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Everything passes, everything breaks, everything wearies.
Fortune wearies with carrying one and the same man always.
Continuous eloquence wearies. Grandeur must be abandoned to be appreciated. Continuity in everything is unpleasant. Cold is agreeable, that we may get warm.
quote by Blaise Pascal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come, come thou bleak December wind (fragment)
Come, come thou bleak December wind,
And blow the dry leaves from the tree!
Flash, like a Love-thought, thro' me, Death
And take a Life that wearies me.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Everything passes, everything breaks, everything wearies. [Fr., Tout passe, tout casse, tout lasse.]
Religious truth is captive in a small number of little manuscripts which guard the common treasures, instead of expanding them. Let us break the seal which binds these holy things; let us give wings to truth that it may fly with the Word, no longer prepared at vast expense, but multitudes everlastingly by a machine which never wearies to every soul which enters life.
quote by Johannes Gutenberg
Submitted by anonym
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Satiety
I have outlived my life, and linger on,
Knowing myself the ghost of one that was.
Come, kindly death, and let my flesh (being grass)
Nourish some beast's sad life when I am gone.
What joy is left in all I look upon?
I cannot sin, it wearies me. Alas!
I loathe the laggard moments as they pass;
I tire of all but swift oblivion.
Yet, if all power to taste the dear deceit
Be not outworn and perished utterly;
If it could be, then surely it were sweet--
I go down on my knees and pray: O God,
Send me some last illusion, ere I be
A clod--perhaps at rest--within a clod.
poem by Arthur Symons
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At Issue
THAT voice I hear,—how heard I cannot tell,—
Although my home is this, seems from my home:
There… still it trails along and murmurs “Come”;
Like the slow death of sound within a bell,
Or like the humming whine in some pink shell
Wet with the brittle beadage of the foam
Which bird—eyed damsels stoop for when they roam
By the old sea. Were't not exceeding well
To shake my soul out of this tiresome life
For a call any—whence and any—whither?
That voice knows all the life I have or had,
And mocks me not,—it's whisper is too sad.
Even to attain calm sorrow lures me thither,
Since here this search for joy wearies like strife.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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From Sengtzan (died 606 AD/CE) , the Third Patriarch of Zen
How may we walk all free and undisturbed
through life, as if there were no other way?
So that our human nature finds no break
between our nature, and all nature's play?
The answer lies in thought: for if our mind
holds any thought that some restriction makes
on truth itself, then Truth is thus constrained
in every part; can never show itself.
For hence comes false requirement, then to judge
between all these embordered things in mind -
Which wearies angered mind, like some old grudge;
No freedom then, nor peace, nor truth, to find.
So curb that game divisive mind will play
with anything at all; that is the Way.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Heart
There is a cup of sweet or bitter drink,
Whose waters ever o'er the brim must well,
Whence flow pure thoughts of love as angels think,
Or of its dæmon depths the tongue will tell;
That cup can ne'er be cleansed from outward stains
While from within the tide forever flows;
And soon it wearies out the fruitless pains
The treacherous hand on such a task bestows;
But ever bright its chrystal sides appear,
While runs the current from its outlet pure;
And pilgrims hail its sparkling waters near,
And stoop to drink the healing fountain sure,
And bless the cup that cheers their fainting soul
While through this parching waste they seek their heavenly goal.
poem by Jones Very
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Hope
All treasures of the earth and opulent seas,
Metals and odorous woods and cunning gold,
Fowls of the air and furry beasts untold,
Vineyards and harvest fields and fruitful trees
Nature gave unto Man; and last her keys
Vouched passage to her secret ways of old
Whence knowledge should be wrung, nay power to mould
Out of the rough, his occult destinies.
But tired of these he craved a wider scope:
Then fair as Pallas from the brain of Jove
From his deep wish there sprang, full-armed, to cope
With all life's ills, even very death in love,
The only thing man never wearies of--
His own creation--visionary Hope.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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A Pause Of Thought
I looked for that which is not, nor can be,
And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth:
But years must pass before a hope of youth
Is resigned utterly.
I watched and waited with a steadfast will:
And though the object seemed to flee away
That I so longed for, ever day by day
I watched and waited still.
Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more;
My expectation wearies and shall cease;
I will resign it now and be at peace:
Yet never gave it o'er.
Sometimes I said: It is an empty name
I long for; to a name why should I give
The peace of all the days I have to live?—
Yet gave it all the same.
Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfit
For healthy joy and salutary pain:
Thou knowest the chase useless, and again
Turnest to follow it.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Where Were You?
Where were you? This long period,
From time immemorial, where were you?
Hidden behind the mountainous ego,
Suddenly fallen on the Iris, roamed with selfish billows,
Reached the heart of the mass, where were you?
Boiled in the core of the womb, have you let yourself free?
Cooled down to be the stubborn ice, then to be thawed,
Where were you? Caught hold of the legs of the butterflies,
Visited all the beautiful blooms and then tired all the tryst,
Entered the threshold of innocence, where were you?
Believed all faithful doctrines and forgot the fragrant humanity,
Had the shower to remove all the dirt stuck impermanent?
Where were you? When the rational side is apparent,
These crying clouds may not say multiple stories,
The flashing lightning may disappear in wearies,
Autumn leaves may get rejuvenated and look fresh,
The spring foliage may be impressively alert.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Umbilical
Chiming bells, uproaring thunder-like voices, merry making, upon the promulgation of a child
Cries emanates, just as the umbilical cord becomes set for cut
The daunts & wearies of the child opens in sheer despairity
Seeming 'a punishment' at birth
Oops! Just flustery scenes advertently nothing can be done
An anti-thesis like an armoury clad then render at the time due making the sky deeply frightened but yet not taken aback
An enticement, never can it be ignored, not even on the 'kerstmis' in a year of plenty
Umbilical cord it hovers, armistic it acts as the child gasp for breath
A separation & passage which broils unto humanity, the adventures ahead and the apportioned destinies.
But knowingly, even after the darkest of unending nights, lies a certainty of a brighter sky amid unwavering faith & unabated hopes tomorrow
#Certainly umbilical
poem by Prince Kenny Osei
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The Angel of Pain
Angel of Pain, I think thy face
Will be, in all the heavenly place,
The sweetest face that I shall see,
The swiftest face to smile on me.
All other angels faint and tire;
Joy wearies, and forsakes desire;
Hope falters, face to face with Fate,
And dies because it cannot wait;
And Love cuts short each loving day,
Because fond hearts cannot obey
That subtlest law which measures bliss
By what it is content to miss.
But thou, O loving, faithful Pain-
Hated, reproached, rejected, slain-
Dost only closer cling and bless
In sweeter, stronger steadfastness.
Dear, patient angel, to thine own
Thou comest, and art never known
Till late, in some lone twilight place
The light of thy transfigured face
Sudden shines out, and, speechless, they
Know they have walked with Christ all day.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Lonely
If thine soul feels loneliness,
Thou art not perfectly understood
As thou soul wishes
If thine soul does not feel
The human word
It feels loneliness's hollow cry
If thine soul wearies of human love
It always has loneliness to watch thy love die
If thine soul speaks to deaf ears
Then the loneliest, most remote ears in the world, hear with melancholy
If thine soul has no hand to hold
Then loneliness walks by thy side and holds thee
If thou fear to die alone, alone with loneliness you will die
If thou fear the dark when alone, loneliness hides in the dark
Afraid with thee.
As mine tears fell
Into God's empty well
And to his lonely cell
Loneliness heard and spoke though me…
Lonely
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Death, To The Dead For Evermore
DEATH, to the dead for evermore
A King, a God, the last, the best of friends -
Whene'er this mortal journey ends
Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;
Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore
Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn
Disturbs the eternal sleep,
But in the stillness far withdrawn
Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.
For as from open windows forth we peep
Upon the night-time star beset
And with dews for ever wet;
So from this garish life the spirit peers;
And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread,
Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo!
After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears
And clamour of man's passion, Death appears,
And we must rise and go.
Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears
Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;
Soon, racked by hopes and fears,
The all-pondering, all-contriving head,
Weary with all things, wearies of the years;
And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;
And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Wood By The Sea
I DWELL in the wood that is dark and kind
But afar off tolls the main,
Afar, far off I hear the wind,
And the roving of the rain.
The shade is dark as a palmer's hood,
The air with balm is bland:
But I wish the trees that breathe in the wood
Were ashes in God's hand.
The pines are weary of holding nests,
Are aweary of casting shade;
Wearily smoulder the resin crests
In the pungent gloom of the glade.
Weary are all the birds of sleep,
The nests are weary of wings,
The whole wood yearns to the swaying deep,
The mother of restful things.
The wood is very old and still,
So still when the dead cones fall,
Near in the vale or away on the hill,
You can hear them one and all.
And their falling wearies me;
If mine were the will of God,–oh, then
The wood should tramp to the sounding sea,
Like a marching army of men!
But I dwell in the wood that is dark and kind,
Afar off tolls the main;
Afar, far off I hear the wind
And the roving of the rain.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Waking On A New Morning
thanks GOD..ı have reached a new..fresh morning
that means...ı am on the world..alive
thanks GOD..ı have reached a new..fresh morning
ı am still dreaming..fancying and in dreams
the harnessed cart on road
the anchored ship at hArbour
all my kins...all my relatives gather together..come together
LOOK.. it is so new..a fresh morning
house on house is weary of the world
the mountains are in their joyous moments
vapour in the glittering eyes
the dead and alive together are walking on the steets
the market is in its motion all day
the false and unnecessary haste wearies everyone
on the world
human beings against it are walking on it shaking
the things you and we know
are the things we call thoughts
we are the water-wheel horses
turning and turning
with blinkers on our eyes
and the fate looking at us in its joyous mood
thanks GOD..ı have reached a new..a fresh morning
that means ı am on the world..living
thanks GOD..ı have reached a new: : , ; . a fresh morning
that means I am also in a dream..dreaming again
Osman ATILLA..Translation Metin Ş AHİ N
poem by Metin Sahin
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