The shades of night were falling fast,
As though an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior.
His brow was sad his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior.
quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Excelsior
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said:
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Up'ards
'Twere getting dusk, one winter's night,
When up the clough there came in sight,
A lad who carried through the snow,
A banner with this 'ere motto...
'Uppards'
His face was glum as he did pass,
His eyes were shiny... just like glass,
And as he went upon his way,
He nobbut this 'ere word did say...
'Uppards'
And people sitting down to tea,
They heard him plan, as plain can be,
They thowt 'twere final football score,
As this 'ere word rang out once more...
'Uppards'
A policeman on his lonely beat,
He stopped the lad up t' end of t' street,
He said, "Where't going wi' that theer?"
The lad just whispered in his ear...
'Uppards'
"Don't go down t' clough." the policeman said,
"It's mucky road for thee to tread,
Canal's at bottom... deep and wide."
"That's not my road." the lad replied,
It's... 'Uppards'
A young lass stopped him further up,
She said "Come in wi' me, and sup."
He said, "I'm takin none o' yon,
Besides... I must be getting on...
'Uppards'"
Next day some lads had just begun,
To tak' their whippets for a run,
When dogs got scratching in the snow,
And found flag with this 'ere motto...
'Uppards'
That set them digging all around,
And 'twasn't long before they found,
A lad whose name they never learned,
Whose face was white, whose toes had turned...
'Uppards'
'Twas very plain for to behold,
The lad had ta'en his death o' cold,
He'd got his feet wet early on,
And from his feet the cold had gone...
'Uppards'
This story only goes to show,
That when the fields is white wi' snow,
It's inadvisable to go...
'Uppards'
EXCELSIOR
by
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1841)
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
poem by Marriott Edgar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Uppards
'Twere getting dusk, one winter's night,
When up the clough there came in sight,
A lad who carried through the snow,
A banner with this 'ere motto...
'Uppards'
His face was glum as he did pass,
His eyes were shiny... just like glass,
And as he went upon his way,
He nobbut this 'ere word did say...
'Uppards'
And people sitting down to tea,
They heard him plan, as plain can be,
They thowt 'twere final football score,
As this 'ere word rang out once more...
'Uppards'
A policeman on his lonely beat,
He stopped the lad up t' end of t' street,
He said, "Where't going wi' that theer?"
The lad just whispered in his ear...
'Uppards'
"Don't go down t' clough." the policeman said,
"It's mucky road for thee to tread,
Canal's at bottom... deep and wide."
"That's not my road." the lad replied,
It's... 'Uppards'
A young lass stopped him further up,
She said "Come in wi' me, and sup."
He said, "I'm takin none o' yon,
Besides... I must be getting on...
'Uppards'"
Next day some lads had just begun,
To tak' their whippets for a run,
When dogs got scratching in the snow,
And found flag with this 'ere motto...
'Uppards'
That set them digging all around,
And 'twasn't long before they found,
A lad whose name they never learned,
Whose face was white, whose toes had turned...
'Uppards'
'Twas very plain for to behold,
The lad had ta'en his death o' cold,
He'd got his feet wet early on,
And from his feet the cold had gone...
'Uppards'
This story only goes to show,
That when the fields is white wi' snow,
It's inadvisable to go...
'Uppards'
EXCELSIOR
by
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1841)
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
poem by Marriott Edgar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An imitation
As once I dreamed, methought I strayed
Within a snow-clad mountain's shade;
From whose far height the silence bore
One charméd word, "Excelsior!"
And, as upon my soul it fell,
It bound me with a fearful spell;
It shut the sweet vale from my sight,
And called me up that dazzling height.
I could not choose but heed its tone,
And climb that dreary path alone;
And now around me hung the gloom,
Where the storm-spirit makes his home.
Upon my head the tempests beat;
Dark caverns opened at my feet;
The thunders rolled, the lightnings flashed
And fierce the swollen torrents dashed.
'Twas gained, that mountain's stormy pass;
But, chilled beside a mer de glace,
My heavy heart in vain would soar, --
The heart hears not "Excelsior!"
The heart's home is the vale below,
Where kind words greet, where fond eyes glow;
It withers 'neath those frozen skies,
Where the aspiring thought would rise.
Above me the eternal snows
In the cold sunlight's glare arose,
And a dread Presence seemed to brood
O'er the appalling solitude.
But now, on that unquiet dream,
Did one of stateliest aspect beam;
Whose brow thought's kingly impress bore,
Whose soul thrilled to "Excelsior!"
Though but one moment o'er my way
Did the bright form beside me stay;
In that pale brow and speaking eye,
Methought I saw my Destiny!
And as, far up the heaven-crowned height,
Thou seem'dst to vanish from my sight;
Thine image yet beside me stood,
And filled the voiceless solitude.
No longer drear that mountain waste.
For o'er its snows thy steps had passed;
No longer dread, in upper air,
That mountain's crest, for thou wert there!
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No Beer, No Work
The shades of night was fallin’ slow
As through New York a guy did go
And nail on ev’ry barroom door
A card that this here motter bore:
'No beer, no work.'
His brow was sad, his mouth was dry;
It was the first day of July,
And where, all parched and scorched it hung,
These words was stenciled on his tongue:
'No beer, no work.'
'Oh, stay,' the maiden said, 'and sup
This malted milk from this here cup.'
A shudder passed through that there guy,
But with a moan he made reply:
'No beer, no work.'
At break of day, as through the town
The milkman put milk bottles down,
Onto one stoop a sort of snore
Was heard, and then was heard no more—
'No beer, no work.'
The poor old guy plumb dead was found
And planted in the buryin’ ground,
Still graspin’ in his hand of ice
Them placards with this sad device:
'No beer, no work.'
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Snowed In By A Warm Fire
A visit to an Inn on top of a hill.
A view, a valley, a village, a pond.
Snow already covering the ground.
Snow falling steadily all around.
The hills, the trees, the branches,
The drives, the roads, the highways.
All are covered in new fallen snow.
All are silent as the snow falls.
Snowflakes large, silent, slowly falling.
Snowflakes drifting, covering the ground.
Snow falling steadily through the day;
Snow falling steadily through the night.
Soon ankle deep, then up to your knees;
Soon three feet covers all there is.
Snowed in. The highways are closed.
Snowed in, as I wait by the warm fire.
poem by Joe Wocoski
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Heavily Snowing
Snow falling
Snow falling
Cleansing, purifying.
Snow falling
Snow falling
Insulating, covering
Snow falling
Snow falling
Blocking, changing.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Silver Tongue
(GillanGloverPaiceMorseAirey)
Well I'm standing here on moving station
All the world is traveling by
To strange outlandish destinations
There they go, I wonder why
I may be crazy
But I'm no stupid
I get along
I use my silver tongue
You know I can dream in any language
Flying on my magic bed
And I don't need to work my passage
All I do is use my head
I may be crazy
But I'm no stupid
Sometimes I ramble
Then I'm Lucid
I might seem lazy
But I'm hurting no-one
I get along
I use my silver tongue
I know exactly what you're thinking
But you don't know what's in my mind
You went too fast and now your sinking
Because you forgot to read the signs
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Excelsior, higher and higher, but only step by step.
quote by Daniel D. Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Absurd Proposal
Under the falling snow
let our privacy go!
Let the breathe go on mocking.....
You just dropp down our clothes in hurry!
Time is too short
to wait for the night with all it's shades!
Come on running to me with your long stride.
Here i'm with my legs spreading iternal
yes and with nothing to hide.
dropp down your secrets
dropp by drop
hot and burning thirst!
I
My nest will quench the thirst!
And the boobs are for you.
All the falling snow will translate our moments in a bright blue sky tomorrow
in the next two eyes
of the entire humanity.
Yet snow may fall
snow may fall......
poem by Monami Moyitro
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Desert Places
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it - it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less -
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
WIth no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
poem by Robert Frost
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Deathwalk
It was November of the mourn
In shootouts challenged life but worn,
the lines of worriness on brow.
Holding a smoke, his lonely being,
his hands steady on deathly sin,
in all gunfights, he had to draw.
And he was fast, ever so fast,
as both his hands suddenly flashed,
with sixes' thunderous echo.
Twas noon, he stood on same deathwalk,
devil of dust and the gunsmoke,
dry winds in Tombstone derecho.
Instinctively ejected shells,
replaced bullets, some rung the bells,
- unfavorable her eyes amber.
And ever since when dry gusts swirl,
her eyes in soul turn thoughts to hurl,
cause of the dead gunfighters numb'r.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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American Poets: Longfellow
Like fruit that's large and ripe and mellow,
Sweet and luscious is Longfellow,
Melodious songs he oft did pour,
And high was his Excelsior.
He shows us in his psalm of life
The folly of our selfish strife;
With Hiawatha we bewail
His suffering in great Indian tale;
Indian nation was forlorn
Till great spirit planted corn.
poem by James McIntyre
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Longfellow
Like fruit that's large and ripe and mellow,
Sweet and luscious is Longfellow, *
Melodious songs he oft did pour,
And high was his Excelsior.
He shows us in his psalm of life
The folly of our selfish strife;
With Hiawatha we bewail
His suffering in great Indian tale ;
Indian nation was forlorn
Till great spirit planted corn.
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of That P.N.
The shades of night had fallen at last,
When through the house a shadow passed,
That once had been the Genial Dan,
But now become a desperate man,
At question time he waited near,
And on the Premier's startled ear
A voice fell like half a brick --
"Did ye, or did ye not, pay Crick
Did ye?"
By land and sea the Premier sped,
But found his foe where'er he fled,
The sailors swore -- with whitened lip --
That Neptune swam behind the ship:
When to the stern the Premier ran,
Behold, 'twas no one else but Dan,
And through the roaring of the gale
That clarion voice took up the tale,
"Ahot there! Answer, straight and slick!
Did not the Ministry pay Crick
Did they?"
In railway trains he sought retreat,
But soon, from underneath the seat,
With blazing eye and bristling beard,
His ancient enemy appeared,
And like a boiling torrent ran
The accents of the angry Dan --
"Tell me, John See, and tell me quick
Did not ye pay your shares to Crick
Did ye?"
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Silent Snow
A single pane of glass divides
Myself from falling snow outside.
The first of many falling snows
That these white winter skies will know.
And taking then my quiet leave
The snow alights on cap and sleeve,
While walking slowly up the hill
I realize then the world is still
All still except for falling flakes
Filling fast the tracks I make.
All still except for swelling smiles
Growing with the snow in piles.
All still within a quiet mind
All still as footprints left behind.
poem by William Mcgehee
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Far Far Away
She only knows that she does not know.
Tears in her eyes blur the real and unreal.
Her world falling apart in the falling snow.
She can only feel that she can not feel
(The bitter cold invades her soul) .
She only knows that she does not know.
She feels so...stupid...she feels such...a fool.
Church bells shatter the silence peal after peal
her world falling apart in the falling snow.
Voices in her head she can’t control
memories that only pain can reveal
her world falling apart in the falling snow.
Ice steals across the pool.
Only the snow knows what it attempts to conceal.
She only knows that she does not know...
...her world falling apart in the falling snow.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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The Scions of Spring
The iron gates lay broken,
The fire bricks scattered and pitched
Where once the setting’s fierce roar
now silence.
Once while the chimneys billowed the stench and smoke of slaughter.
In the background the sounds of trains and shouting men.
Fierce dogs strained at tethers from urine stained alcoves.
While jack boots thudded on brick paved causeways,
behind the panic of bare feet and ragged breath,
the rutting continued.
like salmon swimming up the sweet stream, the rutting went on,
behind shipping crates, in mountains of excelsior, and beneath the points
of fixed bayonets, in straw heaps of barns and sheds.
Years after the grates lay frozen and the stench of the dead night
gave way to the lilt of peach blossoms, we lay on a plaid blanket together,
staring into each other’s eyes, conjuring the scions of spring,
caught in the gyre of the helix.
poem by George Murdock
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Snow Is Falling
Snow is falling: snow is falling.
Geranium flowers reach
for the blizzard’s small white stars
past the window’s edge.
Snow is falling, all is lost,
the whole world’s streaming past:
the flight of steps on the back stairs,
the corner where roads cross.
Snow is falling: snow is falling,
not snowflakes stealing down,
Sky parachutes to earth instead,
in his worn dressing gown.
As if he’s playing hide-and-seek,
across the upper landings,
a mad thing, slowly sneaks,
Sky creeps down from the attic.
It’s all because life won’t wait,
before you know, it’s Christmas here.
And look, in a minute,
suddenly it’s New Year.
Snow is falling, deeper – deeper.
Maybe, with that same stride
in that same tempo,
with that same languor,
Time’s going by?
Year after year, perhaps,
passing, as snow’s falling,
like words in a poem?
Snow’s falling: snow’s falling.
Snow is falling, all is lost –
the whitened passers-by,
leaves’ startled showing,
the corners where roads cross.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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The Lessons of Love
The wonderous world of art,
The wonderous world of love,
The womderous world of peace,
This is the pen of a humble writer;
The wonderous world of poetry,
The wonderous world of passion,
The wonderous world of romance,
This is the mind of a humble poet;
Of the long pedigree of toil with hopes and dreams,
I now see the light of my village.
Of that unknown tongue and mind,
Let me now repay the lessons of love;
Of the shades of the night falling like,
An artist painting wih his pen;
The nobility of my labour will surely move me on.
On the poet's sculptured face,
The long pedigree of toil;
I now see the lights of my village so,
Let me repay the lessons of love so far learnt.
Of one whose distant footsteps the echo replays,
This day is keen and very strong to me;
Like a look of joy and the thrill of pride.
Once in an ancient city,
Over the laws of the land of peace;
Like an old man's speech to us all when,
We all have the lessons of love to share.
The soft sea air,
Just beyond the billow's reach;
Of a love command that leaves me with many questions.
Build me straight wherever i am,
With your goldfingers like a teacher;
Life always with the lessons of love.
Like a ghost,
I am strong as a youth;
The strain and the stress of life teaches me.
Build me straight wherever ia m like,
A thought in everybody's mind;
For, pleasant is the voice that calls me to dinner.
Like a ghost standing beside her lover's side,
I am still learning the lessons of love;
In it's pleasure and in it's griefs,
Like a bridegroom upon the bosom of the sea.
Love lessons,
Many will still fall behind;
Love lessons,
Of a lovely laughter like water;
Pleasant is the voce that cals me to dinner.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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