Reveille
What frolic zephyr through the young leaves plays,
Scattering fragrance delicate and sweet?
What impulse new moves Robin to repeat
To pale Anemone his roundelays?
What winning wonder fills the world with praise
In this mysterious time? Lo, all things greet
A loved one, new redeemed from death's defeat—
A youth whose languid head fair nymphs upraise!
For him the crocus dons his bravery,—
And violets, for him, their censers swing;
For him the shy arbutus, blushfully,
Peeps through the mosses that about her cling;
Adonis wakes! Awake, earth's minstrelsy!
In swelling diapason hymn the Spring!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Cora
When through thy arching aisles,
O Nature, I perceive
What brooding stillness fills the lonesome choirs
Where, heaven'd late, thy sweet musicians sung;
What rude benumbing touch
Strips from reluctant boughs
The languid leaves, and bares to common view
The sacred nest,—the mute, expressive nest,
Whose state defenseless tells
Of fledgeling treasures flown,—
Then, like the prudent birds, my thoughts take
flight,
Winging o'er wintry fields to find the spring.
II
Somewhere on Earth's cold breast
The dauntless crocus glows,
And fair Narcissus hangs his head and dreams:
There,—laughing, blushing, like a happy bride,
With tears in her sweet eyes
To kiss away, shyly
The Maiden comes, and, as she moves along,
The woods and waking wolds intone her praise.
I, too, where all things tell
Of Autumn chill and blight,—
I, too, will praise her, ay, with transport hymn
The unforgotten sweetness of the spring.
III
How desolate were Man
If, robbed of dear delight,
He might not with remembrance fond pursue
And find his happiness, and lead it back!
The mournful Stygian shades
Were less forlorn than he;
For they have memory, and cannot lose
Bright visions once in conscious bliss possessed!
Through Hades' wailful halls,
Bereft of Proserpine,
They pensive glide, yet feel the far, sweet spring,
And seem to breathe lost Enna's distant flowers.
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet XX.
The piteous sobs that choke the Virgin's breath
For him, the fair betrothed Youth, who les
Cold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries
With which a Mother wails her Darling's death,
These from our Nature's common impulse spring
Unblamed, unpraised; but o'er the piled earth,
Which hides the sheeted corse of gray-haired Worth,
If droops the soaring Youth with slackened wing;
If he recall in saddest minstrelsy
Each tenderness bestowed, each truth impressed;
Such Grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety!
And from the Almighty Father shall descend
Comforts on his late Evening, whose young breast
Mourns with no transient love the aged friend.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Misterious Ways
Mysterious ways
I must have aged 20 years in the last seven days
Livin on emotion disbelief and rage
I found out the hard way life is what you make
Sometimes you gotta learn to give yourself a break
You can go where you want to go
You can know who you want to know
Take a good look inside youll see
You can have it all if you just believe
Time moves in mysterious ways
Youre dancin to the music while the music plays
Accelerates and then delays
Time moves in mysterious ways
Accidents can happen and they always do
It only takes a twist of fate to turn on you
I was in the wrong place at just right time
I thought she was a lover not a friend of mine
You can do what you wanna do
You can screw who you want to screw
In the end its the fantasy
Not reality that will set you free
Time moves in mysterious ways
Youre dancin to the music while the music plays
Accelerates and then delays
Time moves in mysterious ways.
And once its inside of me
Its like a symphony
Youre on a cloud and cant come down
Its like a dream then you come around
You can go where you want to go
You can know who you want to know
Take a good look inside youll see
You can have it all if you just believe
Time moves in mysterious ways
Youre dancin to the music while the music plays
Accelerates and then delays
Time moves in mysterious ways
song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The First Spring Day
THE sunshine died long ago,
Stifled out long ago,
And the waste of the world was grey,
And night was the best to know,
For night was to doze and forget the day,
To be warm and forgetting and still,
And need not the sun and know not the chill:
But oh, for the day that was darkened so!
Why gaze on a barren heaven,
Void and unchanging heaven,
On a barren earth in the grime,
And not a poor blossom given,
No thing that was thinking of sunshine time,
For a promise, a praise of the past?
And so one forgot the sunshine at last;
And sleep could avail, but what to have striven?
The sunshine wakes once anew,
Wakes and is born anew,
And the Age of the earth grows young,
And heaven has its youth for hue,
And hope is the tune of the spring-bird's tongue,
And the leaves in their prisons all hark,
And blossoms will know there is end of the dark:
One hour of the sun, and the spring-time grew!
The sunshine new on the earth,
Heaven to brighten the earth,
And the deathful dimness gone by,
The barren and winter dearth!
And to-day is the best till the next is nigh,
And to-night is to-morrow begun,
To-morrow, when blossoms remember the sun!
Dead hopes, are ye born with the blossoms birth?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Adonis
The gods did love Adonis, and for this
He died, ere time had furrowed his young cheek.
For Aphrodité slew him with a kiss.
He sighed one sigh, as though he fain would speak
The name he loved, but that his breath grown weak
Died on his lips. So died the summer breeze;
And all the wood was hushed a minute's space,
Where I stood listening underneath the trees,
Until a wood--chat from her secret place
Chirped in an undertone, ``He is not dead,
Not dead, for lo! the bloom upon his face
Is ruddy as the newly--blossomed rose
Which even yet is woven round his head.
But sleep, more sweet than waking dream, doth close
The laughter of his eyes. He is not dead.''
Alone in that fair wood the livelong day
And through the silent night I watched him near.
But in the morning he was fled away,
When broke the dawn upon me cold and clear.
I looked within the thicket where he lay;
And lo! the sod, which he had pressed in death,
Was white with blossoms, scattered from the may,
Which made the thick air sweet with their sweet breath.
But he was gone; and I went o'er the heath,
Clutching, like one distraught, the dim air grey
With dawning,--for a voice encompassed me,
Crying, ``Fair boy, thy youth was but a span,
Yet did it circle in eternity.
Thy epic was accomplishèd. A man
Fills but the measure of his destiny,
And thine was all complete. Ere age began
To mar the royal palace of thy youth
With upper storeys of less perfect plan,
Death, kindly Death, filled with immortal ruth,
Took back the trowel from the builder's hand,
And wrote his `fecit' on thy work of truth.''
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Mysterious Ways
I must have aged twenty years in the last seven days
Living on emotion, disbelieve and rage
I found out the hard way life is what you make
Sometimes you gotta learn to give yourself a break
You can go where you wanna go
You can know who you want to know
Take a good look inside you'll see
You can have it all
If you just believe
Time moves in mysterious ways
You're dancing to the music while the music plays
Accelerates and then delays
Time moves in mysterious ways
[Chorus:]
Accidents can happen and they always do
It only takes a twist of fate to turn on you
I was in the wrong place at just right time
I thought she was a lover not a friend of mine
You can do who you wanna do
You can screw who you want to screw
In the end it's the fantasy
But not reality
That will set you free
[Chorus]
Once it's inside of me
It's like a symphony
On a cloud and I can't come down
It's like a dream then you come around
[Instrumental break]
You can go where you wanna go
You can know who you want to know
Take a good look inside you'll see
You can have it all if you just believe
[Chorus]
Time moves in mysterious ways
You're dancing to the music while the music plays
Accelerates and then delays
Time moves in mysterious
Time moves in mysterious
Time moves in mysterious ways
song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Coronal
WITH HIS SONGS AND HER DAYS TO HIS LADY AND TO LOVE
Violets and leaves of vine,
Into a frail, fair wreath
We gather and entwine:
A wreath for Love to wear,
Fragrant as his own breath,
To crown his brow divine,
All day till night is near.
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
Violets and leaves of vine
For Love that lives a day,
We gather and entwine.
All day till Love is dead,
Till eve falls, cold and gray,
These blossoms, yours and mine,
Love wears upon his head,
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
Violets and leaves of vine,
For Love when poor Love dies
We gather and entwine.
This wreath that lives a day
Over his pale, cold eyes,
Kissed shut by Proserpine,
At set of sun we lay:
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Winter Roses
My garden roses long ago
Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks;
Their pale, fair sisters smile no more
Upon the sweet-brier stalks.
Gone with the flower-time of my life,
Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride,
And Nature's winter and my own
Stand, flowerless, side by side.
So might I yesterday have sung;
To-day, in bleak December's noon,
Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues,
The rosy wealth of June!
Bless the young bands that culled the gift,
And bless the hearts that prompted it;
If undeserved it comes, at least
It seems not all unfit.
Of old my Quaker ancestors
Had gifts of forty stripes save one;
To-day as many roses crown
The gray head of their son.
And with them, to my fancy's eye,
The fresh-faced givers smiling come,
And nine and thirty happy girls
Make glad a lonely room.
They bring the atmosphere of youth;
The light and warmth of long ago
Are in my heart, and on my cheek
The airs of morning blow.
O buds of girlhood, yet unblown,
And fairer than the gift ye chose,
For you may years like leaves unfold
The heart of Sharon's rose
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Autumn Violets
Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring:
Of if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves,
Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves,
Their own, and others dropped down withering;
For violets suit when home birds build and sing,
Not when the outbound bird a passage cleaves;
Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves,
But when the green world buds to blossoming.
Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth,
Love that should dwell with beauty, mirth, and hope:
Or if a later sadder love be born,
Let this not look for grace beyond its scope,
But give itself, nor plead for answering truth—
A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Villanelle: The Joys of Spring
The Sun wakes the earth, and the birds sing
songs of joy and beauty that strike me with suspense and awe:
Spring fills me with delight about what it will bring.
They rise up in the air, they are the king
of the skies, higher and higher they soar.
O! The joys of Spring.
But when the rain falls, it doesn't matter, for the things
in Spring that are here give me warmth; I don't care that rain will pour:
Spring fills me with delight about what it will bring.
And now I see you, like a new-born lamb; I'm gaping
at your beauty, your whole being, and so much more.
O! The joys of Spring!
Spring, as harbinger of life and hoping,
entices all with possibilities, vivacity, and so much more.
Spring fills me with delight about what it will bring.
So now I offer you my ring,
spend our life like an eternal Spring; I will always keep you in my heart's store:
Spring fills me with delight about what it will bring:
O! The joys of Spring!
poem by Dan Pyzer Knapp
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It Might As Well Be Spring
(1945) richard rodgers, oscar hammerstein ii
The things I used to like, I dont like any more,
I want a lot of other things Ive never had before,
Its just like my mamma says, I sit around and mourn
Pretending that I am so wonderful and knowing Im adored
Im as restless as a willow in a windstorm,
Im as jumpy as a puppet on a string,
Id say that I had spring fever,
But I know it isnt spring.
Im as starry eyed and gravely discontented,
Like a nightingale without a song to sing.
Oh, why should I have spring fever,
When it isnt even spring?
I keep wishing I were somewhere else,
Walking down a strange new street,
Hearing words I have never never heard,
From a man Ive yet to meet.
Im as busy as a spider spinning daydreams,
Im as giddy as a baby on a swing,
I havent seen a crocus or a rosebud,
Or a robin or a bluebird on the wing,
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way,
That it might as well be spring,
It might as well be, might as well be,
It might as well be spring.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Flower of Leaves
The Flower of Leaves, does not speak, nor sing!
She breathes intensly and plays on sweet strings
The Flower of Leaves, in spring, does not bloom,
She hangs in the heat and weeps low in gloom
The Flower of Leaves, shrouds mis'ry and pain,
Yet exudes in song warm swelling disdain
The Flower of Leaves, shades but one pale green,
Yet blossoms 'neath moonlight in silv'ry gleam
She relieves, and like Great Nature, serene,
In stormless gardens passes through unseen
Sublime as rainfall, sincere as the sea,
O Heaven, such life that blooms before me!
Who only knows that which my heart believes,
In such mystique of The Flower of Leaves!
poem by Iam notThou
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A Lament For Adonis
Cytherea, thy dainty Adonis is dying!
Ah, what shall we do?
O Nymphs, let it echo, the voice of your crying,
The greenwood through!
O Forest-maidens, smite on the breast,
Rend ye the delicate-woven vest!
Let the wail ring wild and high:
'Ah for Adonis!' cry.
O Sappho, how canst thou chant the bliss
Of Kypris — after such day as this?
'Oh Adonis, thou leavest me — woe for my lot!
And Eros, my servant, availeth me not!'
So wails Cytherea, grief-distraught.
'Who shall console me for thee? There is none —
Not Ares my god-lover, passionate one
Who sware in his jealousy forth to hale
Hephaestus my spouse from his palace, if he
Dared but to lift his eyes unto me.
Not he can console me, Adonis, for thee!'
Wail for Adonis, wail!
Flower God, God Of The Spring
FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful,
Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,
Here I wander in April
Cold, grey-headed; and still to my
Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer,
Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant;
Spring, flower-planter in meadows,
Child-conductor in willowy
Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses:
Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity:
O child, happy are children!
She still smiles on their innocence,
She, dear mother in God, fostering violets,
Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins:
Thus one cunning in music
Wakes old chords in the memory:
Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances.
One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal
Green - one more, and my bosom
Feels new life with an ecstasy.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Sylvan Grave
Lay me not, when I die, in the place of the dead,
With the dwellings of men round my resting place spread,
But amidst the still forest, unseen and alone,
Where the waters go by with a murmuring tone;
Where the wild bird above me may wave its dark wing,
And the flowers I have loved from my ashes may spring;
Where affection's own blossom may lift its blue eye,
With an eloquent glance from the place where I lie.
Let the rose and the woodbine be there, to enwreath
A bright chaplet of bloom for the pale brow of death;
And the clover's red blossom be seen, that the hum
Of the honey-bee's wing, may for requiem come:
And when those I have loved, ‘midst the changes of earth,
The clouds of its sorrow, its sunshine of mirth,
Shall visit the spot where my cold relics lie,
And gaze on its flowers with a tear-moisten'd eye—
Let them think that my spirit still sometimes is there,
My breath the light zephyr that twines in their hair,
And these flowers, in their fragrance, a memory be,
To tell them thus sweet was their friendship to me.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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O'Donohue's Mistress
Of all the fair months, that round the sun
In light-link'd dance their circles run,
Sweet May, shine thou for me;
For still, when thy earliest beams arise,
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies,
Sweet May, returns to me.
Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves
Its lingering smile on golden eves,
Fair lake, thou'rt dearest to me;
For when the last April sun grows dim
Thy Naiads prepare his steed for him
Who dwells, bright lake, in thee.
Of all the proud steeds that ever bore
Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore,
White Steed, most joy to thee;
Who still, with the first young glance of spring,
From under that glorious lake dost bring
My love, my chief, to me.
While, white as the sail some bark unfurls,
When newly launch'd, thy long mane curls,
Fair Steed, as white and free;
And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers,
Glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers,
Around my love and thee.
Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die,
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie,
Most sweet that death will be,
Which, under the next May evening's light,
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight,
Dear love, I'll die for thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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The Soul of the City Receives the Gift of the Holy Spirit
A BROADSIDE DISTRIBUTED IN SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS
Censers are swinging,
Over the town;
Censers are swinging,
Look overhead!
Censers are swinging,
Heaven comes down.
City, dead city,
Awake from the dead!
Censers, tremendous,
Gleam overhead.
Wind-harps are ringing,
Wind-harps unseen—
Calling and calling:—
"Wake from the dead.
Rise, little city,
Shine like a queen."
Soldiers of Christ
For battle grow keen.
Heaven-sent winds
Haunt alley and lane.
Singing of life
In town-meadows green
After the toil
And battle and pain.
Incense is pouring
Like the spring rain
Down on the mob
That moil through the street.
Blessed are they
Who behold it and gain
Power made more mighty
Thro' every defeat.
Builders, toil on.
Make all complete.
Make Springfield wonderful.
Make her renown
Worthy this day,
Till, at God's feet,
Tranced, saved forever,
Waits the white town.
Censers are swinging
Over the town,
Censers gigantic!
Look overhead!
Hear the winds singing:—
"Heaven comes down.
City, dead city,
Awake from the dead."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Morning Ritual.
Cywydd deuair Fyrion.
I greet the dawn.
A day new born.
My hymn of praise
I gladly raise.
As I should do
and so should you.
We know it’s true
that praise is due
An attitude
of gratitude.
Would be seemly
But we are free
To choose to sing
or do nothing.
It may well be
that unlike me.
You do not pray
to greet the day
That is your choice
But I rejoice
to see daylight
banish the night.
That’s why I raise
my hymn of praise.
Tuesday,02 February 2010.
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Spring Flowers ~ Crocus
Crocus flowers daring tiny warriors
Fighting their way up through
The winter ice
Crocus darling early Spring harbingers
Promising days will soon
Be turning nice
Tiny Crocus flowers grow in close groups
Strength in numbers seeking
Where winter snows still may lie
Encircled encampment of floral troupes
“We march onward to spring”
They raise this brave battle cry
Bold strength contained in Crocus so small
Should winter challenge again
They simply refuse to die
Delicate blossoms possess such wherewithal
I cannot help but wonder then
Should not likewise you and I?
poem by Mary Havran
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The First Extra
A Waltz Song.
O sway, and swing, and sway,
And swing, and sway, and swing!
Ah me, what bliss like unto this,
Can days and daylight bring?
A rose beneath your feet
Has fallen from my head;
Its odour rises sweet,
All crushed it lies, and dead.
O Love is like a rose,
Fair-hued, of fragrant breath;
A tender flow'r that lives an hour,
And is most sweet in death.
O swing, and sway, and swing,
And rise, and sink, and fall!
There is no bliss like unto this,
This is the best of all.