Related quotes: I want no horns to...

Nuit Blanche

I want no horns to rouse me up to-night,
And trumpets make too clamorous a ring
To fit my mood, it is so weary white
I have no wish for doing any thing.

A music coaxed from humming strings would please;
Not plucked, but drawn in creeping cadences
Across a sunset wall where some Marquise
Picks a pale rose amid strange silences.

Ghostly and vaporous her gown sweeps by
The twilight dusking wall, I hear her feet
Delaying on the gravel, and a sigh,
Briefly permitted, touches the air like sleet

And it is dark, I hear her feet no more.
A red moon leers beyond the lily-tank.
A drunken moon ogling a sycamore,
Running long fingers down its shining flank.

A lurching moon, as nimble as a clown,
Cuddling the flowers and trees which burn like glass.
Red, kissing lips, I feel you on my gown—
Kiss me, red lips, and then pass—pass.

Music, you are pitiless to-night.
And I so old, so cold, so languorously white.

poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Souls

A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.

Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:
It is only their call that comes on the breeze;
Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:
It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;
Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:
It is only the touch of their hands that grope -
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.

III

And where should a man bring his sweet to woo
But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?
Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,
The empty hands that their fellows miss,
Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,
Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.

And now that they rise and walk in the cold,
Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.
Let them see us and hear us, and say: 'Ah, thus
In the prime of the year it went with us!'
Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,
Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.

Till they say, as they hear us - poor dead, poor dead! -
'Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed -
Just a thrill of the old remembered pains
To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,
Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,
As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart -
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.'

And where should the living feel alive
But here in this wan white humming hive,
As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,
And one by one they creep back to the fold?
And where should a man hold his mate and say:
'One more, one more, ere we go their way'?
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the living can learn by the churchyard light.

VII

And how should we break faith who have seen
Those dead lips plight with the mist between,
And how forget, who have seen how soon
They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?
How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too,
Who must do so soon as those others do?
For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,
And behold, with the light the dead are away. . . .

poem by Edith Wharton
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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You Left Me A Song

Out of the glitter and the shine
Out of the corner of my eye
Saw you walking I freeze the frame
My lucky game
We could've been strangers if we tried
Move to the rhythm side by side
Maybe a glance across the room
Blue moon
Why did the hours burn so long
Sunset and shadows cold
I hear the music playing now
I know you're gone
But you
You left me a song
Under the skylight after dark
Cripping to find you, what a luck
We were like children stripping down
The joy we found
But even the lights that turn me on
Make it so hard to see beyond
Make it a rainbow in my mind
This ???
Why did the hours burn so long
Sunset and shadows cold
I hear the music playing now
I know you're gone
But you
You left me a song
Huh you left me
Huh huh you left me
A song
Why did the hours burn so long
Sunset and shadows cold
I hear the music playing now
I know you're gone
But you
You left me a song

song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moon Over Bourbon Street

Theres a moon over bourbon street tonight
I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight
Ive no choice but to follow that call
The bright lights, the people, and the moon and all
I pray everyday to be strong
For I know what I do must be wrong
Oh youll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While theres a moon over bourbon street
It was many years ago that I became what I am
I was trapped in this life like an innocent lamb
Now I can only show my face at noon
And youll only see me walking by the light of the moon
The brim of my hat hides the eye of a beast
Ive the face of a sinner but the hands of a priest
Oh youll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While theres a moon over bourbon street
She walks everyday through the streets of new orleans
Shes innocent and young from a family of means
I have stood many times outside her window at night
To struggle with my instinct in the pale moon light
How could I be this way when I pray to God above
I must love what I destroy and destroy the thing I love
Oh youll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While theres a moon over bourbon street

song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Change

She leaned out into the soft June weather,
With her long loose tresses the night breeze played;
Her eyes were as blue as the bells on the heather:
Oh, what is so fair as a fair young maid!

She folded her hands, like the leaves of a lily,
'My life, ' she said, 'is a night in June,
Fair and quiet, and calm and stilly;
Bring me a change, O changeful moon!

'Who would drift on a lake forever?
Young hearts weary - it is not strange,
And sigh for the beautiful bounding river;
New moon, true moon, bring me a change! '

The rose that rivalled her maiden blushes
Dropped from her breast, at a strangers feet;
Only a glance; but the hot blood rushes
To mantle a fair face, shy and sweet.

To and fro, while the moon is waning,
They walk, and the stars shine on above;
And one is in earnest, and one is feigning -
Oh, what is so sweet as a sweet young love?

A young life crushed, and a young heart broken,
A bleak wind blows through the lovely bower,
And all that remains of the love vows spoken -
Is the trampled leaf of a faded flower.

The night is dark, for the moon is failing -
And what is so pale as a pale old moon?
Cold is the wind through the tree tops wailing -
Woe that the change should come so soon.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Echo Of The Night

When silence is persistent
And the shadows lie in wait
When the sun steps aside for the moon
You can hear the music of the night

At the break of dawn its hides
It fears the burning golden light
It favors the moon as its ally
One who isn't blind with pride

As the shadows of the day finally dissipate
And the sun recedes in the mountains
When the moon cast its shadow over the land
Once again comes the music of the night

It seems strange to call it music
When no sound is actually there
But like a choir in a cavern
Its voice echoes throughout the land

When you finally abandon your thoughts
Kneel silently before the land
Its echo can finally reach you
And you can hear the music of the night

poem by Logan Fulk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The New Moon

What have you got in your knapsack fair,
White moon, bright moon, pearling the air,
Spinning your bobbins and fabrics free,
Fleet moon, sweet moon, in to the sea?
Turquoise and beryl and rings of gold,
Clear moon, dear moon, ne’er to be sold?
Roses and lilies, romance and love,
Still moon, chill moon, swinging above?
Slender your feet as a white birds throat,
High moon, shy moon, drifting your boat
Into the murk of the world awhile,
Slim moon, dim moon, adding a smile.
Tender your eyes as a maiden’s kiss,
Fine moon, wine moon, no one knows this,
Under the spell of your witchery,
Dream moon, cream moon, first he kissed me.

poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Faith

When the soft sweet wind o' the south went by,
I dwelt in the light of a dark brown eye;
And out where the robin sang his song,
We lived and loved, while the days were long.

In the sweet, sweet eves, when the moon swung high,
We wandered under the starry sky;
Or sat in the porch, and the moon looked through
The latticed wall where the roses grew.

My lips, that hd no lover's kiss,
You taught the art, till they trilled in bliss;
And the moon, and the stars, and the roses knew
That the heart you won was pure and true.

But true hearts weary men, maybe,
For you grew weary of love, and me.
Over the porch the dead vines hang,
And a mourning dove sobs where the robin sang.

In a warmer clime does another sigh
Under the light of your dark brown eye?
Did you follow the soft sweet wing o' the south,
And are you kissing a redder mouth?

Lips may be redder, and eyes more bright;
The face may be fairer you see to-night;
But never, love, while the stars shall shine,
Will you find a heart that is truer than mine.

Sometime, perhaps, when south winds blow,
You will think of a love you used to know;
Sometime, perhaps, when a robin sings,
Your heart will go back to olden things.

Sometime you will weary of this world's arts,
Of deceit and change and hollow hearts,
And, wearying, sigh for the 'used to be, '
And your feet will turn to the porch, and me.

I shall watch for you here when days grow long;
I shall list for your step through the robin's song;
I shall sit in the porch where the moon looks through,
And a vacant chair will wait - for you.

You may stray, and forget, and rove afar,
But my changeless love, like the polar star,
Will draw you at length o'er land and sea -
And I know you will yet come back to me.

The years may come, and the years may go,
But sometime again, when south winds blow,
When roses bloom, and the moon swings high,
I shall live in he light of your dark brown eye.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Wide The Dawn

How wide the Dawn
Is smiling!
How silent-new
The air is breathing!
How raw the sea
Without a wave
Is looking!

And in the night –
Id est last night
How strange
The owl chanteth!
How far, how far
Its cry did seem
And yet
It was so near!
How thrilled the tree
Below my lighted window
And in the night
The solemn night
The owl was still a-calling
To spirits wild
Perhaps
Or long white ghosts
Perhaps!

And in the eyes
Of the pale moon
The lake nearby glistened:
How white
How thin
The rays that fall
In midst of the dark waters!
And from the lake
A soundless sound
Is coming:
For in the waves
And from the waves
There comes a little gurgling
And in the night
In the long night
The owl is speaking, speaking!

Ah! this night – in the night
The people in the house
Are all a-sleeping
I – only I
The vigil, the night-vigil
Am making:
And I
And only I
Will my reward receive
For I
And only I
Am seeing
For I
And only I
Am hearing
And I
And only I
Am feeling!

How strange how sere
The feeling!
How from the clear night
The mist of sudden riseth!
And from afar
Past ten long fields
The cemetery is burning
With the pale light
Of the swift moon
That fall
On every wall
This long, long night!

It seems
It seems
That the cemetery’s open:
And yet
And yet
There is no noise
No sound
But from the yews
A soundless sound
Is coming:
A restless sound
Like souls
This night all-aching
And restless
Restless
At some thing
I am not hearing!

Ha! We on earth
Make prisons
And lodge
Bodies – human bodies in them:
And we on earth
Make cemeteries
And lodge
Bodies – human bodies in them
And the long night
Under the light
Of heaven
How waning-blue
And tight
Is coming!

So:
At long last
We fall into a prison
If not the one
In fine to the other
And at the last
And in the last
We enter our last prison:
And in the night
The long and lonely night
The cemetery is shining!

poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wall Between

The wall between is grown so thin
That whoso peers may see
A flutter of rose, a living green
Like new leaves on a tree.

The wall's now gotten many a chink
Where whoso leans may hear
The feet of them who pass to drink
All at a well clear.

The people go, the people flow
T'other side o' the wall
With silken rustle and laughter low
As to a festival.

Come mother and wife and piteous bride,
The wall's nigh broken through;
And there be some the other side
That peep and pry for you.

So thin has grown, like a precious stone,
The wall no eye might pass,
You may have vision of your own
As through a crystal glass.

And if that sight should you delight
Your tears will all be dried,
For souls so bright that walk in white
Dear bliss on the other side.

poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet

I am a poet.
I feel the colours of pain.
I watch the sky in the rain.
Waiting for the sun.
I hear soft promise
Of golden days.
As music stabs
When it plays
Deep in my heart.
I am a poet.
The moon is my mother.
She sings like no other
With dulcet tone.
When I am left alone.
She bathes me in blue.
As I die within the night
And lie with the dew,
Until the next starlight.
I am a poet.
I want that forever kiss
Carried by breeze
To bring sweet bliss.
That i can keep
Deep
Within my aching soul.
For when the drums roll.
And I fade
Into dark forest shade.
Then my music
Will pass through you.
Like a lovers sigh.
Hear the ocean cry
For a lullaby
In lonliness.
I could never possess
That beauty.
But will forever
Share
The rose that
I dared not to die.
A dreamer and a poet am I.

poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Here Comes The Moon

Everybodys talking up a storm
Act like they dont notice it
But here it is and here it comes . . .
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Impulse always quickens when its full
As it turns my head around me
Yes it does and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Gods gift I see thats moving up there into the night . . .
Though dark the mirror in the sky reflects us our light:
Looks like a little brother to the sun
Or mother to the stars at night
And here it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Breath is always taken when its new
Enhance upon the clouds around it
Yes it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon.

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lips To Kiss

The moon feigns a sigh..
Moons high lights shine..
Rose..moon over pond..
Moon sleeps with moon...
Lips To Kiss..moon high..

poem by Is It Poetry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O Beauty of Night...

As the golden sun goes to rest,
And the sky drape into black blanket,
Now take your turn
O beauty of Night – Moon.

Variety of moods makes me wonder,
Sometimes you look like circular disc,
At times spongy ball of cotton
O beauty of Night – Moon.

Eyes long to catch the glimpse,
Hands reach to hold you,
Lips hum song for you,
O beauty of Night – Moon.

Play not hide & seek,
Cover not behind the dark cloud
Unveil your beauty for me to gaze
O beauty of Night – Moon.

Cool gentle breeze blowing in silent night
Urge my heart to
Bathe in the white beam
O beauty of Night - Moon.

Reflection of my love I see in you
Fall down from the starry sky
To hold you in my arms
O beauty of Night – Moon.

poem by Geeta Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gibbous over Wood

The moon is not yet grown -
It is at the doorstep of maturity.
But still its light comes down
Through the broadleaf wood.
Here and there, a leaf is silver,
Chosen favorite of the moon,
While the other trees shiver
In the dark with envy.
The moon is not yet grown –
It is brilliant in its youth.
It is to the sun a mirror
And to the sky a mouth.
There is a light about a tree
A white wedding-gown,
Shall the moon wed the tree
Before it is yet grown?
The moon is not yet grown –
It is confident, though,
And shines with great spirit,
Piercing the wood through.
There is a path across the river,
Wrought in silver stone.
The moon mocks the walker
Who takes the path and drowns.

poem by Sophia White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kisses For You...

I once heard these words in a song;
'You must remember this...a kiss is
just a kiss...a sigh is just a sigh, ' etc.

With you...nothing...nothing, could be
further from the truth.

Your kiss, is a ride among the stars,
a shower of moon beams and a
sailboat ride, in the Garden Of Eden.

Kissing you...is an out of body experience,
a transport to paradise and a creation
of ultimate passion and joy.

Kissing, every part of who you are, is
truly a banquet of love.

Let me feast of your love and of your lips,
for I am in love with you. Let me always
kiss your mouth...eyes...all of you.

Let us ride the feathers of angels, through
starlit nights-holding...kissing, for now...
and evermore.

Your kiss...touch...embrace, has captured
my heart...my very soul.

I send you this kiss...for the lips
I can not do without.

*Kiss*............*Kiss*
*Kiss *..........Kiss*
*Kiss*......Kiss*
*Kiss*.. .*Kiss*
*Kiss*.*Kiss*
*Kiss*......*Kiss*
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..........*Kiss

To kiss you...love you...has made my
life worthwhile. Has given meaning, to
each day I live.

A day without your kiss, is as a day
without sunshine. Just the thought
of you, gladdens my heart.

*Kiss*............*Kiss*
*Kiss*. .........Kiss*
*Kiss*......Kiss*
*Kiss*...* Kiss*
*Kiss*.*Kiss*
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ONE LAST KISS, FOR ALL THAT YOU ARE.
FOR ALL THAT YOU DO.

WHY DO I LOVE YOU?
BECAUSE...YOU ARE YOU.

YOU ARE MY WORLD. MY LOVE.

*Kiss*............*Kiss*
*Kiss*.. ........Kiss*
*Kiss*......Kiss*
*Kiss*...*K iss*
*Kiss*.*Kiss*
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poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Banquet Of Love