En.Citatepedia^®.ro

To Fall Ill as One Should, Deliriously

To fall ill as one should, deliriously
Hot, meet everyone again,
To stroll broad avenues in the seashore garden
Full of the wind and the sun.

Even the dead, today, have agreed to come,
And the exiles, into my house.
Lead the child to me by the hand.
Long I have missed him.

I shall eat blue grapes with those who are dead,
Drink the iced
Wine, and watch the gray waterfall pour
On to the damp flint bed.

------

Behind the lake the moon's not stirred
And seems to be a window through
Into a silent, well-lit house,
Where something unpleasant has occured.

Has the master been brought home dead,
The mistress run off with a lover,
Or has a little girl gone missing,
And her shoes found by the creek-bed...

We can't see. But feel some awful thing,
And we don't want to talk.
Doleful, the cry of eagle-owls, and hot
In the garden the wind is blustering.

poem by Anna Akhmatova
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden Of Roses

My garden of roses is dead
All the most beautiful flowers have wilted
And now the winter is here

My garden of roses is dead
Like my love and my nurturing was nothing
And now the winter is here

My garden of roses is dead
Nothing but dust in the wind is left
And now the winter is here

My garden of roses is dead
Everything's gone and I feel so empty
And now the winter is here

poem by Triin Kann
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The City Dead-House

BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,
As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,
I curious pause--for lo! an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute
brought;
Her corpse they deposit unclaim'd--it lies on the damp brick
pavement;
The divine woman, her body--I see the Body--I look on it alone,
That house once full of passion and beauty--all else I notice not;
Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors
morbific impress me;
But the house alone--that wondrous house--that delicate fair house--
that ruin!
That immortal house, more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!
Or white-domed Capitol itself, with majestic figure surmounted--or
all the old high-spired cathedrals; 10
That little house alone, more than them all--poor, desperate house!
Fair, fearful wreck! tenement of a Soul! itself a Soul!
Unclaim'd, avoided house! take one breath from my tremulous lips;
Take one tear, dropt aside as I go, for thought of you,
Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crumbled! crush'd!
House of life--erewhile talking and laughing--but ah, poor house!
dead, even then;
Months, years, an echoing, garnish'd house--but dead, dead, dead.

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Return

The grass was gray with the moonlit dew,
The stones were white as I came through;
I came down the path by the thirteen yews,
Through the blocks of shade that the moonlight hews.
And when I came to the high lych-gate
I waited awhile where the corpses wait;
Then I came down the road where the moonlight lay
Like the fallen ghost of the light of day.

The bats shrieked high in their zigzag flight,
The owls' spread wings were quiet and white,
The wind and the poplar gave sigh for sigh,
And all about were the rustling shy
Little live creatures that love the night -
Little wild creatures timid and free.
I passed, and they were not afraid of me.

It was over the meadow and down the lane
The way to come to my house again:
Through the wood where the lovers talk,
And the ghosts, they say, get leave to walk.
I wore the clothes that we all must wear,
And no one saw me walking there,
No one saw my pale feet pass
By my garden path to my garden grass.
My garden was hung with the veil of spring -
Plum-tree and pear-tree blossoming;
It lay in the moon's cold sheet of light
In garlands and silence, wondrous and white
As a dead bride decked for her burying.

Then I saw the face of my house
Held close in the arms of the blossomed boughs:
I leaned my face to the window bright
To feel if the heart of my house beat right.
The firelight hung it with fitful gold;
It was warm as the house of the dead is cold.
I saw the settles, the candles tall,
The black-faced presses against the wall,
Polished beechwood and shining brass,
The gleam of china, the glitter of glass,
All the little things that were home to me -
Everything as it used to be.

Then I said, 'The fire of life still burns,
And I have returned whence none returns:
I will warm my hands where the fire is lit,
I will warm my heart in the heart of it!'
So I called aloud to the one within:
'Open, open, and let me in!
Let me in to the fire and the light -
It is very cold out here in the night!'
There was never a stir or an answering breath -
Only a silence as deep as death.

Then I beat on the window, and called, and cried.
No one heard me, and none replied.
The golden silence lay warm and deep,
And I wept as the dead, forgotten, weep;
And there was no one to hear or see -
To comfort me, to have pity on me.

But deep in the silence something stirred -
Something that had not seen or heard -
And two drew near to the window-pane,
Kissed in the moonlight and kissed again,
And looked, through my face, to the moon-shroud, spread
Over the garlanded garden bed;
And--'How ghostly the moonlight is!' she said.

Back through the garden, the wood, the lane,
I came to mine own place again.
I wore the garments we all must wear,
And no one saw me walking there.
No one heard my thin feet pass
Through the white of the stones and the gray of the grass,
Along the path where the moonlight hews
Slabs of shadow for thirteen yews.

In the hollow where drifted dreams lie deep
It is good to sleep: it was good to sleep:
But my bed has grown cold with the drip of the dew,
And I cannot sleep as I used to do.

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Dead, All Dead

Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone

song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Statue In The Garden

I was a goddess ere the marble found me.
Wind, wind, delay not!
Waft my spirit where the laurel crowned me!
Will the wind stay not?

Then tarry, tarry, listen, little swallow!
An old glory feeds me
I lay upon the bosom of Apollo!
Not a bird heeds me.

For here the days are alien. Oh, to waken
Mine, mine, with calling!
But on my shoulders bare, like hopes forsaken,
The dead leaves are falling.

The sky is gray and full of unshed weeping
As dim down the garden
I wait and watch the early autumn sweeping.
The stalks fade and harden.

The souls of all the flowers afar have rallied.
The trees, gaunt, appalling,
Attest the gloom, and on my shoulders pallid
The dead leaves are falling.

poem by Eleanor Agnes Lee
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Wake Up Dead

I sneak in my own house
Its four in the morning
I had too much to drink
Said I was out with the boys
I creep in my bedroom
I slip into bed,
I know if I wake her,
Ill wake up dead
Chorus:
I wonder, will she find out,
About the other, other lover.
Diana.
Wake up dead, you die
Wake up dead, and buried.
Wake up dead, you die
Wake up dead.

song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A War Song Of Tyrol

'WILD eagle of the Tyrol,
Why are thy feathers red?'
'I 've been to greet the morning
On Ortler's crimsoned head!'

'Gray eagle of the Tyrol,
'T is not the morning light
Drips from the soaring pinions
That wing thine airy flight.

'Proud eagle of the Tyrol,
Why are thy claws so red?'
'I 've been where Etschland's maidens
The ruddy vintage tread.'

'Gray eagle of the Tyrol,
Red runs our Tyrol wine;
But redder ran the vintage
That stained those claws of thine.

'Wild eagle of the Tyrol,
Why is thy beak so red?'
'Go ask the gorge of Stilfes,
Where lie the Saxon dead!

'The grapes were ripe in August
Wherewith my beak is red;
The vines that gave that vintage
No other wine will shed:
My beak is red with battle;
I've been among the dead!'

poem by Silas Weir Mitchell
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Alexandrines

There is a house that most of all on earth I hate.
Though I have passed through many sorrows and have been
In bloody fields, sad seas, and countries desolate,
Yet most I fear that empty house where the grasses green
Grow in the silent court the gaping flags between,
And down the moss-grown paths and terrace no man treads
Where the old, old weeds rise deep on the waste garden beds.
Like eyes of one long dead the empty windows stare
And I fear to cross the garden, I fear to linger there,
For in that house I know a little, silent room
Where Someone’s always waiting, waiting in the gloom
To draw me with an evil eye, and hold me fast—
Yet thither doom will drive me and He will win at last.

poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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The Gardener

For Violet

In the garden she hath found
Herb of grace and fever-few;
Woundwort there doth much abound,
Heartsease too.

Where she laid dead things away
In the chilly earth, what stir!
Whisper of Spring-time, green and gay,
Comes to her.

All Sweet-Nancies, daffodils,
Talking in their beds below
Of sweet vales and shining hills
Whither they go.

In the garden there's no grief;
God walks there and He is kind,
When the first dear crumpled leaf
Shakes in the wind.

There's no death now. Winter's done.
All's given back. The dead again
Walk with her in the wind and sun
And the sweet rain.

Heartsease in her garden plot,
Ladders-to-Heaven scale the skies;
While the dear forget-me-not
Brightens her eyes.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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Death Rose

red is the color of death
the rose sits in a dead garden
a boy that has no idea whats coming
owns the garden outside of his house
he picks the lonely flower and
sits it next to his fish the next
two days the fish got flushed
the boys heart was borthing
him so he went to the emergency
room
his mother brought his rose to make him
feel better
within two hours the boy died of cancer the shape
of a rose
on his grave layed the red rose and the ntohing
but dead grass layed around it

poem by Chantel McCaskill
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden Of Serenity

Come on take my hand
Come on little stranger
The spirits are angry
Stay away from danger
This is insanity
This could be the end
This is insanity
Farewell my friend

In the garden of serenity
In the garden of serenity
In the garden of serenity
In the garden of serenity

Meet me in the graveyard
We'll walk among the dead
On a midnight odyssey
Riding in my head

I'm not your enemy
Girl

song performed by by Ramones from Halfway To Sanity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rosemary

Boots were of leather, a breath of cologne
The mirror was a window she sat by alone.
All around the garden grew scarlet and purple and crimson and blue.
She came dead and she went, and at last went away, the garden was sealed when the
Flowers decayed.
On the wall of the garden a legend did say, no one may come here since no one may
Stay.

song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Carpenter's Song

My lot grew lighter day by day;
The children grew apace;
I built a little house last May--
No palace like that place.
And--"Father," said she, "sure you know
That once we ate dry bread?
Into our own house now we go!"--
The mother, she is dead!

Her house the undertaker made,
And not the carpenter;
My grace unsaid, the pastor prayed
In loud tones over her.
The day that's spent with merriment,
'Mid blossoms blue and red,
No music lent--my heart was rent!--
The mother, she is dead.

We pulled together many a year;
Like old bird-mates were we;
But who e'er thinks of dying here
While both together be?
Fast barred is every window-blind--
I care not what is said;
Yes, sell the house! I do not mind--
The mother, she is dead!

poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In this house of pain

In this house of pain
We’re nothing but slaves
Giving into such desires
Will it bring us any pleasure?
Weeping for a lover lost
She’ll cast her own spell
Deprived by all
Depleting the life of everyone that has betrayed her
Hidden in the shadows is where she will feel alive

In this house
Is nothing but sinners?
In this house
Is nothing but broken promises?
In this house
Is where you left me for dead?

Walking through the fogged trees
Blind to all
The songs of old
Are here for the comfort of all.
Beneath the garden of secrets
Hides a lonely heart
Calling to her lover
From which she had to part.

I am alone again.
Alone with my thoughts
That I am left to ponder upon
I am alone again.

This sadness is overwhelming
And all I can do is give in
Does my heart still beat the same?
Or does it die along with you
These thoughts seem to keep me sane
Yet I’m still waiting for more
These memories seem to play a game
And in the end
I’m here to give in

In this house
Is nothing but heartache?
In this house
Is nothing but tears?
In this house
Is where you left me broken?

The feelings seem to fade
The laughter was lost long ago
But I would give everything up
Just to have it all back

In this house
Was when I first fell in love with you?
In this house is were I gave my heart to you
In this house was where i was lost to you.

This will be our doing
This will be our destruction
Swept up in such blissful dreams
Scarcely unaware
This is the house
Were we will rot forever?

poem by Teigan Klippel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Watch The Wind Blow By

Creek goes rippling by
Ive been barefoot and all day with my baby
Brown leaves have started falling
Leading the way
I like it best just like this
Doing nothing all the way
So lets lay down in the tall grass
Dreaming away
And all I wanna do is let it be and be with you
And watch the wind blow by
And all I wanna see is you and me go on forever
Like the clear blue sky
Slowly, theres only
You and i
And all I want to do is watch the wind blow by
Girl, you know you told me not so long ago
To let it come, then let it pass
And all your troubles and your sorrows
They wont last
So let me kiss you now, little darling
Beneath this autumn moon
Cold wind, another season
Will be here soon
And all I wanna do is let it be and be with you
And watch the wind blow by
And all I wanna see is you and me go on forever
Like the clear blue sky
Slowly, theres only
You and i
And all I want to do is watch the wind blow by

song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Thing

(van morrison, john lennon)
And I will stroll the merry way and jump the hedges first
And I will drink the clear clean water for to quench my thirst
And I shall watch the ferry-boats and theyll get high
On a blue ocean, against tomorrows sky
And I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain
And I will never grow so old again
Oh sweet thing, sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my sweet thing
And I will stroll the merry ways and jump the hedges first
And I will drink the clear clean water for to quench my thirst
And I shall watch the ferry-boats and theyll get high
On a blue ocean against tomorrows sky
And I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain
And never ever ever ever ever get so old again
Ooh...
Sweet thing
My my my...
And I shall drive my chariot down your streets and cry
Hey, its me! Im dynamite and I dont know why
And you shall take me warm in your arms again
And I will not remember that I ever felt the pain
And I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain
And never ever ever ever ever get so old again
Ooh
Sweet thing
Yeah yeah yeah...
Sweet thing
My my my...
And I will raise my hand up into the night time sky
And count the stars there shining in your eyes
Just to dig it all an not to wonder, thats just fine
And Ill be satisfied not to read in between the lines
And I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain
And never ever ever ever ever get so old again
Sugar-baby with your champagne eyes
And your saint-like smile....
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take this broken wing and learn to fly
All your life you were just waiting for this moment to arrive
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take your sunken eyes, learn to see
All your life you were only waiting for this moment to be free...

song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wrong House

I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has big steps and a great big hall;
But it hasn't got a garden,
A garden,
A garden,
It isn't like a house at all.

I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has a big garden and great high wall;
But it hasn't got a may-tree,
A may-tree,
A may-tree,
It isn't like a house at all.

I went into a house, and it wasn't a house -
Slow white petals from the may-tree fall;
But it hasn't got a blackbird,
A blackbird,
A blackbird,
It isn't like a house at all.

I went into a house, and I thought it was a house,
I could hear from the may-tree the blackbird call…
But nobody listened to it,
Nobody
Liked it,
Nobody wanted it at all.

poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lady Of The Lake

Today I talked
to the old lady
who lives across the way
she said she died
a hundred years ago today

She told me
of the time she saw me
fishing in the lake

I had to laugh

I said
if You've been dead
for a hundred years
it couldn't have been me
you saw fishing in the lake
I'm not even fifty yet

She said
have you ever seen me
walk out of this garden
or talk to anybody else

I said
you've got me there
but like I said
if you died a hundred
years ago today
it couldn't have been me
you saw fishing in the lake

She said
a hundred years ago today
you drowned trying to save me
now it's time to except
that you are dead

poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Wind Me Up

I've got something
That you ought to know
Don't even know
Whether to come or go
Up down
Head's spinning around
Wind up in
The lost and found
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Tell me why
You make it so hard
All I ask is
Finish what you start
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up that's
All you do
Wind me up and
Leave me blue
I'd like to see if
You could be
Kind enough to me
When you
Wind me up
Don't take me places
Then wanna go home
Sometimes, I think
I'm better off alone
Hey girl, you know
What you do
Color me red
Then leave me blue

song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad Of The Mad Ladye

The rowan tree grows by the tower foot,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
Can the dead feel joy or pain?_)
And the owls in the ivy blink and hoot,
And the sea-waves bubble around its root,
Where kelp and tangle and sea-shells be,
When the bat in the dark flies silently.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

The ladye sits in the turret alone,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The dead--can they complain?_)
And her long hair down to her knee has grown,
And her hand is cold as a hand of stone,
And wan as a band of flesh may be,
While the bird in the bower sings merrily.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

Sadly she leans by her casement side
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
Can the dead arise again?_)
And watcheth the ebbing and flowing tide,
But her eye is dim, and the sea is wide;
The fisherman's sail and the cloud flies free
And the bird is mute in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

The moon shone in on the turret stair
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The dead are bound with a chain._)
And touched her cheek and brightened her hair,
And found naught else in the world so fair,
So ghostly fair as the mad ladye,
While the bird in the bower sang lonesomely.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

The weary days and the months crept on,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The words of the dead are vain_)
At last the summer was over and gone,
And still she sat in her turret alone,
Her white hands clasping about her knee,
And the bird was mute in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

Wild was the sound of the wind and the sleet,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea.
The dead--do they walk again?_)
Wilder the roar of the surf that beat;
Whose was the form that it bore to her feet
Swayed with the swell of the unquiet sea,
While the raven croaked in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

Oh Lady, strange is the silent guest--
(_Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,
Can the dead feel sorrow or pain?_)
With the sea-drenched locks and the pulseless breast
And the close-shut lips which thine have pressed
And the wide sad eyes that heed not thee,
While the raven croaks in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

The tower is dark, and the doors are wide,
(_Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,
The dead are at peace again._)
Into the harbour the fisher boats ride,
But two went out with the ebbing tide,
Without sail, without oar, full fast and free,
And the raven croaks in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

poem by Kate Seymour Maclean
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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