Poetry
One spot of green, watered by hidden streams,
Makes summer in the desert where it gleams;
And mortals, gazing on thy heavenly face,
Forget the woes of earth, and share thy dreams!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dreams Dreams Dreams
I dream of you, dreaming of me
In thy imagination, lovely and free
Astray on a unimaginable path
Where me and you are all we hath
Dreaming of dreams that should be
The mind of you to bind with me
In my dreams its thou I see
I see thou with my harmony
Dreams, Dreams, Dreams
Gleams, Gleams, Gleams
Gleams of you and gleams of me
In dreams of you in dreams of me
The gleams that hope
The gleams that elope
You to me and me to you
In dreams, dreams come true!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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I Took Your Face into My Dreams
I took your face into my dreams,
It floated round me like a light;
Your beauty's consecrating beams
Lay mirrored in my heart all night.
As in a lonely mountain mere,
Unvisited of any streams,
Supremely bright and still and clear,
The solitary moonlight gleams,
Your face was shining in my dreams.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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A Charm invests a face
the face - is the record
of time now and beyond
a million stories in sight,
sound, taste and senses
known and unknown
sad face - it's a scar of the earth really
happy face - it is an extension
of the bloom to help the earth smile
sad face it soon seeks its way
out in another face
a mirror to another world
where there is every reason to shine again
hidden in - some features
are some wonderful tales of yester years
- prophets, fairies and those
who had seen god
if you have the blessings
to reach out to them
if you have consumed the bible,
the koran and other
heavenly sent books -
you know the face is
the most artistic chore
of the Creator
- he makes sure no two are alike
joseph the most blessed of them all
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Love's Reason
For that thy face is fair I love thee not;
Nor yet because the light of thy brown eyes
Hath gleams of wonder and of glad surprise,
Like woodland streams that cross a sunlit spot:
Nor for thy beauty, born without a blot,
Most perfect when it shines through no disguise
Pure as the star of Eve in Paradise, ---
For all these outward things I love thee not:
But for a something in thy form and face,
Thy looks and ways, of primal harmony;
A certain soothing charm, a vital grace
That breathes of the eternal womanly,
And makes me feel the warmth of Nature's breast,
When in her arms, and thine, I sink to rest.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Coming Of Rain
The prelude is a dark cloud
On the soil the drop’s din
Overcoming the arid shroud
The earth is once again green.
From the soil the earthworm burrows
Will pour out heart’s hidden streams
Burying the slumber of the morose
Reviving the dormant dreams!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Perpetual Motion
What (said the poet) should we care
For all this mad world's phantasies,
For rumours rife upon the air
Of terrors looming overseas?
If so, the soul were plagued alway
With far-fetched grieving, what of mirth?
For somewhere sorror broods all day;
Yet laughter, too, inhabits earth.
For the sun shines and the grass grows,
And the ferns nod above the stream
That down this placid valley flows;
Then let us rest a while, and dream.
For the grass grows as the sun shines,
And the stream flows and sings a song
To chide the sad heart that repines
Ah, summer, summer, linger long!
What (I gave answer) badgers me
Are not the tragedies of earth.
Despite your gay philosophy
Of seeking joy and claiming mirth
For boon companions as you go,
Oft times these very joys oppress
And suns that shine and streams that flow
May be a source of weariness.
For the grass grows and the sun gleams
To sear the grass and, where they flow,
I must bring water from the streams
To make the blinking grass to grow.
And the sun gleams and the grass grows -
Indeed I know it well enough;
For as it springs where water flows
I've got to cut the blasted stuff.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Life of a Flower
As the snow melts with upmost intensity
Out of the white field under the blues sky a green spot rises
The rise of a legacy of a summer, a legacy of blooms
The sun rises and white is no more
White once now is green, green signs of life
Life that will live for a summer time, summer that never ends
From green to yellow, yellow that perfects the view
View out of sight, so far away you can see the Earth curves
From yellow that blinds the eyes to cloudy skies
Now is time again, say good bye till summer comes back
From brown, the name of a legacy that lasted a life time
Brown surrenders to white, so smooth takes it by force
And Earth sleeps again under the white blanket
Forever and ever life lives and dies
Perfection is all.
Sonnett VI: A Nuptial Sleep
At length their long kiss severed, with sweet smart:
And as the last slow sudden drops are shed
From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled,
So singly flagged the pulses of each heart.
Their bosoms sundered, with the opening start
Of married flowers to either side outspread
From the knit stem; yet still their mouths, burnt red,
Fawned on each other where they lay apart.
Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams,
And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away.
Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams
Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day;
Till from some wonder of new woods and streams
He woke, and wondered more: for there she lay.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Do you know that charming part of our country which has been called the garden of France - that spot where, amid verdant plains watered by wide streams, one inhales the purest air of heaven?
quote by Alfred de Vigny
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voluptas
To chase a never-reached mirage
Across the hot, white sand,
And choke and die, while gazing on
Its green and watered strand.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Waiting for the Summer
Warm Summer…
Bumblebee flies to the south
Hailed by the beautiful blossom orchid
Summer..oh Summer…
Awe grows on the way to the summer twilight..
Wish she could find the summer
Before she leaves the space
Forsake all Heavenly-Earth things
Summer..oh..Summer
poem by Dina Satika
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A Summer Mood
BUT wait. Let each by each the days pass by,
One faded and one blown like summer flowers;
What need of hope, with summer in the sky?
What of regret, with all fair morrows ours?
If yesterday be gone,No reck, 'twas not alone,
To-morrow will have just so sweet long hours.
But yet to-day is sweetest till 'tis flown.
But wait. Let summer day be changed from day,
Like following surges of the ebb and flow;
And flow brings breath of saltness and blithe spray,
And ebb long music of seas plashing low.
The waves, stolen out of reach
,Have no farewell for speech;
Next tide will roll as swift, as rippling go.
And yet 'tis now that's best along the beach.
Ah wait. The while we linger our lives live,
Our summer ripens purpose through our dreams;
Flower-petals fallen leave a seed to thrive,
Spent tides heap treasures from the deep sea streams;
Now drifts by unaware,
And Afterwards is heir;
To-morrow wins the wealth of yester gleams.
Yet 'tis to-day that summer makes most fair.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Look now how mortals are blaming the gods, for they say that evils come from us, but in fact they themselves have woes beyond their share because of their own follies.
The First Step
Oh, take that step, that step of love,
where we can share eternal love.
Where we can reach a distant star
that once was thought so very far.
I’ll take you to the land of dreams,
to paradise with its crystal streams,
to the greenest grass and bluest skies,
to where one lives and never dies.
I’ll share with you my blackest soul
which surpasses the heavenly goal.
I’ll teach you the real, right from wrong,
and serenade you with an angel’s song.
I’ll introduce you to my many friends
who once believed their life would end.
Just take the first step and walk with me
and together we’ll share an eternity.
poem by Orlando Belo
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In an Old Barn
Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay
O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves,
Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,
Though few flies wander his secluded way.
Through a high chink one lonely golden ray,
Wherein the dust is dancing, slants unstirred.
In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard,
Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play.
Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls,
Nose-deep in clover fodder's meadowy scent,
Forget the snows that whelm their pasture streams,
The frost that bites the world beyond their walls.
Warm housed, they dream of summer, well content
In day-long contemplation of their dreams.
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Lament
Where are those dazzling hills touched by the sun,
Those crags in childhood that I used to climb?
Hidden, hidden under mist is yonder mountain,
Hidden is the heart.
A day of cloud, a lifetime falls between,
Gone are the heather moors and the pure stream,
Gone are the rocky places and the green,
Hidden, hidden under sorrow is yonder mountain,
Hidden, hidden.
O storm and gale of tears, whose blinding screen
Makes weather of grief, snow's drifting curtain
Palls th'immortal heights once seen.
Hidden, hidden is the heart,
Hidden, hidden is the heart.
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
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Oh I Must Go Home To Millstreet
The singing birds of Millstreet are calling, calling me
In my dreams I hear them whistling far beyond the deep wide sea
The green, green wood by Clara hill is always on my mind
On the day that I left Millstreet I left my heart behind.
Buttercups bloomed by the grass fringed rills and larks piped in the skies
As I said goodbye to Clara hill with teardrops in my eyes
The blue bluebells were blooming along the green bohreens
On the day that I bade farewell to Millstreet and her meadows and her streams.
The farmers mow the lush green meads that surround Millstreet Town
As the heathery face of Clara on them lovingly looks down
The shlaun men shlaun the shiny dark peat and the pikes are on the sway
In Gneeves bog outside of Millstreet on this bright Summer's day.
Oh I must go back to Ireland to the Land where I was born
Just to hear again the birds sing on a Spring like April morn
Oh I must go home to Millstreet for 'tis there I'd love to die
And be buried under Millstreet earth beneath an Irish sky.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poets and Fools
Dreams are for fools and poets
Let the dreamer dream
And the poet write
And let us mere mortals pine.
From my pen comes dreams
And my dreams I no longer pen
Through the darkness I wade
All I need to say is said.
poem by Robert Green
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Try to Forget, Try to Remeber, But don't Forget who you are
Try to forget,
Try to remember,
Try not to loose hope,
Try to catch your dreams,
So you can fly towards the heavens,
Try to forget your past,
Try to forget your fears,
But don’t try to forget who you are,
Here the winds howl,
Your name,
Trying you to forget,
Your past,
Here the sea splashing,
Trying you to remember,
Your fears,
Here the earth shakes,
Trying you to forget who you are,
The winds howl,
Your name
Across the sea,
The sea splashes,
Your memories
To the earth,
The earth shakes,
But you don’t forget who you are.
Don’t loose hope little one,
Don’t let your dreams fly away,
To the heavens,
Forget all the things you have been through
Forget all the things you have done.
Just don’t forget who you are,
The phoenix of the winds,
The sea,
The earth.
Cold as you may seem,
You know who you are,
That’s one thing you will never forget.
poem by Destiny Paul
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The Maiden's Sorrow
Seven long years has the desert rain
Dropped on the clods that hide thy face;
Seven long years of sorrow and pain
I have thought of thy burial-place.
Thought of thy fate in the distant west,
Dying with none that loved thee near;
They who flung the earth on thy breast
Turned from the spot williout a tear.
There, I think, on that lonely grave,
Violets spring in the soft May shower;
There, in the summer breezes, wave
Crimson phlox and moccasin flower.
There the turtles alight, and there
Feeds with her fawn the timid doe;
There, when the winter woods are bare,
Walks the wolf on the crackling snow.
Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away;
All my task upon earth is done;
My poor father, old and gray,
Slumbers beneath the churchyard stone.
In the dreams of my lonely bed,
Ever thy form before me seems;
All night long I talk with the dead,
All day long I think of my dreams.
This deep wound that bleeds and aches,
This long pain, a sleepless pain--
When the Father my spirit takes,
I shall feel it no more again.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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