Kyrenaikos
Lay me where soft Cyrene rambles down
In grove and garden to the sapphire sea;
Twine yellow roses for the drinker's crown;
Let music reach and fair heads circle me,
Watching blue ocean where the white sails steer
Fruit-laden forth or with the wares and news
Of merchant cities seek our harbors here,
Careless how Corinth fares, how Syracuse;
But here, with love and sleep in her caress,
Warm night shall sink and utterly persuade
The gentle doctrine Aristippus bare, --
Night-winds, and one whose white youth's loveliness,
In a flowered balcony beside me laid,
Dreams, with the starlight on her fragrant hair.
poem by Alan Seeger
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A Sweet Peal
Her beauty and her love lay on the bed,
Of her sweet peal of the glowing lovely breasts;
The kisses of this night will always be remembered.
She is delicate, soft and intense;
Mixed with fresh odour from her muse,
And like the sweet peal anew on a hot summer night.
The sprout of love in her room and,
In her garden of love i do sleep all night;
And of her joy in the light of the gentle sun,
But the sensitive plant in her garden of love matters to me.
Of the power of love in this sweet place,
And of her sweet peal of the glowing lovely breasts;
But like young lovers filled with the mutual atmosphere.
Alone in this sweet glory land,
And of her love like a sea-flower unfold;
But naked and bare from the frozen air,
And so pleasant to a taste if one considers it.
The lady's gentle mind,
And of where nothing is but all seems to be well;
Cold and foul and deep and low!
Lonely as a deep sleep on the blue surface of love;
And woken with the summer dreams of love,
Oh my sweet wide west-wind!
Come closer to us to take us afar.
The blue Mediterranean where she lay is the love of hope,
And of the horizon of her love to the zenith's height!
And like the locks of the approaching storm to meet at last.
For her love is in the beauty of her delight,
Heavy and very slow to the muse that muses;
But her beauty and her love lay bare on the bed,
And like black rains and white rains!
But i will kiss her until she's worn out like the spirits of the night.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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God's Acre
’NEATH the spiring of spruces
Above the blue sea,
Lo, a field of white crosses,
A garden of grief!
—And a riot of roses,
Of red and white roses,
Rich Death! all in blossom,
Fair Loss! all in leaf.
Aye, their warm cherub-cheeks
To cold marble they press;
With sweet summer-kisses
Dead names they caress;
Yon tomb, see, all garlands,
All roses this cross!
—So breathe, my lamenting!
So bloom, O my loss!
poem by Blanche Edith Baughan
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Bridal Eve
GOOD-NIGHT, my Heart, my Heart, good-night--
Oh, good and dear and fair,
With lips of life and eyes of light
And roses in your hair.
To-morrow brings the other crown,
The orange blossoms, Sweet,
And then the rose will be cast down
With lilies at your feet.
But in your soul a garden stands
Where fair the white rose blows--
God, teach my foolish clumsy hands
The way to tend my rose.
That in the white-rose garden still
The lily may bloom fair
God help my heart and soul and will
To keep the lily there.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Kentish Garden
THERE is a grey-walled garden, far away
From noise and smoke of cities, where the hours
Pass with soft wings among the happy flowers,
And lovely leisure blossoms every day.
There, tall and white, the sceptral lily blows;
There grow the pansy, pink, and columbine,
Brave hollyhocks, and star-white jessamine,
And the red glory of the royal rose.
There greeny glow-worms gem the dusky lawn,
The lime-trees breathe their fragrance to the night,
Pink roses sleep, and dream that they are white,
Until they wake to colour with the dawn.
There, in the splendour of the sultry noon,
The sunshine sleeps upon the garden bed
Where the white poppy droops a drowsy head
And dreams of kisses from the white full moon.
And there, some days, all wild with wind and rain,
The tossed trees show the white side of their leaves,
While the great drops drip from the ivied eaves,
And birds are still--till the sun shines again.
And there, all days, my heart goes wandering,
Because there, first, my heart began to know
The glories of the summer and the snow,
The loveliness of harvest and of spring.
There may be fairer gardens; but I know
There is no other garden half so dear;
Because 'tis there, this many, many a year,
The sacred, sweet, white flowers of memory grow!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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If Roses Can Be
If roses can be
yellow
pink
red
white
And still be roses
If hair can be
red
blonde
brunette
black
And still be hair
If eyes can be
green
blue
brown
hazel
And still be eyes
Then why can't humans be
black
white
hispanic
asian
And still be accepted?
Why can't people be
special
different
unique
original
And still be people?
If roses can be
yellow
pink
red
white
And still be roses.....
poem by Jennifer Hall
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The bird sleeps in the bamboo grove
It is night.
The moon glows above the grove. There is another moon too in the pond.
The stars too glow, scattered all over the expansive sky.
It is a cool night.
The bird is asleep.
The bird rests on a bamboo branch with thick leaves.
And the night whispers to the bird:
'sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight;
sleep kind heart
that nature fashioned;
sleep while sister moon watches over you
sleep while the stars bless you
with starlight, starlight;
O sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight
sleep all night
in bamboo embrace'
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Sonnets of home
I
I dream of building
a mansion, villa
or big white house
with a lot of space,
or maybe a Tuscan place
or two set on a terrace
on a mountain
with a wonderful view
overlooking the ocean
with a ivory white beach
that runs as far
as the eye can see
and to make it home
just for you and me
II
The birds will be our companions
and whales and dolphins
will pass in the bay
and a garden
as big as a park
will run all the way
down to the sea
and every plant and tree
that you like will be there
and vegetables will grow in patches
against the hill and there will be orchards
with juicy red, yellow and orange fruit
and plantations with big green pines
will cover the rest.
III
The house will be a white pillar
that towers like a castle above it all
and a place where any wary traveller
will be welcome to visit and rest
and there will be steps coming down
to the bay and a lift or two or three
next to an azure lagoon
where a cool river splashes down
in a big pronged waterfall
and we will be able
to lie in the bright sun
and run with the dogs
on the white beach
like children having fun.
IV
l’Envoi
Let others live in big crowded cities
and be packed into matchboxes
reaching up into the sky
and have more neighbours
than they care to know
but you and I
will be able to watch
blue waves twist and break
and hear the melody
of the rushing sea
and your studio and our home
will stretch from the hill
down to the aquamarine ocean
and touch the big sapphire sky.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Love Outshines The Summer Sun (Sonnet Corona)
(after William Shakespeare)
I
My love outshines the summer sun,
even stars in their remote twinkling light
and her eyes are more beautiful, each one
than the stars glimmering at night
Her cheeks is dimpled cute
her hair is an auburn crown,
her cheeks is rosy beyond repute
her hair is sun-shot twisting in a way of their own.
Her lips are more soft and warm
and her spirit is more mild
than a ray of light falling on my arm
or at times more free and wild
than birds where they fly,
my love is like the radiant sapphire sky.
II
My love is like the radiant sapphire sky
like the breeze rustling through trees
so lovely on my eye,
eager to please.
My love is like the summer sun,
like the blue hued sea
always warm and full of fun,
touching me gently
even when the darkness calls
and when time goes to its finality
like a star her light still falls,
my love stays true to me
in every thing her face I see
so gentle, sweet and free.
III
So gentle, sweet and free
my love lives her life
but I long for her to be near to me
in a world without any strive.
Like a lily prospering alone in the marsh
blooming pure and serene,
my darling lives unknown to a world harsh
out of control, away from the limelight scene
and in that rural place
her beauty is untouched by makeup,
filled with a sweet grace
and even in the morning when she wakes up
the sun is in her hair,
my darling is really fair.
IV
My darling is really fair
there are stars in her eyes,
she’s the most beautiful flower found anywhere,
her eyes are much more pure than the bluest skies.
When she smiles at me,
smiling tenderly,
I in her smile blessings see
as if love is there in all of its glory.
Still more so the bliss
that is caught in her kiss
that comes from the divine
which she is making mine
and sometimes the beauty makes her cry,
when the day flutters by.
V
When the day flutters by
with the sun setting red
you will find my love and I
where stars come out from bed,
then like a butterfly
the sun kisses the night,
touches the dark low and high
before it goes by with its last light
and she unloosens my tie
while we watch the full yellow moon,
while the fire in her eyes lie
sparkling, much brighter than the sunny afternoon,
but with a passing bat flying low she catches a fright,
while the stars are shining bright.
VII
While the stars are shining bright
like jewels in the sky’s crown
on a winter night
it has tranquillity, a beauty of its own,
her eyes are radiant,
as if aflame
lovely and brilliant
and of some she know the name
and something indiscernibly small
creeps into the very soul, into the heart
and of it that is all,
a smouldering, something with which we cannot part:
to me she remains the only one in joy and fun,
my love outshines the summer sun.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Galileo
Amy grant/mimi verner/gardner cole/michael omartian
Copyright 1991 age to age music, inc. (ascap), adm. by reunion music group, inc./riverstone music, inc. (ascap), adm. by reunion music group, inc./sizzling blue music (bmi), adm. by w
-tamerlane publishing corp./high and mighty music (ascap)
In the year of fourteen ninety-two
When columbus sailed the ocean blue
Had he landed on indias shore
You might never have come to knock on my door.
Who needs a rhyme or a reason
Some dreams were made to find
So I know that I must follow
Ask me just how much I love you
You are starlight, Im galileo
Even on the darkest night oh
I will find the shining light of our love.
Through the rain clouds thundering nights
Mr. franklin stood there holding his kite
He was crazy always pressing his luck
But he got what he wanted when lightning struck, yeah.
Who needs a rhyme or a reason
Some dreams were made to find
So I know that I must follow
Ask me just how much I love you
You are starlight, Im galileo
Even on the darkest night oh
I will find the shining light.
Ask me just how much I love you
You are starlight, Im galileo
Even on the darkest night oh
I will find the shining light of our love.
I believe in you and the special love we could share
And maybe one day darling youll turn around
And all I really know is I will be there.
Who needs a rhyme or a reason
This dream was made to find
So I know that I will follow
Ask me just how much I love you
You are starlight, Im galileo
Even on the darkest night oh
I will find the shining light
I will find the shining light of our love.
Ask me just how much I love you
Im galileo
Even on the darkest night oh
I will find the shining light of our love
Ask me just how much I love you
Im galileo.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Venus in the Garden
'Twas at early morning,
The dawn was blushing in her purple bed,
When in a sweet, embowered garden
She, the fairest of the goddesses,
The lovely Venus,
Roamed amongst the roses white and red.
She sought for flowers
To make a garland
For her golden head.
Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.
White roses, red roses, blossoming:
But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Roses crimson, roses white
`Roses crimson, roses white,
Deadly pale or lovely blushing,
Both in love with May at sight,
And their maiden blood is rushing
To and fro in hope to hide
Tumult it but thus discloses.
Bring the Bridegroom to the Bride!
Everywhere are roses, roses.'
`Every wall is white with roses
`Every wall is white with roses,
Linnets pair in every tree;
Brim your beakers, twine your posies,
Kiss and quaff ere Springtime closes;
Bloom and beauty quickly flee.'
`Nay, let me sleep, or, best, be stone or steel
`Nay, let me sleep, or, best, be stone or steel,
While still endures this infamy of woe.
My one sole bliss is nor to see nor feel:
So, wake me not; and, lest you should, speak low.'
poem by Alfred Austin
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A Suttee
GATHER her raven hair in one rich cluster,
Let the white champac light it, as a star
Gives to the dusky night a sudden lustre,
Shining afar.
Shed fragrant oils upon her fragrant bosom,
Until the breathing air around grows sweet;
Scatter the languid jasmine's yellow blossom
Beneath her feet.
Those small white feet are bare—too soft are they
To tread on aught but flowers; and there is roll'd
Round the slight ankle, meet for such display,
The band of gold.
Chains and bright stones are on her arms and neck;
What pleasant vanities are linked with them,
Of happy hours, which youth delights to deck
With gold and gem.
She comes! So comes the Moon, when she has found
A silvery path wherein thro' heaven to glide.
Fling the white veil—a summer cloud—around;
She is a bride!
And yet the crowd that gather at her side
Are pale, and every gazer holds his breath.
Eyes fill with tears unbidden, for the bride—
The bride of Death!
She gives away the garland from her hair,
She gives the gems that she will wear no more;
All the affections, whose love-signs they were,
Are gone before.
The red pile blazes—let the bride ascend,
And lay her head upon her husband's heart,
Now in a perfect unison to blend—
No more to part.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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A Memory
Adown the grass-grown paths we strayed,
The evening cowslips ope’d
Their yellow eyes to look at her,
The love-sick lilies moped
With envy that she rather chose
To take a creamy-petalled rose
And lean it 'gainst her ebon hair,
All in that garden fair.
A languid breeze, with stolen scent
Of box-bloom in his grasp,
Sighed out his longing in her ear,
And with his dying gasp
Scattered the perfume at her feet
To blend with others not less sweet;
He loved her, but she did not care,
All in that garden fair.
The rose she honoured nodded down,
His comrades burst with spite:
Poor fool! he knew not he was doomed
To barely last the night;
Are hearts to her but as that flower,
The plaything of a careless hour,
To lacerate and never spare
All in that garden fair.
I held her hand that I might trace
Her fortune in its palm;
A bolder moonbeam than the rest
Crept up and kissed her arm,
And, kissing once, was loth to leave,
So hid himself within the sleeve
That clasped the lithe arm, white and bare,
All in that garden fair.
I traced her fortune: love and wealth,-
Tho’ life, alas! was short,
But will that wealth be bought with love?
Or love with wealth be bought?
I know not, knowing only this -
Her hand seemed waiting for a kiss,
I longed to, but I did not dare
All in that garden fair.
But she, alas! is not for me,
And I am not for her;
Yet ever deep within my thoughts
A faint regret must stir
A thrill of longing - that among
Those moonlit paths with lover's tongue
I might return, and woo her there
All in that garden fair.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Summer
O Phoebus! down the western sky,
Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,
Thy light to distant worlds supply,
And wake them to the cares of day.
Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care,
Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night!
Refresh me with a cooling breeze,
And cheer me with a lambent light.
Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet Nature spreads;
Where the green bower with roses crown'd,
In showers its fragrant foliage spreads.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let music die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
And every strain be tuned to love.
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!
Come, born to fill its vast desires!
Thy looks perpetual joy impart,
Thy voice perpetual love inspires.
Whilst all my wish and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn,
Let sighing gales our sights repeat,
Our murmurs - murmuring brooks return.
Let me when Nature calls to rest,
And blushing skies the morn foretell,
Sink on the down of Stella's breast,
And bid the waking world farewell.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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The Little HandMaiden
The King's son walks in the garden fair-
Oh, the maiden's heart is merry!
He little knows for his toil and care,
That the bride is gone and the bower is bare.
Put on garments of white, my maidens!
The sun shines bright through the casement high-
Oh, the maiden's heart is merry!
The little handmaid, with a laughing eye,
Looks down on the king's son, strolling by.
Put on garments of white, my maidens!
'He little knows that the bride is gone,
And the Earl knows little as he;
She is fled with her lover afar last night
And the King's son is left to me.'
And back to her chamber with velvety step
The little handmaid did glide,
And a gold key took from her bosom sweet,
And opened the great chests wide.
She bound her hair with a band of blue,
And a garland of lilies sweet;
And put on her delicate silken shoes,
With roses at her feet.
She clad her body in spotless white,
With a girdle as red as blood.
The glad white raiment her beauty bound,
As the sepels blind the bud.
And round and round her white neck she flung
A necklace of sapphires blue;
On one white finger of either hand
A shining ring she drew.
And down the stairway and out of the door
She glided, as soft and light,
As an airy tuft of a thistle seed
Might glide through the grasses bright.
And into the garden sweet she stole-
The little birds carolled loud-
Her beauty shone as a star might shine
In the rift of the morning cloud.
The King's son walked in the garden fair,
And the little handmaiden came,
Through the midst of a shimmer of roses red,
Like a sunbeam through a flame.
The King's son marvelled, his heart leaped up,
'And art thou my bride?' said he,
'For, North or South, I have never beheld
A lovelier maid than thee.'
'And dost thou love me?' the little maid cried,
'A fine King's son, I wis!'
And the king's son took her with both his hands,
And her ruddy lips did kiss.
And the little maid laughed till the beaded tears,
Ran down in a silver rain.
'O foolish King's son!' and she clapped her hands,
Till the gold rings rang again.
'O King's son, foolish and fooled art thou,
For a goodly game is played:
Thy bride is away with her lover last night,
And I am her little handmaid.'
And the King's son sware a great oath, said he-
Oh, the maiden's heart is merry!
'If the Earl's fair daughter a traitress be,
The little handmaid is enough for me.'
Put on garments of white, my maidens!
The King's son walks in the garden fair-
Oh, the maiden's heart is merry!
And the little handmaiden walketh there,
But the old Earl pulleth his beard for care.
Put on garments of white, my maidens!
poem by Archibald Lampman
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If Death Is Kind
Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.
We will come down at night to these resounding beaches
And the long gentle thunder of the sea,
Here for a single hour in the wide starlight
We shall be happy, for the dead are free.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Invocation II
COME to-night in a dream to-night,
Come as you used to do,
Come in the gown, in the gown of white,
Come in the ribbon of blue;
Come in the virgin's colours you wear,
Come through the dark and the dew,
Come with the scent of the night in your hair,
Come as you used to do.
Blue and white of your eyes and your face,
White of your gown and blue,
Will you not come from the happy place,
Come as you used to do?
Tears so many, so many tears
Where there were once so few--
Can they not wash the gray of the years
From the white of your gown and blue?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The White Witch
O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
The great white witch rides out to-night,
Trust not your prowess nor your strength;
Your only safety lies in flight;
For in her glance there is a snare,
And in her smile there is a blight.
The great white witch you have not seen?
Then, younger brothers mine, forsooth,
Like nursery children you have looked
For ancient hag and snaggled tooth;
But no, not so; the witch appears
In all the glowing charms of youth.
Her lips are like carnations red,
Her face like new-born lilies fair,
Her eyes like ocean waters blue,
She moves with subtle grace and air,
And all about her head there floats
The golden glory of her hair.
But though she always thus appears
In form of youth and mood of mirth,
Unnumbered centuries are hers,
The infant planets saw her birth;
The child of throbbing Life is she,
Twin sister to the greedy earth.
And back behind those smiling lips,
And down within those laughing eyes,
And underneath the soft caress
Of hand and voice and purring sighs,
The shadow of the panther lurks,
The spirit of the vampire lies.
For I have seen the great white witch,
And she has led me to her lair,
And I have kissed her red, red lips
And cruel face so white and fair;
Around me she has twined her arms,
And bound me with her yellow hair.
I felt those red lips burn and sear
My body like a living coal;
Obeyed the power of those eyes
As the needle trembles to the pole;
And did not care although I felt
The strength go ebbing from my soul.
Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs,
And heard your laughter loud and gay,
And in your voices she has caught
The echo of a far-off day,
When man was closer to the earth;
And she has marked you for her prey.
She feels the old Antæan strength
In you, the great dynamic beat
Of primal passions, and she sees
In you the last besieged retreat
Of love relentless, lusty, fierce,
Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.
O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
The great white witch rides out to-night.
O, younger brothers mine, beware!
Look not upon her beauty bright;
For in her glance there is a snare,
And in her smile there is a blight.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Villanelle
We said farewell, my youth and I,
When all fair dreams were gone or going,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry.
When white blooms fell from tree-tops high—
Our Austral winter’s way of snowing—
We said farewell, my youth and I.
We did not sigh—what use to sigh
When Death passed as a mower mowing,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry?
But hearing Life’s stream thunder by,
That sang of old through flowers flowing,
We said farewell, my youth and I.
There was no hope in the blue sky,
No music in the low winds blowing,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry.
My hair is black as yet, then why
So sad! I know not, only knowing
We said farewell, my youth and I.
All are not buried when they die;
Dead souls there are through live eyes showing
When Love’s red lips are cold and dry.
So, seeing where the dead men lie,
Out of their hearts the grave-flowers growing,
We said farewell, my youth and I,
When Love’s red lips were cold and dry.
poem by Victor James Daley
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You and Yellow Air
YOU, AND YELLOW AIR by John Shaw Neilson
I dream of an old kissing-time
And the flowered follies there;
In the dim place of cherry-trees,
Of you, and yellow air.
It was an age of babbling,
When the players would play
Mad with the wine and miracles
Of a charmed holiday.
Bewildered was the warm earth
With whistling and sighs,
And a young foal spoke all his heart
With diamonds for eyes.
You were of Love's own colour
In eyes and heart and hair;
In the dim place of cherry-trees
Ridden by yellow air.
It was the time when red lovers
With the red fevers burn;
A time of bells and silver seeds
And cherries on the turn.
Children looked into tall trees
And old eyes looked behind;
God in His glad October
No sullen man could find.
Out of your eyes a magic
Fell lazily as dew,
And every lad with lad's eyes
Made summer love to you.
It was a reign of roses,
Of blue flowers for the eye,
And the rustling of green girls
Under a white sky.
I dream of an old kissing-time
And the flowered follies there,
In the dim place of cherry-trees,
Of you, and yellow air.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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