The Lost Friend
The people take the thing of course,
They marvel not to see
This strange, unnatural divorce
Betwixt delight and me.
I know the face of sorrow, and I know
Her voice with all its varied cadences;
Which way she turns and treads; how at her ease
Things fit her dreary largess to bestow.
Where sorrow long abides, some be that grow
To hold her dear, but I am not of these;
Joy is my friend, not sorrow; by strange seas,
In some far land we wandered, long ago.
O faith, long tried, that knows no faltering!
O vanished treasure of her hands and face!--
Beloved--to whose memory I cling,
Unmoved within my heart she holds her place.
And never shall I hail that other "friend,"
Who yet shall dog my footsteps to the end.
Related quotes
Joy and Sorrow chapter VIII
Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Hide and Seek
All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still,
All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill;
Through the noonday silence, down the woods of June,
Hark, a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune.
"Hide and seek!
"When I speak,
"You must answer me:
"Call again,
"Merry men,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"
Now I hear his footsteps, rustling through the grass:
Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass?
Just a low, soft whistle,--quick the hunter turns,
Leaps upon me laughing, rolls me in the ferns.
"Hold him fast,
"Caught at last!
"Now you're it, you see.
"Hide your eye,
"Till I cry,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"
II
Long ago he left me, long and long ago:
Now I wander through the world and seek him high and low;
Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,--
Ah, if I could hear his voice, I soon should find his face.
Far away,
Many a day,
Where can Barney be?
Answer, dear,
Don't you hear?
Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!
Birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heart with joy,
Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy.
Surely he is waiting till my steps come nigh;
Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die.
Heart, be glad,
The little lad
Will call some day to thee:
"Father dear,
"Heaven is here,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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The Gardener XXVII: Trust Love
"Trust love even if it brings sorrow.
Do not close up your heart."
"Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
"Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop,
while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is
strong and abiding. Let sorrowful
love wake in your eyes."
"Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
"The lotus blooms in the sight of
the sun, and loses all that it has. It
would not remain in bud in the
eternal winter mist."
"Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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At play
Play that you are mother dear,
And play that papa is your beau;
Play that we sit in the corner here,
Just as we used to, long ago.
Playing so, we lovers two
Are just as happy as we can be,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
"I love you" we both shall say,
All in earnest and all in play.
Or, play that you are that other one
That some time came, and went away;
And play that the light of years agone
Stole into my heart again to-day!
Playing that you are the one I knew
In the days that never again may be,
I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
I love you!" my heart shall say
To the ghost of the past come back to-day!
Or, play that you sought this nestling-place
For your own sweet self, with that dual guise
Of your pretty mother in your face
And the look of that other in your eyes!
So the dear old loves shall live anew
As I hold my darling on my knee,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
Oh, many a strange, true thing we say
And do when we pretend to play!
poem by Eugene Field
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Mary McNeely
Passer-by,
To love is to find your own soul
Through the soul of the beloved one.
When the beloved one withdraws itself from your soul
Then you have lost your soul.
It is written: "I have a friend,
But my sorrow has no friend."
Hence my long years of solitude at the home of my father,
Trying to get myself back,
And to turn my sorrow into a supremer self.
But there was my father with his sorrows,
Sitting under the cedar tree,
A picture that sank into my heart at last
Bringing infinite repose.
Oh, ye souls who have made life
Fragrant and white as tube roses
From earth's dark soil,
Eternal peace!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Sea Of Ecstasy Has Ebbed And Gone, Dear Friend
The sea of ecstasy has ebbed and gone, dear friend
The ocean of sorrow floods and overwhelms.
How shall we, the weak survive, now that you have forsaken us?
The sea of ecstasy has ebbed and gone, dear friend
The ocean of sorrow floods and overwhelms.
Friend now that he has left nothing remains; he has taken everything.
The sea of ecstasy has ebbed and gone, dear friend
The ocean of sorrow floods and overwhelms.
We didn't hold out our palav in complete surrender then,
Now what is the point of rubbing our hands in vain?
The sea of ecstasy has ebbed and gone, dear friend
The ocean of sorrow floods and overwhelms.
He knows not our pains, and he has broken all the bonds of childhood love,
He has broken all the bonds of affection; Hari-O that dandy has betrayed us!
The sea of ecstasy has ebbed and gone, dear friend
The ocean of sorrow floods and overwhelms.
You can explain things to a stupid man,
But how can you deal with the experienced ones, my love?
Separated from you I roam aimlessly, O Trikramji!
Don't abandon us like this!
The sea of ecstasy has ebbed and gone, dear friend
The ocean of sorrow floods and overwhelms.
Gopis have become mad for Govind, ` Do return home O beloved of Laxmi! '
What shall I say, dear friend, to Narsaiyya's Lord?
Only that, please understand the plight of your lovers!
The sea of ecstasy has ebbed and gone, dear friend
The ocean of sorrow floods and overwhelms.
poem by Narsinh Mehta
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In Sorrow
In sorrow
She mourns her beloved son
What's next to follow
No one knows
In sorrow
He mourns his beloved daughter
What's next to follow
His heart is hollow
In sorrow
She mourns her beloved husband
What's next to follow
She is now a widow
In sorrow
He mourns his beloved wife
What's next to follow
His desire for life is renounced to zero
In sorrow
They mourn the passing of a dear friend
Someone they wished to be there tomorrow
It hurts without pretext, whatever sorrow sends
And we know and I know
Sorrow returns not the life's it borrows
Sorrow is a walking deadly shadow
Sorrow is the virus we dread tomorrow
Sorrow is the devils spell of lethal horrors
Therefore my dear fellows
In sorrow no more I mourn her sorrow
In sorrow
I have closed on her all my doors and windows
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
www.sylviachidi.co.uk
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Betrothed
You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth,
You have said my name as a prayer.
Here where trees are planted by the water
I have watched your eyes, cleansed from regret,
And your lips, closed over all that love cannot say,
My mother remembers the agony of her womb
And long years that seemed to promise more than this.
She says, "You do not love me,
You do not want me,
You will go away."
In the country whereto I go
I shall not see the face of my friend
Nor her hair the color of sunburnt grasses;
Together we shall not find
The land on whose hills bends the new moon
In air traversed of birds.
What have I thought of love?
I have said, "It is beauty and sorrow."
I have thought that it would bring me lost delights, and splendor
As a wind out of old time . . .
But there is only the evening here,
And the sound of willows
Now and again dipping their long oval leaves in the water.
poem by Louise Bogan
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Shipmate Sorrow
I was shipmates with Sorrow in a day gone by;
We shared the wheel and look-out, old Sorrow and I:
Good times and bad times, foul weather and fair,
The old grey face of him was always there.
There was never shanty raised there, never song I heard,
But his voice would be in it like a crying bird;
I was dull in the dog watches when the laugh went free
Because of old Sorrow sitting down by me.
I thought I could lose him in the stir and change
Of bright wicked cities all sunlit and strange;
There came a hand at my elbow and a voice in my ear -
It was patient Sorrow saying: 'Lad, I'm here!'
And by the bustling harbour, up the busy street,
Many a time I see him, many a time I meet
The old grey face there of one I used to know . . .
And it's old shipmate Sorrow out of long ago.
And the watch at the halliards, they may sing with a will,
But the voice I used to hear, oh I think I hear it still,
Like the wind in a shroud piping, or a seabird's cry . . .
And it's old Sorrow singing out of times gone by!
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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BÉranger's "broken fiddle"
I
There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend,
Pay you no heed unto my sorrow:
But feast to-day while yet you may,--
Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow!
II
"Give us a tune," the foemen cried,
In one of their profane caprices;
I bade them "No"--they frowned, and, lo!
They dashed this innocent in pieces!
III
This fiddle was the village pride--
The mirth of every fête enhancing;
Its wizard art set every heart
As well as every foot to dancing.
IV
How well the bridegroom knew its voice,
As from its strings its song went gushing!
Nor long delayed the promised maid
Equipped for bridal, coy and blushing.
V
Why, it discoursed so merrily,
It quickly banished all dejection;
And yet, when pressed, our priest confessed
I played with pious circumspection.
VI
And though, in patriotic song,
It was our guide, compatriot, teacher,
I never thought the foe had wrought
His fury on the helpless creature!
VII
But there, poor dog, my faithful friend,
Pay you no heed unto my sorrow;
I prithee take this paltry cake,--
Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow!
VIII
Ah, who shall lead the Sunday choir
As this old fiddle used to do it?
Can vintage come, with this voice dumb
That used to bid a welcome to it?
IX
It soothed the weary hours of toil,
It brought forgetfulness to debtors;
Time and again from wretched men
It struck oppression's galling fetters.
X
No man could hear its voice, and hate;
It stayed the teardrop at its portal;
With that dear thing I was a king
As never yet was monarch mortal!
XI
Now has the foe--the vandal foe--
Struck from my hands their pride and glory;
There let it lie! In vengeance, I
Shall wield another weapon, gory!
XII
And if, O countrymen, I fall,
Beside our grave let this be spoken:
"No foe of France shall ever dance
Above the heart and fiddle, broken!"
XIII
So come, poor dog, my faithful friend,
I prithee do not heed my sorrow,
But feast to-day while yet you may,
For we are like to starve to-morrow.
poem by Eugene Field
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So Long, So long
Oh, dear friend, so long, so long
This we’ll be my last farewell, waving goodbyes,
The moment I rage; soak in tears my eyes
I spoke to you, so long, so long.
Time moves unease, so strange
I gratefully cry those words of sweet sorrow,
When you flip your hand over the open window
So long and remain unchanged.
So long to my sweet memories,
I pace awhile beside the seashore with her,
She softly said, “Nobody can live here forever”
Farewell unto her faded diaries.
Strife over the dying of the light,
Which ablaze my heart of unconditional frost,
But not until now that you’ve already lost
So long on the dead of the night.
So long my dearest friend,
The day comes; it’s your time to be at rest,
Knowing you, eternally, I’m blessed
So long, so long till the end.
poem by Raymond Cabrera
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Sorrow
With your long blonde hair and your eyes of blue
The only thing I ever got from you was sorrow
Sorrow
You acted funny trying to spend my money
Youre out there playing your high class games of sorrow
Sorrow
You never do what you know you oughta
Something tells me youre a devils daughter
Sorrow, sorrow
Ahhhh, oo, oooo
I tried to find her
cause I cant resist her (I tried to find her)
I never knew just how much I missed her
Sorrow
Sorrow
With your long blonde hair and your eyes of blue
The only thing I ever got from you was sorrow
Sorrow
Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh, ho-ho
With your long blonde hair
I couldnt sleep last night
With your long blonde hair
Hu hu hu
Hu hu hu yeah
Hu hu hu
Hu hu hu yeah
Hu hu hu
Hu hu hu yeah
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Penitent
I had a little Sorrow,
Born of a little Sin,
I found a room all damp with gloom
And shut us all within;
And, "Little Sorrow, weep," said I,
"And, Little Sin, pray God to die,
And I upon the floor will lie
And think how bad I've been!"
Alas for pious planning—
It mattered not a whit!
As far as gloom went in that room,
The lamp might have been lit!
My little Sorrow would not weep,
My little Sin would go to sleep—
To save my soul I could not keep
My graceless mind on it!
So I got up in anger,
And took a book I had,
And put a ribbon on my hair
To please a passing lad,
And, "One thing there's no getting by—
I've been a wicked girl," said I:
"But if I can't be sorry, why,
I might as well be glad!"
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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A Meeting in A Part
In a dream I meet
my dead friend. He has,
I know, gone long and far,
and yet he is the same
for the dead are changeless.
They grow no older.
It is I who have changed,
grown strange to what I was.
Yet I, the changed one,
ask: "How you been?"
He grins and looks at me.
"I been eating peaches
off some mighty fine trees."
poem by Wendell Berry
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My Lost Youth
Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A Friend's Ship
A friend is a smile in a tearsful face,
and a blessing to human race.
A unique gift to have,
and a wonderful treasure to crave.
A friend is a home not so far away,
and a guilding star that lights up your way.
A friend will stand by you in all that you do,
and will never call you a fool.
A friend is a true gift valued than gold,
and an amazing being to hold.
A friend is like a shining star,
and a medicine that can heal even the deepest scar.
A true friend makes u smile,
when you remember them from a thousand mile.
A friend brings that long lasting victory,
when there is an unending misery.
A friend wipes away all atom of sorrow,
and gives you hope for tomorrow.
A friend is that option when you have no choice,
and that word when you have no voice.
A friend is sweeter than honey,
and more valued than money.
A friend makes a heart that never breaks,
and holds you tight when ever there is life queaks.
A friend makes a smile that never fails,
and makes you comfortable like your nails.
A friend makes a touch that never pains,
and sweetens your heart like sugar canes.
A friend is inevitable and unforgetable,
and it love is indispensible and irrplaceable.
A friend gives you joy that last forever,
and makes it unbreakable no matter the weather.
A friend is that voice you hear in your heart,
when your whole life is torn apart.
A friend gives you a sense of humour,
and makes you forget any scene oe a tumour.
I was asked ' A FRIEND IS WHO '? ,
and i told them that a friend is ' YOU '.
poem by Stanley Oguh
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A Vist To Edgar's Grave
Hello my friend
Long ago
Buried under the ground
So cold
Hope that you are not
Feeling too lonely
I know
It has been
Many a year
Since last I came for a vist
I am sorry for that
So sorry
Wish that this was not our last
As we sit here
You and I
My old friend
Upon a midnight dreary
I ponder
Weak and weary
About how
I should go on
How I should tell
Of thesad news I bring
To bear
With such sorrow and a heavy heart
Breaking with missing you
I can hesitate no longer
My beloved
I pray
Tonight
That I shall not break your heart
Soon
So very soon
I fear that I shall
Come to dance with
The souls of your fellow dead
In that haunted palace
Way below the clouds where
Angels fear to thread
This soul reborn
So many times
Now flys with the raven
Speaking a strange tongue
In my dreams
I see
The masque of the red death
Slipping down and over
Over my face so still
Painting a picture of death
The raven comes to my window
To whisper soft and deadly
Your beloved Poe
You shall part from now
Sweet tragic Annabelee
Say goodby
For your lover you shall sing to
NEVERMORE
poem by Ramona Thompson
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Broken Friend
Cruel friend.
I only thought friend.
Broken heart -
Friend -
My sorrow.
Never saw your face but through your eyes.
Hypocritical torture.
You are sorrow.
poem by Meli Secret
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Uhland's
There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine,
And gayly they called to the hostess for wine.
"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,--
Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!"
"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she said,
"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead."
And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white
Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight.
Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh,
And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye,
And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty white rose,
I ween I had loved thee and wed thee--who knows?"
The next cavalier drew aside a small space,
And stood to the wall with his hands to his face;
And this was the heart-cry that came with his tears:
"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!"
But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that place,
And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face:
"I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day,
And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Sorrow Under Mist
Mist -
Giving wispy vapour to the breath,
Cool calm to autumn afternoons,
A hovering air of mysticism
Over brooding lakes -
Was different here,
Affording company, closeness -
A caring arm around her shoulders.
In the eyes, a once-clear oceanic blue
Wavered under water -
Tears telling torrid truths
She couldn't face -
Like the glowering image in the mirror
You don't see in your mind's eye
Of compensation; delusion.
We see her sitting on the concrete steps
That led down to the dew-laden garden.
She's peering up, sensing her diffuse companion,
Refreshing in its chill; giving crispness
To the stealth of dulling evening.
But the bite of air couldn't lift the sorrow
Of pale youth in love,
Shouldered by a not-in-love and scoffing eye.
Rejection hurt;
Hurts -
Wrenches deep -
Emotion that we can't deny!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Sorrow Rain
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
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sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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