Written in a Volume of the Comtesse de Noailles
Be my companion under cool arcades
That frame some drowsy street and dazzling square
Beyond whose flowers and palm-tree promenades
White belfries burn in the blue tropic air.
Lie near me in dim forests where the croon
Of wood-doves sounds and moss-banked water flows,
Or musing late till the midsummer moon
Breaks through some ruined abbey's empty rose.
Sweetest of those to-day whose pious hands
Tend the sequestered altar of Romance,
Where fewer offerings burn, and fewer kneel,
Pour there your passionate beauty on my heart,
And, gladdening such solitudes, impart
How sweet the fellowship of those who feel!
poem by Alan Seeger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Before the Altar
Before the Altar, bowed, he stands
With empty hands;
Upon it perfumed offerings burn
Wreathing with smoke the sacrificial urn.
Not one of all these has he given,
No flame of his has leapt to Heaven
Firesouled, vermilion-hearted,
Forked, and darted,
Consuming what a few spare pence
Have cheaply bought, to fling from hence
In idly-asked petition.
His sole condition
Love and poverty.
And while the moon
Swings slow across the sky,
Athwart a waving pine tree,
And soon
Tips all the needles there
With silver sparkles, bitterly
He gazes, while his soul
Grows hard with thinking of the poorness of his dole.
"Shining and distant Goddess, hear my prayer
Where you swim in the high air!
With charity look down on me,
Under this tree,
Tending the gifts I have not brought,
The rare and goodly things
I have not sought.
Instead, take from me all my life!
"Upon the wings
Of shimmering moonbeams
I pack my poet's dreams
For you.
My wearying strife,
My courage, my loss,
Into the night I toss
For you.
Golden Divinity,
Deign to look down on me
Who so unworthily
Offers to you:
All life has known,
Seeds withered unsown,
Hopes turning quick to fears,
Laughter which dies in tears.
The shredded remnant of a man
Is all the span
And compass of my offering to you.
"Empty and silent, I
Kneel before your pure, calm majesty.
On this stone, in this urn
I pour my heart and watch it burn,
Myself the sacrifice; but be
Still unmoved: Divinity.”
From the altar, bathed in moonlight,
The smoke rose straight in the quiet night.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Free TV: What's Good About A Scheduled Demise?
What's good about an end to free tv after 60 years in
America, should the
cable companies have their way?
The audiences will shrink, as fewer will be able to afford
the pricegouging rates,
thus fewer people to absorb CNN and all other network
war programming,
fewer people to buy hook line and sinker the
advertising lies and materialism shilling,
fewer young to be influenced by the Sodom
and Gomorrha programming of the networks,
fewer customers for fast food murder sandwiches,
fewer fat people, subjected to infinite streams
of food ads, fewer ears for the loanshark megathief
capitalism proponents.
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Fewer nicks' no, grey upholstery
I saw a Volvo for sale for £300 today
Outside a swanky refit McDonald's
All blue and chrome, without a home
Square as an old 70s coffee table…
A thought ran by me, it's in good nick
Considering its age! Then I thought?
It's younger than me, fewer miles…
Fewer nicks' no, grey upholstery.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Burn For You
Now that I have found you
In the coolth of your evening smile
The shade of your parasol
And your love flows through me
Though I drink at your pool
I burn for you, I burn for
You and I are lovers
When night time folds around our bed
In peace we sleep entwined
And your love flows through me
Though an ocean soothes my head
I burn for you, I burn for
Stars will fall from dark skies
As ancient rocks are turning
Quiet fills the room
And your love flows through me
Though I lie here so still
I burn for you, I burn for you
I burn...
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Venetian Life
1
The meaning of somber and barren
Venetian life is clear to me:
Now she looks into a decrepit blue glass
With a cool smile.
2
Refined air. Blue veins of skin.
White snow. Green brocade.
They are all placed on cypress stretchers,
Taken warm and drowsy from a cape.
3
And the candles burn, burn in baskets,
As if a pigeon had flown into the shrine.
At the theater and the solemn council,
A man is dying.
4
Because there is no salvation from love and fear,
Saturn's ring is heavier than platinum,
The block draped with black velvet,
And a beautiful face.
5
Your headdress is heavy, Venezia,
In the cypress mirror frame.
Your air is faceted. In the bedroom,
The blue mountains of decrepit glass dissolve.
6
Only in her hands are the rose and the hourglass --
Green Adriatic, forgive me.
Why are you silent, Venetienne,
How can I escape this solemn death.
7
Black Hesper glimmers in the mirror.
Everything passes, the truth is dark.
A man is born, a pearl dies.
And Susannah has to wait for the elders.
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O Candle- Rose!
O Candle-Rose of rosy hue!
- A gift from sweet a heart;
On Christmas Day to me anew,
Aflame, how do I start?
For, if when lit, your love will glow
And burn my very heart;
And melt the wax forever, Oh!
The Rose could then depart.
O Candle-Rose of beauty great
- A piece of lovely art;
Tho’ burn you must, some day by fate:
How can I do that part?
O Candle- Rose of priceless rate,
Oh, be my living art;
Just like you were to me till date,
Remain my dear sweetheart.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-24-2005
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Well Done O Cruel Well Done - Original By Rabindranath Tagore
Well done O Cruel well done
Burn my heart please do burn
If I don't burn my incense
It doesn't emit fragrance
If I don't lit up my lamp
It gives no light in my camp
Well done O Cruel well done
Burn my heart please do burn
When I don't miss you so much
And life is so hard
Then your harmful touch becomes
Your sweetest reward
In fascination and shame
I can't see you so hard game
Please set afire my darkness
By thunderbolts of sadness
Well done O Cruel well done
Burn my heart please do burn
poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You and The Roses
A red rose is red flower,
A lavender is purple blue
All that is good,
All that is true.
Sky of colour blue,
The skies that are blue
When I feel blue
Give me a rose that's blue.
And these beautiful roses blue
They're coloured in red and blue
Only and only for you.
The sweetest flowers that blows,
I give you as we feel blue.
For you, it's a rose blue,
For me, it's my heart.
Give you a rose a day,
It makes me feel blue.
That's You and
The roses which are blue.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hands Of Death (Burn Baby Burn) (feat. Alice Cooper)
? sometimes? the wicked ones
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? the mortal sting
I am the only one
? across the dreary plane?
? i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? horrified
And seat yourself a ride
Get out of your denial
A genius of the night
? and I am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
They creep and crawl inside
Into the heart of cold
So dead and paralyzed
Perversion of the soul
? i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hands Of Death
?sometimes? the wicked ones
????????? the mortal sting
I am the only one
?across the dreary plane?
?i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
????????? horrified
And seat yourself a ride
Get out of your denial
A genius of the night
?and i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
They creep and crawl inside
Into the heart of cold
So dead and paralyzed
Perversion of the soul
?i am watching?
Across the crucified
So few are chosen
I do not die
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
In the hands of death
Burn baby burn
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Age
Grey hairs
Lonely
Lovesick
Worried
Many thoughts
Fewer talks
Fewer hopes
Fewer friends
Less will to live
The only thing
That keeps me going
On the zigzag way of life
Is the desire to be loved.
poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Miracle Fair
Commonplace miracle:
that so many commonplace miracles happen.
An ordinary miracle:
in the dead of night
the barking of invisible dogs.
One miracle out of many:
a small, airy cloud
yet it can block a large and heavy moon.
Several miracles in one:
an alder tree reflected in the water,
and that it's backwards left to right
and that it grows there, crown down
and never reaches the bottom,
even though the water is shallow.
An everyday miracle:
winds weak to moderate
turning gusty in storms.
First among equal miracles:
cows are cows.
Second to none:
just this orchard
from just that seed.
A miracle without a cape and top hat:
scattering white doves.
A miracle, for what else could you call it:
today the sun rose at three-fourteen
and will set at eight-o-one.
A miracle, less surprising than it should be:
even though the hand has fewer than six fingers,
it still has more than four.
A miracle, just take a look around:
the world is everywhere.
An additional miracle, as everything is additional:
the unthinkable
is thinkable.
poem by Wislawa Szymborska
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Burn The School Down
She said
I lost my best friend last week at school
He got shot
Someone thought that he was part of something that
He was not
Now I'm watching all the cheerleaders show just how sad they are
When my friend used to come 'round
They used to laugh and egg his car
Now I'm gonna do my part as a concerned citizen
I think we should burn the school down
And start again
Burn it
'Till there's nothing left
Burn it
Just like all the rest
Burn it
Clear up all this mess
Burn it down
Education for the nation
Kids retaliate on each station
Expectation, violation
Pressure increased in each generation
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, she said
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, start again
'Cause now what I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
She says
I want to feel more comfort in my own skin
But everyone around me makes me feel like
I'm worth less than them
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, she said
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, start again
Burn it
'Till there's nothing left
Burn it
Just like all the rest
Burn it
Clear up all this mess
Burn it down
'Cause now what I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, right?
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, right?
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, right?
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, right
Burn it
'Till there's nothing left
Burn it
Just like all the rest
Burn it
Clear up all this mess
Burn it down
'Cause now what I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Now all I want to know
Now all I want to know
Now all I want to know
song performed by by Zebrahead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gasoline
Houses haunted
I just want to go for a ride
Out an on
Thought Id set this room a light
Left alone
Forever and for crimes unclear
With my patience gone
Someone take me far from here
Burn that gasoline
Yea
Burn that gasoline
New day only
Another day in solitude
Houses honest
Clearly more than I can bare
Drain me all
Before I set my world on fire
I am gone
The sun will never set tonight
Burn that gasoline
Yea
Burn that gasoline
No more forests
Only a can on red
Says danger on it
I have found another way
Burn that gasoline
Yea
Burn that gasoline
Burn it all the way
Burn it all the way
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Least Possible
DEAR goddess of the shining shrine
Where all my votive tapers burn,
Where every gold-embroidered thought
And all my flowers of life are brought
--With many, alas! that are not mine--
What will you give me in return?
The bow in Bond Street--in the Park
The smile all worship on your lips,
The courteous word at dinner--dance--
But never a blush--a conscious glance;
At most, at Henley, in the dark,
Your fleet mistaken finger-tips?
Ah, just for once, once only, be
An altar-server--stoop and set me
Upon the altar richly wrought
Of your most secret flower-sweet thought:
One nightlight's flicker burn for me
Before you sleep and quite forget me.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night-Scented Stock
White, white in the milky night
The moon danced over a tree.
"Wouldn't it be lovely to swim in the lake!"
Someone whispered to me.
"Oh, do-do-do!" cooed someone else,
And clasped her hands to her chin.
"I should so love to see the white bodies--
All the white bodies jump in!"
The big dark house hid secretly
Behind the magnolia and the spreading pear-tree;
But there was a sound of music--music rippled and ran
Like a lady laughing behind her fan,
Laughing and mocking and running away...
"Come into the garden--it's as light as day!"
"I can't dance to that Hungarian stuff,
The rhythm in it is not passionate enough,"
Said somebody. "I absolutely refuse...."
But he took off his socks and his shoes
And round he spun. "It's like Hungarian fruit dishes
Hard and bright--a mechanical blue!"
His white feet flicked in the grass like fishes...
Someone cried: "I want to dance, too!"
But one with a queer Russian ballet head
Curled up on a blue wooden bench instead.
And another, shadowy--shadowy and tall--
Walked in the shadow of the dark house wall,
Someone beside her. It shone in the gloom,
His round grey hat, like a wet mushroom.
"Don't you think perhaps..." piped someone's flute.
"How sweet the flowers smell!" I heard the other say.
Somebody picked a wet, wet pink,
Smelled it and threw it away.
"Is the moon a virgin or is she a harlot?"
Asked somebody. Nobody would tell.
The faces and the hands moved in a pattern
As the music rose and fell,
In a dancing, mysterious, moon-bright pattern
Like flowers nodding under the sea...
The music stopped and there was nothing left of them
But the moon dancing over the tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Wayward Rose
Mischievous rose from the rose-tree swaying,
Can I not bind thee nor hold thee?
Can I not weave thee nor fold thee
In with thy sisters to staying?
Vain is my passion or praying,
Rose from the rose-tree swaying.
Wayward sweet rose from the rose-tree swinging,
Can I not pass thee, forget thee?
Can I not see to regret thee?
In—'mid thy kindred's close ringing,
Out—to my heart she comes winging,
Rose from the rose-tree swinging.
Cruel red rose from the rose-tree swaying,
Ever to worship thee, throne thee,
Never to lose thee or own thee,
Thy beauty to keep me from straying,
Thy thorns for my passionate praying,
Rose from the rose-tree swaying.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wooden Heart
As the fire warms my eyes
I cannot not burn myself
Inside
As the cold hands all my cries
I cannot not loosen the flaws I have, hold
Inside
As I use some wood to make my heart
I throw the blooming flowers in the fire
that grow from my wooden heart apart
And those sticks I hold between my broken hands
I throw them in the remaining cold
The flames as they slowly eat my grown respect
The fright that fearlessly warms my eyes
I' ve learnt to appreciate my multiple faces
Respect my wooden hearts all the exhausted made-up tears
I've been taught how to show gracious respect to my clothes made of laces
And how to be incapable to bare my nudity inside the cold
In the weirdest crowded and vacant places
Between all the exhausted made up cries
And their coldest faces
I bleed, I'm touched
I feel moved like I'm taking far too much
I tear as I let the fire stop
I'll burn my heart
My wooden heart
And as I lie
I'll let the freezing cold
Regain my trust
And burn me till I die
I burn my wooden heart
At last i get control now
In my wooden
paralyzed
cold
hand.
poem by Katerina Val
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Had It All
We closed down the Border Cantina
And drank margaritas till dawn
You were my sweet senorita
And I was your handsome Don Jaun.
We danced like there was no tomorrow
We laughed and we lived and we loved
That moment in time that we borrowed
Never did last long enough.
Chorus:
Yeah, we had it all going our way for a little while
We had it all right in the palm of our hands
We had it all going our way for a little while
Oh, how I wish we could go back there again.
We thought we were too young to marry
Slowly we drifted apart
Well baby, I miss you like crazy
Those memories still burn in my heart.
Oh, let's find a way to rekindle
That flame that burned long ago
These days just can't hold a candle
To those sweet nights in old Mexico.
Chorus:
Yeah, we had it all going our way for a little while
We had it all right in the palm of our hands
We had it all going our way for a little while
Oh, how I wish we could go back there again.
Chorus:
Yeah, we had it all going our way for a little while
We had it all right in the palm of our hands
We had it all going our way for a little while
Oh, how I wish we could go back there again.
Yeah, we had it all going our way for a little while
Oh, how I wish we could go back there again.
Oh, how I wish we could go back there again...
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Araluen
Take this rose, and very gently place it on the tender, deep
Mosses where our little darling, Araluen, lies asleep.
Put the blossom close to baby -- kneel with me, my love, and pray;
We must leave the bird we've buried -- say good-bye to her to-day;
In the shadow of our trouble we must go to other lands,
And the flowers we have fostered will be left to other hands.
Other eyes will watch them growing -- other feet will softly tread
Where two hearts are nearly breaking, where so many tears are shed.
Bitter is the world we live in: life and love are mixed with pain;
We will never see these daisies -- never water them again.
. . . . .
Here the blue-eyed Spring will linger, here the shining month will stay,
Like a friend, by Araluen, when we two are far away;
But, beyond the wild, wide waters, we will tread another shore --
We will never watch this blossom, never see it any more.
Girl, whose hand at God's high altar in the dear, dead year I pressed,
Lean your stricken head upon me -- this is still your lover's breast!
She who sleeps was first and sweetest -- none we have to take her place!
Empty is the little cradle -- absent is the little face.
Other children may be given; but this rose beyond recall,
But this garland of your girlhood, will be dearest of them all.
None will ever, Araluen, nestle where you used to be,
In my heart of hearts, you darling, when the world was new to me;
We were young when you were with us, life and love were happy things
To your father and your mother ere the angels gave you wings.
You that sit and sob beside me -- you, upon whose golden head
Many rains of many sorrows have from day to day been shed;
Who, because your love was noble, faced with me the lot austere
Ever pressing with its hardship on the man of letters here --
Let me feel that you are near me, lay your hand within mine own;
You are all I have to live for, now that we are left alone.
Three there were, but one has vanished. Sins of mine have made you weep;
But forgive your baby's father now that baby is asleep.
Let us go, for night is falling, leave the darling with her flowers;
Other hands will come and tend them -- other friends in other hours.
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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