Related quotes: THE BITTERNESS of death and...

John Marston: XII

THE BITTERNESS of death and bitterer scorn
Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou
Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow
A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn.
Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne,
Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough
The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow
Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn.
Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith
Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death
Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul,
Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud
And all the strengths of tyrants; whence unflawed
It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

Holy Sonnet IV: Oh my black soul!

Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned
By sickness, death's herald, and champion;
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled;
Or like a thief, which till death's doom be read,
Wisheth himself delivered from prison,
But damned and haled to execution,
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;
But who shall give thee that grace to begin?
Oh make thy self with holy mourning black,
And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might
That being red, it dyes red souls to white.

poem by John Donne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Tenth Sunday After Trinity

Why doth my Saviour weep
At sight of Sion's bowers?
Shows it not fair from yonder steep,
Her gorgeous crown of towers?
Mark well His holy pains:
'Tis not in pride or scorn,
That Israel's King with sorrow stains
His own triumphal morn.

It is not that His soul
Is wandering sadly on,
In thought how soon at death's dark goal
Their course will all be run,
Who now are shouting round
Hosanna to their chief;
No thought like this in Him is found,
This were a Conquerer's grief.

Or doth He feel the Cross
Already in His heart,
The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss?
Feel e'en His God depart?
No: though He knew full well
The grief that then shall be -
The grief that angels cannot tell -
Our God in agony.

It is not thus He mourns;
Such might be martyr's tears,
When his last lingering look he turns
On human hopes and fears;
But hero ne'er or saint
The secret load might know,
With which His spirit waxeth faint;
His is a Saviour's woe.

"If thou had'st known, e'en thou,
At least in this thy day,
The message of thy peace! but now
'Tis passed for aye away:
Now foes shall trench thee round,
And lay thee even with earth,
And dash thy children to the ground,
Thy glory and thy mirth."

And doth the Saviour weep
Over His people's sin,
Because we will not let Him keep
The souls He died to win?
Ye hearts, that love the Lord,
If at this, sight ye burn,
See that in thought, in deed, in word,
Ye hate what made Him mourn.

poem by John Keble
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Blue Rose

A red rose for love,
My red rose for luck.
The black rose on my bed,
For my death and for yours.
Red rose for the blood
That drips off my finger.
Black for the hate
The swells in my heart.
Pink for the joy,
The wonder of the world.
White for the pure,
Thats very far from me.
Yellow for the sunshine,
That lightens up our day.
Red for the heart,
That crumbled in my chest.
Black for the grave,
That I will be in after death.

Red, black, red, black.
Yellow, pink, blue
For my soul I leave.
Blue for me to wander.
Blue for the ocean,
And for my soul we share.

poem by Brianna Wilshusen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Holy Sonnet 4

O, my black soul, now thou art summoned
By sickness, Death's herald and champion;
Thou'rt like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turn to whence he's fled;
Or like a thief, which till death's doom be read,
Wisheth himself deliver'd from prison,
But damn'd and haled to execution,
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;
But who shall give thee that grace to begin?
O, make thyself with holy mourning black,
And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might,
That being red, it dyes red souls to white.

poem by John Donne from Holy Sonnets
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!

To One Hated

Hate is only Love that has missed its way.

Had it been when I came to the valley where the paths parted asunder,
Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate,
I might have cherished you well, have been to you fond and faithful,
Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been great.

Each cold word of mine might have been a kiss impassioned,
Warm with the throb of my heart, thrilled with my pulse's leap,
And every glance of scorn, lashing, pursuing, and stinging,
As a look of tenderness would have been wondrous and deep.

Bitter our hatred is, old and strong and unchanging,
Twined with the fibres of life, blent with body and soul,
But as its bitterness, so might have been our love's sweetness
Had it not missed the waystrange missing and sad!to its goal.

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Consolations in Bereavement

Death was full urgent with thee, Sister dear,
And startling in his speed;—
Brief pain, then languor till thy end came near—
Such was the path decreed,
The hurried road
To lead thy soul from earth to thine own God's
abode.

Death wrought with thee, sweet maid, impatiently:—
Yet merciful the haste
That baffles sickness;—dearest, thou didst die,
Thou wast not made to taste
Death's bitterness,
Decline's slow-wasting charm, or fever's fierce
distress.

Death came unheralded:—but it was well;
For so thy Saviour bore
Kind witness, thou wast meet at once to dwell
On His eternal shore;
All warning spared,
For none He gives where hearts are for prompt change
prepared.

Death wrought in mystery; both complaint and cure
To human skill unknown:—
God put aside all means, to make us sure
It was His deed alone;
Lest we should lay
Reproach on our poor selves, that thou wast caught
away.

Death urged as scant of time:—lest, Sister dear,
We many a lingering day
Had sicken'd with alternate hope and fear,
The ague of delay;
Watching each spark
Of promise quench'd in turn, till all our sky was
dark.

Death came and went:—that so thy image might
Our yearning hearts possess,
Associate with all pleasant thoughts and bright,
With youth and loveliness;
Sorrow can claim,
Mary, nor lot nor part in thy soft soothing name.

Joy of sad hearts, and light of downcast eyes!
Dearest thou art enshrined
In all thy fragrance in our memories;
For we must ever find
Bare thought of thee
Freshen this weary life, while weary life shall be.

poem by John Henry Newman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Black Rose

A black rose can stop the beat of ones heart
A black rose bring the scent of death as it tears love apart

A black rose makes nightmares relity
A black rose fills my life with unsertanty

A black rose is forgoten hopes and dream
A black rose is a broken man laying in tears and painful screams

A black rose is the pain of a widowed wife
A black rose is lost love in my hopless life

A black rose is the memorys that haunt my restless soul
A black rose took everthing from me that once made me whole

poem by Glenn McGahan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Single Black Rose

A single Black Rose to turn the tide
A single Black Rose to make one die
A single Black Rose to ensnare the soul
A single Black Rose to widen that hole

A single Black Rose to melt the heart
A single Black Rose to force a start
A single Black Rose to entwine the bodies
A single Black Rose to dictate the deaths of these

A single Black Rose to lie upon her breast
A single Black Rose to stop the tears from soaking his vest
A single Black Rose to mourn this memory
A single Black Rose to become a plot in this cemetery

A single Black Rose to take a life
A single Black Rose to end his strife.

(8/21/2007)

poem by Michael Koelliker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Black Single Rose.

A single black rose.
A single black rose to carry the load,
A single black rose to turn the road,
A single black rose to touch the soul,
A single black rose to widen your hole,
A single black rose to melt your heart,
A single black rose to force a start,
A single black rose to make you cry,
A single black rose to make you dry,
A single black rose to help you climb,
A single black rose to make you lie,
A single black rose to take a life,
A single black rose to take away strife.

poem by Natasha Ligons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

David's Lament for Jonathan

Thou wast hard pressed, yet God concealed this thing
From me; and thou wast wounded very sore,
And beaten down, O son of Israel's king,
Like wheat on threshing-flour.

Thou, that from courtly and from wise for friend
Didst choose me, and in spite of ban and sneer,
Rebuke and ridicule, until the end
Didst ever hold me dear!

All night thy body on the mountain lay:
At morn the heathen nailed thee to their wall.
Surely their deaf gods hear the songs to-day
O'er the slain House of Saul!

Oh! if that witch were here thy father sought,
Methinks I e'en could call thee from thy place,
To shift thy mangled image from my thought,
Seeing thy soul's calm face.

I sorrowed for the words the prophet spoke,
That set me rival to thy father's line;
But o'er thy spirit no repining broke
For what had else been thine.

Thou wast not like to me, so rude, so hot;
The world was not in thine, as in my sight,
Like the proud giant who from Israel sought
A champion to fight.

I thought to ask, nor looked to be denied,
Of God, that in my days there might ascend
His House; not from my hands, so redly dyed,
But thine, pure-hearted friend.

My friend, within God's House thou dwellest now;
Thy wounds are healed, thou need'st no Gilead-balm;
Defeated and degraded, yet thy brow
Is crowned, with death and calm.

O God, this is Thy black and bitter sea
Which buffets so and blinds my struggling soul:
Out of the depths I cry, O God, to Thee,
Whose grief-waves o'er me roll.

God give to me the spirit that was his,
The patience, that he needs no more to blend
With the wild eagerness that mars my bliss;
I would be like my friend.

Through the dark valley soon, to where he stands,
God summon me! Till then the sword shall shine
That comes from his dead grasp into my hands:
His children be as mine!

poem by Mary Hannay Foott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Black Rose

A black rose can stop the beat of ones heart…
A black rose brings the scent of death as it tears love apart…
A black rose makes nightmares reality…
A black rose fills my life with uncertainty…
A black rose is forgotten hopes and dreams…
A black rose is a broken girl laying in tears and painful screams…
A black rose is the pain of a shattered life…
A black rose is lost love in my hopeless life…
A black rose is the memories that haunt my restless soul…
A black rose took everything from me that once made me whole…
Including…you…

poem by Sad Truth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The H. Scriptures I

Oh Book! infinite sweetness! let my heart
Suck ev'ry letter, and a honey gain,
Precious for any grief in any part;
To clear the breast, to mollify all pain.
Thou art all health, health thriving, till it make
A full eternity: thou art a mass
Of strange delights, where we may wish and take.
Ladies, look here; this is the thankfull glass,
That mends the looker's eyes: this is the well
That washes what it shows. Who can endear
Thy praise too much? thou art heav'n's Lidger here,
Working against the states of death and hell.
Thou art joy's handsel: heav'n lies flat in thee,
Subject to ev'ry mounter's bended knee.

poem by George Herbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The children in black

The children in black
Where did their childhoods go
Trailing water behind
How did they become this cynical
They write words of hate
Tears of joy is no longer a term for them
How can they be so small
But hate so much
The children in black

The children in black
What happened to happiness
Are they that controlled
That everything can effect them
Don't they have the right to laugh
Why are their eyes this guarded
Does everything have to be that formal
What happened to innocence
Did it go away with the faith
The children in black

The children in black
I can see the bitterness
Can't you see the ugly truth
Bitter minds already got their minds trained
So why are children so dark
Is there that much pain
The children in black

The children in black
What happened to be open minded
Did it close like a door
Only opening for a few
Is this society that negative
That they can't see the light
What happened to love
Loving parents and friends
It must have went away
The children in black

The children in black
Their hate scares me
Their eyes make me grimace
With thier hate they can stop the world
But how is that possible when they are so young
Are their minds that easy to twist
The children in black

The children in black
I hope they will soon see the light
I don't know if it's normal to be afraid
But that's what I feel
Why do most people find it easier to be sad
Do they realize it's not
The children aren't children anymore
They're miny adults trying to impress
Why don't people realize this
Are they that oblivious
Maybe if people opened their eyes we could do something
But until then...

The children in black

poem by Lillie Ellis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Questions......

lady, (lady in black
gown, black hat, and
hand-gloves)

why do you want your
coffee black?

why do you always want
bitterness?

why always alone
sitting on a chair facing the sea
and drinking the salt of
the breeze
with your black coffee?

why sip bitterness
when
to my mind, coffee would be
better with cream
and honey

with someone beside you
facing the sea and
savoring the salt of the sea
with that black coffee of yours?

lady, why mourn
when joy is just around the bend?

why can't we be alone
together?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

An Alliance

This is the weird of a world-old folk,
That not till the last link breaks,
Not till the night is blackest,
The blood of Hengist wakes.
When the sun is black in heaven,
The moon as blood above,
And the earth is full of hatred,
This people tells its love.

In change, eclipse, and peril,
Under the whole world's scorn,
By blood and death and darkness
The Saxon peace is sworn;
That all our fruit be gathered,
And all our race take hands,
And the sea be a Saxon river
That runs through Saxon lands.

Lo! not in vain we bore him;
Behold it! not in vain,
Four centuries' dooms of torture
Choked in the throat of Spain,
Ere priest or tyrant triumph -
We know how well - we know -
Bone of that bone can whiten,
Blood of that blood can flow.

Deep grows the hate of kindred,
Its roots take hold on hell;
No peace or praise can heal it,
But a stranger heals it well.
Seas shall be red as sunsets,
And kings' bones float as foam,
And heaven be dark with vultures,
The night our son comes home.

poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!

The Irish Peasant to his Mistress

Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my way,
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay;
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd,
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd;
Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free,
And bless'd even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.

Thy rival was honour'd, while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd,
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorn'd;
She woo'd me to temples, while thou lay'st hid in caves,
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves;
Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be,
Then wed what I loved not, or turn one thought from thee.

They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail --
Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd less pale.
They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains --
That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains --
Oh! foul is the slander -- no chain could that soul subdue --
Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too!

poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Met Death

I was waiting, watching one day
When Death came along, looking
As if there was something he wanted to say

His hair was as black as the sky at night
And in the wind it blew like smoke
He had come a long way in his worn black cloak

So I invited him in and I did say
If you’d like to you can stay
But Death said:

“I’m only passing through
For the clock’s hands they say
They are ticking the seconds of my life away”

And I answered,
Thinking I’d misunderstood
As Death’s dark black eye gleamed under his dark black hood

“If your Death, how can you die? ”
You see, Death didn’t seem the kind to lie.

And Death wasn’t phased at all,

“No longer Death I may become,
Or so says He if I don’t complete
The most horrible, horrible, feat.

“The most horrible feat? ”
I had to say
Could it be so horrible,
That Death couldn’t say?

“Death, ” said Death, “is the horrible feat.”
And then he faded away, like smoke into the blue, blue sky
But I think, before he left, I might have seen him cry.

I had never in my life, seen Death again
Until the night I stood outside in the rain
When he said, “I’m sorry miss, but this is good bye.”
And I found out what it’s like to die.

So we went, and parted, to each our own way,
But one more time I want to heard Death say, “I’m sorry miss, -“
Marking the end of the day

poem by Jinny Tikanus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Hymn XXIII: Extended on a Cursed Tree

Extended on a cursed tree,
Besmeared with dust, and sweat, and blood,
See there, the king of glory see!
Sinks and expires the Son of God.

Who, who, my Saviour, this hath done?
Who could thy sacred body wound?
No guilt thy spotless heart hath known,
No guile hath in thy lips been found.

I, I alone, have done the deed!
'Tis I thy sacred flesh have torn;
My sins have caused thee, Lord, to bleed,
Pointed the nail, and fixed the thorn.

The burden, for me to sustain
Too great, on thee, my Lord, was laid;
To heal me, thou hast borne my pain;
To bless me, thou a curse wast made.

In the devouring lion's teeth,
Torn, and forsook of all, I lay;
Thou sprang'st into the jaws of death,
From death to save the helpless prey.

Saviour how shall I proclaim?
How pay the mighty debt I owe?
Let all I have, and all I am,
Ceaseless to all thy glory show.

Too much to thee I cannot give;
Too much I cannot do for thee;
Let all thy love, and all thy grief,
Graven on my heart for ever be!

The meek, the still, the lowly mind,
O may I learn from thee, my God,
And love, with softest pity joined,
For those that trample on thy blood!

Still let thy tears, thy groans, thy sighs,
O'erflow my eyes, and heave my breast,
Till loose from flesh and earth I rise,
And ever in thy bosom rest.

poem by Charles Wesley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!