Related quotes: In a cool curving world...

The Fish

In a cool curving world he lies
And ripples with dark ecstasies.
The kind luxurious lapse and steal
Shapes all his universe to feel
And know and be; the clinging stream
Closes his memory, glooms his dream,
Who lips the roots o' the shore, and glides
Superb on unreturning tides.
Those silent waters weave for him
A fluctuant mutable world and dim,
Where wavering masses bulge and gape
Mysterious, and shape to shape
Dies momently through whorl and hollow,
And form and line and solid follow
Solid and line and form to dream
Fantastic down the eternal stream;
An obscure world, a shifting world,
Bulbous, or pulled to thin, or curled,
Or serpentine, or driving arrows,
Or serene slidings, or March narrows.
There slipping wave and shore are one,
And weed and mud. No ray of sun,
But glow to glow fades down the deep
(As dream to unknown dream in sleep);
Shaken translucency illumes
The hyaline of drifting glooms;
The strange soft-handed depth subdues
Drowned colour there, but black to hues,
As death to living, decomposes --
Red darkness of the heart of roses,
Blue brilliant from dead starless skies,
And gold that lies behind the eyes,
The unknown unnameable sightless white
That is the essential flame of night,
Lustreless purple, hooded green,
The myriad hues that lie between
Darkness and darkness! . . .

And all's one.
Gentle, embracing, quiet, dun,
The world he rests in, world he knows,
Perpetual curving. Only - grows
An eddy in that ordered falling,
A knowledge from the gloom, a calling
Weed in the wave, gleam in the mud -
The dark fire leaps along his blood;
Dateless and deathless, blind and still,
The intricate impulse works its will;
His woven world drops back; and he,
Sans providence, sans memory,
Unconscious and directly driven,
Fades to some dank sufficient heaven.

O world of lips, O world of laughter,
Where hope is fleet and thought flies after,
Of lights in the clear night, of cries
That drift along the wave and rise
Thin to the glittering stars above,
You know the hands, the eyes of love!
The strife of limbs, the sightless clinging,
The infinite distance, and the singing
Blown by the wind, a flame of sound,
The gleam, the flowers, and vast around
The horizon, and the heights above -
You know the sigh, the song of love!

But there the night is close, and there
Darkness is cold and strange and bare;
And the secret deeps are whisperless;
And rhythm is all deliciousness;
And joy is in the throbbing tide,
Whose intricate fingers beat and glide
In felt bewildering harmonies
Of trembling touch; and music is
The exquisite knocking of the blood.
Space is no more, under the mud;
His bliss is older than the sun.
Silent and straight the waters run.
The lights, the cries, the willows dim,
And the dark tide are one with him.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1911)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes

Fish, The

And all's one.
Gentle, embracing, quiet, dun,
The world he rests in, world he knows,
Perpetual curving. Only -- grows
An eddy in that ordered falling,
A knowledge from the gloom, a calling
Weed in the wave, gleam in the mud --
The dark fire leaps along his blood;
Dateless and deathless, blind and still,
The intricate impulse works its will;
His woven world drops back; and he,
Sans providence, sans memory,
Unconscious and directly driven,
Fades to some dank sufficient heaven.

poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballade Of The Dream

Swift as sound of music fled
When no more the organ sighs,
Sped as all old days are sped,
So your lips, love, and your eyes,
So your gentle-voiced replies
Mine one hour in sleep that seem,
Rise and flit when slumber flies,
Following darkness like a dream!

Like the scent from roses red,
Like the dawn from golden skies,
Like the semblance of the dead
From the living love that hies,
Like the shifting shade that lies
On the moonlight-silvered stream,
So you rise when dreams arise,
Following darkness like a dream!

Could some spell, or sung or said,
Could some kindly witch and wise,
Lull for aye this dreaming head
In a mist of memories,
I would lie like him who lies
Where the lights on Latmos gleam, -
Wake not, find not Paradise
Following darkness like a dream!

ENVOY.

Sleep, that giv'st what Life denies,
Shadowy bounties and supreme,
Bring the dearest face that flies
Following darkness like a dream!

poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dream Of The Unknown

I dream of mostly nothing,
A deep black emptiness in space of infinate time.
But there is no time, there is nothing.
I see nothing, I touch nothing.
Am I even here? Do I exist? Where am I?
I'm not anywhere, just darkness all around.

I don't hear anything at all. I don't smell anything.
What kind of dream is this? This dream of the unknown.
It is not a dream. I'm not here, I am nothing.
Dreams are filled with things beyond imagination,
Filled with good things and bad things, but not this.
I am not happy nor am I sad...But I am scared.

Why am I scared? There is nothing here.
I am trembling but I don't feel a thing.
I'm not here, I am nothing just like this darkness.
But I am in fear in this dream of the unknown.
If it's a dream at all. Am I dead? Is that my fear?
If I'm dead, where is the afterlife? Were they right?

I see nothing, I feel nothing, I am nothing.
Fear is the only thing I know in this dream.
But why? If nothing is wrong, why is everything dark?
Why can't I dream? Why am I nothing with nothing around?
No time, no feeling, no sense. Just nothing.
Lost in this forsaken world, this dream of the unknown.

Suddenly, I'm crying. I feel tears stream down my face.
I feel my heart racing. I hear myself choke back cries.
But everything is still dark, everything is still nothing.
I don't understand. What is happening to me?
My eyes open, I'm in my bed. Face buried in my pillow.
I am still crying, I am still scared...I don't know why.

poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dream

Because her eyes were far too deep
And holy for a laugh to leap
Across the brink where sorrow tried
To drown within the amber tide;
Because the looks, whose ripples kissed
The trembling lids through tender mist,
Were dazzled with a radiant gleam--
Because of this I called her 'Dream.'

Because the roses growing wild
About her features when she smiled
Were ever dewed with tears that fell
With tenderness ineffable;
Because her lips might spill a kiss
That, dripping in a world like this,
Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream
To sweetness--so I called her 'Dream.'

Because I could not understand
The magic touches of a hand
That seemed, beneath her strange control,
To smooth the plumage of the soul
And calm it, till, with folded wings,
It half forgot its flutterings,
And, nestled in her palm, did seem
To trill a song that called her 'Dream.'

Because I saw her, in a sleep
As dark and desolate and deep
And fleeting as the taunting night
That flings a vision of delight
To some lorn martyr as he lies
In slumber ere the day he dies--
Because she vanished like a gleam
Of glory, do I call her 'Dream.'

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Death Of Richard Wagner

Mourning on earth, as when dark hours descend,
Wide-winged with plagues, from heaven; when hope and mirth
Wane, and no lips rebuke or reprehend
Mourning on earth.

The soul wherein her songs of death and birth,
Darkness and light, were wont to sound and blend,
Now silent, leaves the whole world less in worth.

Winds that make moan and triumph, skies that bend,
Thunders, and sound of tides in gulf and firth,
Spake through his spirit of speech, whose death should send
Mourning on earth.

The world's great heart, whence all things strange and rare
Take form and sound, that each inseparate part
May bear its burden in all tuned thoughts that share
The world's great heart -

The fountain forces, whence like steeds that start
Leap forth the powers of earth and fire and air,
Seas that revolve and rivers that depart -

Spake, and were turned to song: yea, all they were,
With all their works, found in his mastering art
Speech as of powers whose uttered word laid bare
The world's great heart.

From the depths of the sea, from the wellsprings of earth, from the wastes of the midmost night,
From the fountains of darkness and tempest and thunder, from heights where the soul would be,
The spell of the mage of music evoked their sense, as an unknown light
From the depths of the sea.

As a vision of heaven from the hollows of ocean, that none but a god might see,
Rose out of the silence of things unknown of a presence, a form, a might,
And we heard as a prophet that hears God's message against him, and may not flee.

Eye might not endure it, but ear and heart with a rapture of dark delight,
With a terror and wonder whose core was joy, and a passion of thought set free,
Felt inly the rising of doom divine as a sundawn risen to sight
From the depths of the sea.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunlight and Darkness

Lifeless world that isn’t dead
A beauty that is left unseen
From the darkness will this world be led?
Night and day, this worlds between

The question stands: Is it dusk or dawn?
Into darkness are we led or have we fled
Do we end or are we born?
Do we rise or fall to this lullaby bed

Woken birds sing sweet praise
Night’s shrouded eye has closed
The sun, its head will raise
What darkness hid is exposed

A glorious world, a new home
With trees and bees and calmed seas
That all sway to the risen suns tone
See how the sun changes life with such ease

Love blooms as flowers open there eyes
Another day one so full of hope
But what will happen when this sun dies
Who will throw us the saving rope?

Sunlight lost as the sun dies
Run hide by the darkness we must abide
And no-one can hear the suns weak cries
Now is when the world plunges to the dark side

poem by Rebecca Pepper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bright Lights

The bright lights are calling me
The bright lights are calling me
When the world is dark and cold
And Im heading down the road
The bright lights are calling me
As the world is round, the road is long
Ive trouble on my mind
Ill just keep on moving
Until the day comes round
The wind a blowing on my back
And my feet a flying
Flying down the road
Where the bright lights shine
Mondays in a pigtown
Tuesdays in a truck
Wednesdays a field of mud
And thursdays out of luck
Fridays rain clouds
Saturday flies by
Sunday comes shining
From a blue blue sky
The bright lights are calling me
The bright lights are calling me
When the world is dark and cold
And Im heading down the road
The bright lights are calling me
Some towns are golden
Some towns are stained
Some towns are shadows
Fading in the rain
Some towns are rust
And some towns they gleam
Some towns are mad dogs
Some towns are a dream
The bright lights are calling me
The bright lights are calling me
When the world is dark and cold
And Im heading down the road
The bright lights are calling me
Some dreams are hollow
Some dreams are cold
Some dreams are crazy
And some dreams are bold
Some dreams are bought
And other dreams are sold
Some dreams lie waiting
At the end of the road
The bright lights are calling me
The bright lights are calling me
When the world is dark and cold
And Im heading down the road
The bright lights are calling me

song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Night Journey

Hands and lit faces eddy to a line;
The dazed last minutes click; the clamour dies.
Beyond the great-swung arc o' the roof, divine,
Night, smoky-scarv'd, with thousand coloured eyes

Glares the imperious mystery of the way.
Thirsty for dark, you feel the long-limbed train
Throb, stretch, thrill motion, slide, pull out and sway,
Strain for the far, pause, draw to strength again. . . .

As a man, caught by some great hour, will rise,
Slow-limbed, to meet the light or find his love;
And, breathing long, with staring sightless eyes,
Hands out, head back, agape and silent, move

Sure as a flood, smooth as a vast wind blowing;
And, gathering power and purpose as he goes,
Unstumbling, unreluctant, strong, unknowing,
Borne by a will not his, that lifts, that grows,

Sweep out to darkness, triumphing in his goal,
Out of the fire, out of the little room. . . .
- There is an end appointed, O my soul!
Crimson and green the signals burn; the gloom

Is hung with steam's far-blowing livid streamers.
Lost into God, as lights in light, we fly,
Grown one with will, end-drunken huddled dreamers.
The white lights roar. The sounds of the world die.

And lips and laughter are forgotten things.
Speed sharpens; grows. Into the night, and on,
The strength and splendour of our purpose swings.
The lamps fade; and the stars. We are alone.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Night Journey, The

Hands and lit faces eddy to a line;
The dazed last minutes click; the clamour dies.
Beyond the great-swung arc o' the roof, divine,
Night, smoky-scarv'd, with thousand coloured eyes

As a man, caught by some great hour, will rise,
Slow-limbed, to meet the light or find his love;
And, breathing long, with staring sightless eyes,
Hands out, head back, agape and silent, move

Sure as a flood, smooth as a vast wind blowing;
And, gathering power and purpose as he goes,
Unstumbling, unreluctant, strong, unknowing,
Borne by a will not his, that lifts, that grows,

Sweep out to darkness, triumphing in his goal,
Out of the fire, out of the little room. . . .
-- There is an end appointed, O my soul!
Crimson and green the signals burn; the gloom

Is hung with steam's far-blowing livid streamers.
Lost into God, as lights in light, we fly,
Grown one with will, end-drunken huddled dreamers.
The white lights roar. The sounds of the world die.

And lips and laughter are forgotten things.
Speed sharpens; grows. Into the night, and on,
The strength and splendour of our purpose swings.
The lamps fade; and the stars. We are alone.

poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dream...

I dream of a better world, where we are all different shades of the same palette.
I dream of lifes disputes crumbling from our sight, never to be heard again.
I dream of blue skies and radiant flowers, as we stroll together through meadows of hope.
I dream of moonlit nights where the aroma of life permiates the air.
I dream of falling in love with the one who just takes my breath away.
I dream of angels dancing across the starry expanse of our horizon.
I dream of earthly achievements never imagined by men of limited vision.
I dream of peace, no longer the warring beast devouring my fellow man.
I dream of calmer seas that no longer rock the boat of man's tranquility.
I dream of you and I eternal, no more this lonely night of my existance.
I dream of walking on a golden beach with the one I love, hand in hand.
I dream of what might have been, what is now, and what has yet to be revealed.
I dream of no longer forsaking my sanity to the darkness of my emotions.
I dream of no more waking hours consumed by the unfulfilled promise of nirvana.
I am a dreamer, but without dreamers what would our world be?
As empty as a heart that knows not love, As dark as a night bereft of stars.
I feel therefore I must have feelings, I breathe therefore I must be alive.
I sleep therefore I am destined to be a dreamer, so I say dream on.
Let your dreams bring you to a place of everlasting serenity...

Because we exist, We dream...

Spread the love... The peace will follow...

poem by Cosmic Dreamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Dream In Color

Dream sequence
(wake up, wake up, wake up, time to dream)
(wake up, time to dream)
We dream, we dream, we dream in color
Wake me up in the middle of the night, tell me what youve seen
Ivory clouds in a sea of blue, fields of endless green
But we lie here and we search for stars
Or big bad letters all the way from mars
The sky is black and the moon is pale, and we cry for this world of ours
In the dark we still believe (oh you know that we still believe)
In the dark we see
Chorus:
We dream in color - but we live in black and white
We dream in color - like a rainbow in the night
We dream of peace, we dream of love, but still the dream is not enough
We dream in color
Oh yes we dream
I wake up in the middle of the day, locked within this cell
The sun is weak on the gun gray street, a cold and concrete hell
So I close my eyes and remember the days
Of a blood red sky and a purple haze
The flag was yours and the flag was mine, but we let it fade away
In the dark we still believe (oh you know that we still believe)
In the dark we see
We dream in color - but we live in black and white
We dream in color - like a rainbow in the night
We dream of peace, we dream of love, but still the dream is not enough
We dream in color
(guitar solo)
This is where it all comes down, this is where the truth is found
Someones gotta keep this dream alive
We dream in color - but we live in black and white
We dream in color - like a rainbow in the night
We dream of peace, we dream of love, we dream of life!
We dream in color
We dream in color - we dream, yes we dream
We dream in color - but we live in black and white
We dream in color - and hold on to each other
We dream in color - lover to lover, sister to brother, we hold on
We dream in color
We dream in color - we dream
We dream in color - we dream...

song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The World of Dream

Now, through the dusk
With muffled bell
The Dustman comes
The World to tell,
Night's elfin lanterns
Burn and gleam
in the twilight, wonderful
World of Dream.

Hollow and dim
Sleep's boat doth ride,
Heavily still
At the waterside.
Patter, patter,
The children come,
Yawning and sleepy,
Out of the gloom.

Like droning bees
in a garden green.
Over the thwarts
They clamber in.
And lovely Sleep
With long-drawn oar
Turns away
From the whispering shore.

Over the water
Like roses glide
Her hundreds of passengers
Packed inside,
To where in her garden
Tremble and gleam
The harps and lamps
Of the World of Dream.

poem by Walter de la Mare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Favorites of Pan

Once, long ago, before the gods
Had left this earth, by stream and forest glade,
Where the first plough upturned the clinging sods,
Or the lost shepherd strayed,

Often to the tired listener's ear
There came at noonday or beneath the stars
A sound, he knew not whence, so sweet and clear,
That all his aches and scars

And every brooded bitterness,
Fallen asunder from his soul took flight,
Like mist or darkness yielding to the press
Of an unnamed delight,-

A sudden brightness of the heart,
A magic fire drawn down from Paradise,
That rent the cloud with golden gleam apart,-
And far before his eyes

The loveliness and calm of earth
Lay like a limitless dream remote and strange,
The joy, the strife, the triumph and the mirth,
And the enchanted change;

And so he followed the sweet sound,
Till faith had traversed her appointed span,
And murmured as he pressed the sacred ground:
'It is the note of Pan!'

Now though no more by marsh or stream
Or dewy forest sounds the secret reed-
For Pan is gone-Ah yet, the infinite dream
Still lives for them that heed.

In April, when the turning year
Regains its pensive youth, and a soft breath
And amorous influence over marsh and mere
Dissolves the grasp of death,

To them that are in love with life,
Wandering like children with untroubled eyes,
Far from the noise of cities and the strife,
Strange flute-like voices rise

At noon and in the quiet of the night
From every watery waste; and in that hour
The same strange spell, the same unnamed delight,
Enfolds them in its power.

An old-world joyousness supreme,
The warmth and glow of an immortal balm,
The mood-touch of the gods, the endless dream,
The high lethean calm.

They see, wide on the eternal way,
The services of earth, the life of man;
And, listening to the magic cry they say:
'It is the note of Pan!'

For, long ago, when the new strains
Of hostile hymns and conquering faiths grew keen,
And the old gods from their deserted fanes,
Fled silent and unseen,

So, too, the goat-foot Pan, not less
Sadly obedient to the mightier hand,
Cut him new reeds, and in a sore distress
Passed out from land to land;

And lingering by each haunt he knew,
Of fount or sinuous stream or grassy marge,
He set the syrinx to his lips, and blew
A note divinely large;

And all around him on the wet
Cool earth the frogs came up, and with a smile
He took them in his hairy hands, and set
His mouth to theirs awhile,

And blew into their velvet throats;
And ever from that hour the frogs repeat
The murmur of Pan's pipes, the notes,
And answers strange and sweet;

And they that hear them are renewed
By knowledge in some god-like touch conveyed,
Entering again into the eternal mood,
Wherein the world was made.

poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Side

Black emptiness is where I travel
Casting shadow where ever I go
Someone must play this part
There must be balance to make this world work
There needs to be darkness
May I bring despair, hate, and jealousy
into the lives of others
I despise myself
I despise the thought of being alone on the hated side
I am revolted even though I didn't choose this life
But as I said there needs to be a balance
And she is on the other side

There's always a ray of light in the darkness
She is that light I wish to have stabbed in me
She is my light, the guide of my love
I can feel her deep in my heart
But the darkness covers her in my eyes
Though she is always with me
Because as she casts light there must always be a shadow

I sit near a blackened pool on the opposite side of the world
and I look at the closest reflection I have of you
The moon shines on as I'm wishing you were here
I look into the pool and think of the time we have spent
Those brief few moments when light met dark

'This is a love to fight for'
That's what I said the last time we met
You shook your head and said
'In the end we'll both lose'
Time fades fast
I must convince her here and now
'Look at me' I said in her ear
She looks and her eyes twinkle
'If at anything my dream came true
I brush back her hair
'I got to meet a girl like you'
Gentle lips meet
Sometimes a kiss is all you need to do

That day was the last time I saw her
As time hit the right mark we were forced to pull away
Me into darkness
She into light
I grab her hand and try not to let go
But I was being pulled back
I yell so she could hear
'I'll come back to you I promise'
She nods
'I know you will'
And we break
I am swallowed in the darkness again
Alone and again on the other side of the world
I will wait again for the next day
When light and the dark can meet once more

Written: February 16,2010

poem by Ryan Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Atavist

What are you doing here, Tom Thorne, on the white top-knot o' the world,
Where the wind has the cut of a naked knife and the stars are rapier keen?
Hugging a smudgy willow fire, deep in a lynx robe curled,
You that's a lord's own son, Tom Thorne -- what does your madness mean?

Go home, go home to your clubs, Tom Thorne! home to your evening dress!
Home to your place of power and pride, and the feast that waits for you!
Why do you linger all alone in the splendid emptiness,
Scouring the Land of the Little Sticks on the trail of the caribou?

Why did you fall off the Earth, Tom Thorne, out of our social ken?
What did your deep damnation prove? What was your dark despair?
Oh with the width of a world between, and years to the count of ten,
If they cut out your heart to-night, Tom Thorne, her name would be graven there!

And you fled afar for the thing called Peace, and you thought you would find it here,
In the purple tundras vastly spread, and the mountains whitely piled;
It's a weary quest and a dreary quest, but I think that the end is near;
For they say that the Lord has hidden it in the secret heart of the Wild.

And you know that heart as few men know, and your eyes are fey and deep,
With a "something lost" come welling back from the raw, red dawn of life:
With woe and pain have you greatly lain, till out of abysmal sleep
The soul of the Stone Age leaps in you, alert for the ancient strife.

And if you came to our feast again, with its pomp and glee and glow,
I think you would sit stone-still, Tom Thorne, and see in a daze of dream,
A mad sun goading to frenzied flame the glittering gems of the snow,
And a monster musk-ox bulking black against the blood-red gleam.

I think you would see berg-battling shores, and stammer and halt and stare,
With a sudden sense of the frozen void, serene and vast and still;
And the aching gleam and the hush of dream, and the track of a great white bear,
And the primal lust that surged in you as you sprang to make your kill.

I think you would hear the bull-moose call, and the glutted river roar;
And spy the hosts of the caribou shadow the shining plain;
And feel the pulse of the Silences, and stand elate once more
On the verge of the yawning vastitudes that call to you in vain.

For I think you are one with the stars and the sun, and the wind and the wave and the dew;
And the peaks untrod that yearn to God, and the valleys undefiled;
Men soar with wings, and they bridle kings, but what is it all to you,
Wise in the ways of the wilderness, and strong with the strength of the Wild?

You have spent your life, you have waged your strife where never we play a part;
You have held the throne of the Great Unknown, you have ruled a kingdom vast:

. . . . .

But to-night there's a strange, new trail for you, and you go, O weary heart!
To the place and rest of the Great Unguessed . . . at last, Tom Thorne, at last.

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Irish Mile

In my dream I walk in the times gone by
On the western edge of a heartbreak shore
Where sleep’s dark fears are howling ‘round
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

Near the edge of a cliff there’s an angry
crowd with hungry faces crowding around
’fear in their eyes when they hear the drum
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

The troops come on with bayonets fixed
Pushing the people to the mountain’s lip
A cry goes out as the first goes down
in the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

The troops move off in single file.
The Empire grows by an Irish mile.
A voice cries out from the rocks below in
the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

In my dream I walk in the times gone by
As close to the edge as my fears allow
in the air there's a prayer for pity and revenge
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world

poem by Sean Joyce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Seeker

GOOD People, by your fires to-night
Sit close and praise the red, red wood!
The wind is cold, the moon is white;
With me who wander 'tis not well; it is not well, but God is good.
'Fore birth I was foredoomed to roam,
To keep my soul and self apart,
An alien without hearth and home —
With me who wander 'tis not well; there is no warmth of fire or heart.
I mate with all the wandering winds
That roam across the wintry earth;
What time behind your close-drawn blinds
Your firelit faces smile and smile, I would that I might share their
mirth.
But if I entered I should sit
A wordless dreamer at your fire;
With heart unwarmed and eyes unlit,
I should be like a spectre there, shut off from you and your desire.
And yet, I would that I might warm
My heart and hands at your fire-glow;
But headlong seas and shouting storm
They thrill my blood, they fill my eyes, they call me forth, and I must
go.
Good People, maids and dames and sires,
Ye have your little woe and mirth;
Ye dream no dream; but there are spires
That point to stars, and still point on in spite of this dark, drawing
earth.
It is not well with me to-night,
And I by that strange shore would be
Where, 'twist day's last grey gleam and night,
A Wonder wanes that I alone of all the world must seek and see.
What cliffs they be, what sea rolls there,
I do not know; but, spirit-chained,
Lost visions fill me with despair,
And all the washed grey foreland speaks of some strange Wonder that
has waned.
Good People, bread and wine are good,
And all your visions goodly be.
But some may crave for other food,
And some are seekers from their birth, and dream of lights they shall
not see.
And there is he who fain would find
A Wonder by an alien shore:
Athwart the seas he speeds his mind,
But on the instant fades a light, and lo, the Wonder is no more.

poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy

Some need gold and some need diamond rings
Or a drug to take away the pain that living brings
A promise of a better world to come
When whatever here is done
I dont need that sky of blue
All I knows since I found you, Im happy when Im in your arms
Happy, darling, come the dark
Happy when I taste your kiss
Im happy in a love like this
Theres a house upon a distant hill
Where you can hear the laughter of children ring
Guardian angels, they watch from above
Watching over the love that they bring
But at night I feel the darkness near, I awake and I find you near
Im happy with you in my arms
Im happy with you in my heart
Happy when I taste your kiss
Im happy in love like this
In a world of doubt and fear
I wake at night and reach to find you near
Lost in a dream, you caught me as I fell
I want more than just a dream to tell
Were born in this world, darling, with few days and trouble never far behind
Man and woman circle each other in a cage
A cage thats been handed down the line
Lost and running neath a million dead stars
Tonight lets shed our skins and slip these bars
Happy in each others arms
Happy baby, come the dark
Happy in each others kiss
I m happy in a love like this

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night Without Sleep

The world's as the world is; the nations rearm and prepare to
change; the age of tyrants returns;
The greatest civilization that has ever existed builds itself higher
towers on breaking foundations.
Recurrent episodes; they were determined when the ape's children
first ran in packs, chipped flint to an edge.
I lie and hear dark rain beat the roof, and the blind wind.

In the morning perhaps
I shall find strength again
To value the immense beauty of this time of the world, the flowers
of decay their pitiful loveliness, the fever-dream
Tapestries that back the drama and are called the future. This
ebb of vitality feels the ignoble and cruel
Incidents, not the vast abstract order.

I lie and hear dark rain beat
the roof, and the night-blind wind.
In the Ventana country darkness and rain and the roar of waters
fill the deep mountain-throats.
The creekside shelf of sand where we lay last August under a slip of stars,
And firelight played on the leaning gorge-walls, is drowned and
lost. The deer of the country huddle on a ridge
In a close herd under madrone-trees; they tremble when a rockslide
goes down, they open great darkness-
Drinking eyes and press closer.

Cataracts of rock
Rain down the mountain from cliff to cliff and torment the
stream-bed. The stream deals with them. The laurels are wounded,
Redwoods go down with their earth and lie thwart the gorge. I
hear the torrent boulders battering each other,
I feel the flesh of the mountain move on its bones in the wet
darkness.

Is this more beautiful
Than man's disasters? These wounds will heal in their time; so
will humanity's. This is more beautiful ... at night . . .

poem by Robinson Jeffers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sydney Cove, 1788

SHE sat on the rocks, her fireless eyes
Teased and tired with the thoughts of yore;
And paining her sense were alien skies,
An alien sea and an alien shore.
In gold-green dusks she glimpsed new flowers
And the glittering wings of gleaming birds —
But haunting her still were English bowers
And the clinging sweetness of old love-words.
A soft breeze murmured of unknown shores
And laughed as it touched her with fingers light,
But she mourned the more for the wind that roars
Down sullen coasts on a northern night.
Like topaz gems on a sable dome
The stranger stars stole shyly forth;
She saw no stars like the stars of home
That burned, white-fired, in the frosty north.
A restless sea was at her feet,
A restless sea of darkest blue;
The lights burned dimly on The Fleet,
And these were all the ships it knew.
She watched the dark tides rise and fall,
The lion-tides that, night and noon,
Range round the world, and moan and call
In sad sea-voices to the moon.
Thus while she watched they ebbed and flowed;
Till last with sudden splendour Day
Lit all the scene with gold, and showed
An arrow black on a garb of grey.