose on the darkness like petals
Dropt one after one?
Though the world of your hands be more gracious
And lovelier in lordship of things
Clothed round by sweet art with the spacious
Warm heaven of her imminent wings,
Let them enter, unfledged and nigh fainting,
For the love of old loves and lost times;
And receive in your palace of painting
This revel of rhymes.
Though the seasons of man full of losses
Make empty the years full of youth,
If but one thing be constant in crosses,
Change lays not her hand upon truth;
Hopes die, and their tombs are for token
That the grief as the joy of them ends
Ere time that breaks all men has broken
The faith between friends.
Though the many lights dwindle to one light,
There is help if the heaven has one;
Though the skies be discrowned of the sunlight
And the earth dispossessed of the sun,
They have moonlight and sleep for repayment,
When, refreshed as a bride and set free,
With stars and sea-winds in her raiment,
Night sinks on the sea.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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There Are White Flowers In Her Hair
There are white flowers in her hair,
blue-white stars when she laughs
in her eyes shining like rainbows,
with a own innocent beauty
with the coming of spring in the air
between the blooming flowers,
in rainbows shining like her eyes,
she finds where the prettiest flowers grow,
she is bounded to loveliness,
she notices roses that are dark like blood
in her eyes shining like rainbows,
but in her cheeks there is a gloss.
Delighted she stands at corn fields
clouds dark and white,
in rainbows shining like her eyes
there is somewhere a pot of gold.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Clouds
Down the blue night the unending columns press
In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow,
Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow
Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness.
Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless,
And turn with profound gesture vague and slow,
As who would pray good for the world, but know
Their benediction empty as they bless.
They say that the Dead die not, but remain
Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth.
I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these,
In wise majestic melancholy train,
And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas,
And men, coming and going on the earth.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mystical Light
Sweet breath of an angel
In perfect harmony and peace
As you glory in his presence
your rapture does increase
Touched by the aura from Heaven
spread around you from a child you grew
You can dwell upon that angel child
from the time that you were new
You rose on high so young and raw
from the depths of the earth
you came
Now you live in this heavenly place
that always stays the same
Tinkerbelle they call her
your little angel girl
she stays close by you always
For around you she will twirl
You are her angel Mother
She your child of light
Sleep now angel mother
I'll watch over you tonight
The touch of an angel is something
we all crave
The feeling that we are being protected
and watched over each day and night
gives us spiritual warmth.
I have met angels I think
I have felt their close embrace
their beauty their radiance
which is beyond comprehension
Yes I think I have felt an
angel hug
Yes I have felt their gentle kiss
for I have had my soul awakened
and my eyes opened to their presence
poem by Janice M Pickett
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O What A Climate Today!
o what a climate today!
o where is the sun that squeezed dry my blood into sweat so long?
the day unusually rolls up and sets aside the sparkling quilt of the sun;
and the ashen clouds have spread their thin mats all over the skies
and the cheerful winds on joyful feet spread happiness everywhere
on top of all, as a crowning glory, there is a dreamy rain -
no, i cannot call this rain, or a misty fall, nor a soft drizzle-
it is of dreamy drops, here and there, distanced by long seconds,
and tossed far and wide by the sprinting and sporting wind,
sending shivers of thrill into the streams of blood
and giving birth to spontaneous expressions of ecstasy;
it is a rainless rain, raining joy and dance -
the light is cool and gentle and not hurting;
it is the winds that create the festival of joy
and spray laughter that bubbles up amidst the flowery trees-
o what is the language of the flowers and leaves?
are they one and the same or different?
o how i wish to speak their noiseless language!
today i could venture out into the open even at 4 p.m.
with no risk of burning my soles and skin;
today my dance is not on flames but on flowers-
the sky has bid adieu to the sweating sun of june;
at last i find the sun of the moon or the moon of the sun
high above on the western skies, harmless and half-sleepy;
the nature today has painted everything in mild colours,
drawing hearts out into the open to the bliss of the seasons!
where else in the universe except on this lovely earth
could i get this solemn bliss from the elements of nature?
i will be born again and again on this beautiful earth.
--s.chandra kalaadhar [18.06.2012/ monday /aani 4/nandhana /4 p.m.
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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When Horizon Closes In
I have touched the horizon,
And it no more recedes
Rather it closes in
And in a rare gesture
Hugs me with the warmth
Of a frosty December.
When my shadow gains dimension,
And I distinctly listen to
The perennial echo
Of a familiar lullaby,
Echoing softly in my ears
Like the falling of a baby step
On a sandy carpet.
I have touched the earth and the sky
With my bare hands
And strangely, no more
Can I differentiate the hue
Of the rising and setting sun,
For they look so similar
Against a similar sky.
I have seen roses
Changing their colours,
Winds their directions
And poetry its emotions
From sonnets to elegy.
Lo!
There is unusual greenery
At the neighbouring graveyard
And I can now recite
My epitaph and give music to it
Like an accomplished musician.
Roses
I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown,
And woven flowers at sunset gathered,
Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed
Loose leaves upon the grass at random strown.
By this, their sure example, be it known,
That all your beauties, now in perfect flower,
Shall fade as these, and wither in an hour,
Flowerlike, and brief of days, as the flower sown.
Ah, time is flying, lady - time is flying;
Nay, ’tis not time that flies but we that go,
Who in short space shall be in churchyard lying,
And of our loving parley none shall know,
Nor any man consider what we were;
Be therefore kind, my love, whiles thou art fair.
poem by Pierre Ronsard
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The Wanderer
I saw the sunset-colored sands,
The Nile like flowing fire between,
Where Rameses stares forth serene,
And Ammon's heavy temple stands.
I saw the rocks where long ago,
Above the sea that cries and breaks,
Swift Perseus with Medusa's snakes
Set free the maiden white like snow.
And many skies have covered me,
And many winds have blown me forth,
And I have loved the green, bright north,
And I have loved the cold, sweet sea.
But what to me are north and south,
And what the lure of many lands,
Since you have leaned to catch my hands
And lay a kiss upon my mouth.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Rainbow of Fall
Tumbling in the leaves, falling
so free, the leaves soften the fall,
laughter rings throughout the
Heaven's as Mother nature makes
her call.
The orange, red, bronze, burgundy
and brown, a colorful rainbow falling
softly to the ground. A day of smiles
as the children jump so playfully
in the rainbow pile.
The fall winds blowing the colors
all around, children chaing the rainbow,
trying to catch it before it lands
ever so gently on the changing
ground.
Crunching leaves underneath their
little feet, running through the
cool fall air, no worries no cares. Boys
and girls playing among Mother Natures
call, her beauty found within their
hearts, as they welcome the new Fall.
The leaves will stay awhile and dance
upon their eyes, as the winds will
them to the Fall ballet, they will
together dance unto the sky.
Knowing Fall will soon bring Winters
chill, still from her gentleness, their
little hearts will be fulfilled. Their rainbow
will soon disappear, the snow will come, as
they await their rainbow of Fall next
year.
poem by Ruth warren
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The Red-Tressed Maiden
RED she is in a robe of sable,
Rosy with pictures and tales to tell:
She is a fairy, and yet no fable,
Weaving the dreams that we love so well.
Out in the dark where the night-winds hurry
And dead leaves carpet the silent bush,
She has a charm for minds that worry,
For the worn white face a fresh young blush.
Tell her a story of some love laid in
The grave long since with a maiden white —
She will not taunt you, the Red-Tressed Maiden
Dressed in her mantle of starless night.
With fingers potent as rich wine chosen
From dusty cellars where years lie dead,
She melts the ice in the veins long frozen,
The blood runs chainless, and young and red.
Her ears have hearkened the joyous laughter,
Man-made, maid-lifted through years and years
To frescoed dome and to smoky rafter,
And tears and tears and ceaseless tears.
Old as the world, and some say older,
Is she, and yet she is young and sweet:
She heard the story the Cave-man told her,
When hearts were bolder and ruder their beat.
No tale so trifling but she will listen,
The long day ended, the day's toil done;
Then wheresoever her great eyes glisten
An ancient battle is fought and won.
She is ready to hearken to some chance roamer,
A lyre on his shoulder, a lilt on his tongue,
As she was of old to the blind-eyed Homer
Who sang high strains when the world was young.
On winter nights, when the roads are cheerless
And west winds under a frosty moon,
She paints us Summer in colours peerless
And the broad gold charm of a tropic noon.
On summer evenings, in sylvan places
(The picnic over and stars in the skies),
She heightens the blush on sun-kissed faces
And deepens the dream in dear young eyes.
And who is the Maiden? When Night is about you,
Pile high dry leaves and dead wood, and so
Make a light for the darkness within and without you . . .
And now do you see her — and now do you know?
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music never dies
Music never dies,
Music never dies,
It is waking,
It is the making,
This is that euphony,
The movement
The inspiration,
This is that rythmic sounds,
The Sword came and washed me,
Music that hast taste,
Why you worry?
Music that can never fade,
Music that is the poetic minstrell,
Without this love,
I will fake and never increase,
The awakening glory,
That I made it again,
This crown is upon me, do not depose,
That I as Iam,
Made that crown fall upon my broken soul,
This is that sound of music,
This is that glory,
Behold I dwell on you,
That with your music,
All the demons run away.
poem by Maxim Muyu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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