Beauty Sat Bathing By A Spring
Beauty sat bathing by a spring,
Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,
The cool streams ran beside her.
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye
To see what was forbidden:
But better memory said, fie!
So, vain desire was chidden.
Hey nonny nonny O!
Hey nonny nonny!
Into a slumber then I fell,
When fond imagination
Seemed to see, but could not tell,
Her feature or her fashion.
But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile,
And sometimes fall a-weeping,
So I awaked, as wise this while
As when I fell a-sleeping:-
Hey nonny nonny O!
Hey nonny nonny!
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Hey Nonny Nonny
Beauty sat bathing by a spring where fairest shades did hide her
The winds blew calm the birds did sing the cool streams ran beside her
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye to see what was forbidden
But better memory said fie so vain desire was chidden
Hey nonny nonny oh hey nonny nonny
Hey nonny nonny oh hey nonny nonnie
Into a slumber then I fell when fond imagination
Seemed to see but could not tell her feature or her fashion
But evn as babes in dreams do smile and sometimes fall a weeping
So I awaked as wise this while as when I fell a-sleeping
Hey nonny nonny oh hey nonny nonny
Hey nonny nonny oh hey nonny nonnie
Say man are you down for doing something positive in the community?
No I dont think Ill ever do that again
Well aint you worried about doing the right thing?
Well I dont care if I hey nonny nonny nonny ho nonny nonny nonny
Gordon gano: vocal acoustic & electric guitar
Brian ritchie: acoustic bass guitar, vocal
Victor delorenzo: brushed snare drum, tambourine, shakers, vocal
Mixed by david vartanian
gorno music reprinted with permission
song performed by by Violent Femmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hey nonny no!
HEY nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die!
Is 't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is 't not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!
Hey nonny no!
Christ Church MS.
HEY nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die!
Is 't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is 't not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sigh No More
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so,
But let them go,
And be you blith and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so,
But let them go,
And be you blith and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sigh no more
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no more
Of dumps so dull and heavy.
The fraud of men was ever so
Since summer first was leafy.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey, nonny, nonny.
song, lyrics by William Shakespeare from Much Ado about Nothing, Act II, Scene 3 (1599)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sweet Content
ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd?
O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd
To add to golden numbers golden numbers?
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny--hey nonny nonny!
Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
O sweet content!
Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O punishment!
Then he that patiently want's burden bears,
No burden bears, but is a king, a king!
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny--hey nonny nonny!
poem by Thomas Dekker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Art Thou Poor
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed?
O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers?
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
O sweet content!
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O punishment!
Then he that patiently want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king:
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
poem by Thomas Dekker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh Mistress-Mine (Revised)
Oh Mistress-Mine, like the Old Testament's Prodigal Son you
return unto the fold so stealthily, coming to us like a Prodigal
Daughter; you've rested well, it's seen in your demeanour,
you are calm and resigned as sensed in your serenity
Will it be another foray into unchartered territory where
you'll do innovative work, showing how we, like you, can
stay home courageously, with long disappearances, sudden
returns as a new moon after an eclipse
To shyly smile, win new acolytes with strict orders, rejecting
irrational demands made eagerly by troops who stayed
guarding sacred portals from barbarian horde invasions -
uneducated clients who demand non-entitled services
We are a profession fighting for executive recognition of
our smooth relays of foreign texts into a civilised tongue,
one that is understood by the Anglo-Saxon hordes rampaging
south from the cold northern slopes
Be that as it may, welcome back, Oh Prodigal Daughter and
Supervisor of troops, with military alacrity we are ready to
follow orders, except where they clash with ethics forged
through millennia of fighting for right & free expression -
Rights you claim personally, Oh Mistress Mine, not share
with the rest who earn their living where you merely dally
occasionally, singing from time to time ‘hey nonny nonny',
with much ado about nothing
And in this institution lies only the way of the dreaded
watery death and creatures of the bottomless profundity
waiting to swallow all of the mighty and haughty who
do not care where they tread…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Shakespeare on the Turf
SCENE I
SCENE: The saddling paddock at a racecourse.
Citizens, Battlers, Toffs, Trainers, Flappers, Satyrs, Bookmakers and Turf Experts.
Enter Shortinbras, a Trainer, and two Punters.
FIRST PUNTER: Good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of the Fav'rite?
SHORTINBRAS (aside): This poltroon would not venture a ducat
on David to beat a dead donkey; a dull and muddy-mettled rascal.
(To Punter): Aye marry Sir, I think well of the Favourite.
PUNTER: And yet I have a billiard marker's word
That in this race to-day they back Golumpus,
And when they bet, they tell me, they will knock
The Favourite for a string of German Sausage.
SHORTINBRAS: Aye, marry, they would tell thee, I've no doubt,
It is the way of owners that they tell
To billiard markers and the men on trams
Just when they mean to bet. Go back it, back it!
(Tries to shuffle off, but Punter detains him.)
PUNTER: Nay, good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of Golumpus?
Was it not dead last week?
SHORTINBRAS: Marry, sir, I think well of Golumpus.
'Tis safer to speak well of the dead: betimes they rise again.
(Sings)
They pulled him barefaced in the mile,
Hey, Nonny, Nonny.
The Stipes were watching them all the while;
And the losers swear, but the winners smile,
Hey, Nonny, Nonny.
Exit Shortinbras.
SECOND RUNTER: A scurvy knave! What meant he by his prate
Of Fav'rite and outsider and the like?
Forsooth he told us nothing. Follow him close.
Give him good watch, I pray you, till we see
Just what he does his dough on. Follow fast.
Exeunt Punters
SCENE II
The same. Bookmakers call: 'Seven to Four on the Field!'
'Three to One, Bar One!' 'Ten to One, Golumpus.'
Enter Two Heads.
FIRST HEAD: How goes the battle? Did thou catch the last?
SECOND HEAD: Aye, marry did I, and the one before,
But this has got me beat. The Favourite drifts,
And not a single wager has been laid
About Golumpus. Thinkest thou that both are dead?
Re-enter Punters
PUNTER: Good morrow, Gentlemen. I have it cold
Straight from the owner, that Golumpus goes
Eyes out to win today.
FIRST HEAD: Prate not to me of owners. Hast thou seen
The good red gold Go in. The Jockey's Punter
Has he put up the stuff, or does he wait
To get a better price. Owner say'st thou?
The owner does the paying, and the talk;
Hears the tale afterwards when it gets beat
And sucks it in as hungry babes suck milk.
Look you how ride the books in motor cars
While owners go on foot, or ride in trams,
Crushed with the vulgar herd and doomed to hear
From mouths of striplings that their horse was stiff,
When they themselves are broke from backing it.
SCENE III
Enter an Owner and a Jockey
OWNER: 'Tis a good horse. A passing good horse.
JOCKEY: I rose him yesternoon: it seemed to me
That in good truth a fairly speedy cow
Might well outrun him.
OWNER: Thou froward varlet; must I say again,
That on the Woop Woop course he ran a mile
In less than forty with his irons on!
JOCKEY: Then thou should'st bring the Woop Woop course down here.
OWNER: Thou pestilential scurvy Knave. Go to!
Strikes him.
Alarms and excursions. The race is run and Shortinbras enters,
leading in the winner.
FIRST PUNTER: And thou hast trained the winner, thou thyself,
Thou complicated liar. Didst not say
To back Golumpus or the Favourite!
SHORTINBRAS: Get work! For all I ever had of thee
My children were unfed, my wife unclothed,
And I myself condemned to menial toil.
PUNTER: The man who keeps a winner to himself
Deserves but death. (Kills him)
Enter defeated Owner and Jockey.
OWNER: Thou whoreson Knave: thou went into a trance
Soon as the barrier lifted and knew naught
Of what occurred until they neared the post.
(Kills him)
Curtain falls on ensemble of punters, bookmakers,
heads and surviving jockeys and trainers.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goody Santa Claus on a Sleigh Ride
Santa, must I tease in vain, Deer? Let me go and hold the reindeer,
While you clamber down the chimneys. Don't look savage as a Turk!
Why should you have all the glory of the joyous Christmas story,
And poor little Goody Santa Claus have nothing but the work?
It would be so very cozy, you and I, all round and rosy,
Looking like two loving snowballs in our fuzzy Arctic furs,
Tucked in warm and snug together, whisking through the winter weather
Where the tinkle of the sleigh-bells is the only sound that stirs.
You just sit here and grow chubby off the goodies in my cubby
From December to December, till your white beard sweeps your knees;
For you must allow, my Goodman, that you're but a lazy woodman
And rely on me to foster all our fruitful Christmas trees.
While your Saintship waxes holy, year by year, and roly-poly,
Blessed by all the lads and lassies in the limits of the land,
While your toes at home you're toasting, then poor Goody must go posting
Out to plant and prune and garner, where our fir-tree forests stand.
Oh! but when the toil is sorest how I love our fir-tree forest,
Heart of light and heart of beauty in the Northland cold and dim,
All with gifts and candles laden to delight a boy or maiden,
And its dark-green branches ever murmuring the Christmas hymn!
Yet ask young Jack Frost, our neighbor, who but Goody has the labor,
Feeding roots with milk and honey that the bonbons may be sweet!
Who but Goody knows the reason why the playthings bloom in season
And the ripened toys and trinkets rattle gaily to her feet!
From the time the dollies budded, wiry-boned and saw-dust blooded,
With their waxen eyelids winking when the wind the tree-tops plied,
Have I rested for a minute, until now your pack has in it
All the bright, abundant harvest of the merry Christmastide?
Santa, wouldn't it be pleasant to surprise me with a present?
And this ride behind the reindeer is the boon your Goody begs;
Think how hard my extra work is, tending the Thanksgiving turkeys
And our flocks of rainbow chickens — those that lay the Easter eggs.
Home to womankind is suited? Nonsense, Goodman! Let our fruited
Orchards answer for the value of a woman out-of-doors.
Why then bid me chase the thunder, while the roof you're safely under,
All to fashion fire-crackers with the lighting in their cores?
See! I've fetched my snow-flake bonnet, with the sunrise ribbons on it;
I've not worn it since we fled from Fairyland our wedding day;
How we sped through iceberg porches with the Northern Lights for torches!
You were young and slender, Santa, and we had this very sleigh.
Jump in quick then? That's my bonny. Hey down derry! Nonny nonny!
While I tie your fur cap closer, I will kiss your ruddy chin.
I'm so pleased I fall to singing, just as sleigh-bells take to ringing!
Are the cloud-spun lap-robes ready? Tirra-lirra! Tuck me in.
Off across the starlight Norland, where no plant adorns the moorland
Save the ruby-berried holly and the frolic mistletoe!
Oh, but this is Christmas revel! Off across the frosted level
Where the reindeers' hoofs strike sparkles from the crispy, crackling snow!
There's the Man i' the Moon before us, bound to lead the Christmas chorus
With the music of the sky-waves rippling round his silver shell —
Glimmering boat that leans and tarries with the weight of dreams she carries
To the cots of happy children. Gentle sailor, steer her well!
Now we pass through dusky portals to the drowsy land of mortals;
Snow-enfolded, silent cities stretch about us dim and far.
Oh! how sound the world is sleeping, midnight watch no shepherd keeping,
Though an angel-face shines gladly down from every golden star.
Here's a roof. I'll hold the reindeer. I suppose this weather-vane, Dear,
Some one set here just on purpose for our teams to fasten to.
There's its gilded cock, — the gaby! — wants to crow and tell the baby
We are come. Be careful, Santa! Don't get smothered in the flue.
Back so soon? No chimney-swallow dives but where his mate can follow.
Bend your cold ear, Sweetheart Santa, down to catch my whisper faint:
Would it be so very shocking if your Goody filled a stocking
Just for once? Oh, dear! Forgive me. Frowns do not become a Saint.
I will peep in at the skylights, where the moon sheds tender twilights
Equally down silken chambers and down attics bare and bleak.
Let me show with hailstone candies these two dreaming boys — the dandies
In their frilled and fluted nighties, rosy cheek to rosy cheek!
What! No gift for this poor garret? Take a sunset sash and wear it
O'er the rags, my pale-faced lassie, till thy father smiles again.
He's a poet, but — oh, cruel! he has neither light nor fuel.
Here's a fallen star to write by, and a music-box of rain.
So our sprightly reindeer clamber, with their fairy sleigh of amber,
On from roof to roof , the woven shades of night about us drawn.
On from roof to roof we twinkle, all the silver bells a-tinkle,
Till blooms in yonder blessèd East the rose of Christmas dawn.
Now the pack is fairly rifled, and poor Santa's well-nigh stifled;
Yet you would not let your Goody fill a single baby-sock;
Yes, I know the task takes brain, Dear. I can only hold the reindeer,
And so see me climb down chimney — it would give your nerves a shock.
Wait! There's yet a tiny fellow, smiling lips and curls so yellow
You would think a truant sunbeam played in them all night. He spins
Giant tops, a flies kites higher than the gold cathedral spire
In his creams — the orphan bairnie, trustful little Tatterkins.
Santa, don't pass by the urchin! Shake the pack, and deeply search in
All your pockets. There is always one toy more. I told you so.
Up again? Why, what's the trouble? On your eyelash winks the bubble
Mortals call a tear, I fancy. Holes in stocking, heel and toe?
Goodman, though your speech is crusty now and then there's nothing rusty
In your heart. A child's least sorrow makes your wet eyes glisten, too;
But I'll mend that sock so nearly it shall hold your gifts completely.
Take the reins and let me show you what a woman's wit can do.
Puff! I'm up again, my Deary, flushed a bit and somewhat weary,
With my wedding snow-flake bonnet worse for many a sooty knock;
But be glad you let me wheedle, since, an icicle for needle,
Threaded with the last pale moonbeam, I have darned the laddie's sock.
Then I tucked a paint-box in it ('twas no easy task to win it
From the Artist of the Autumn Leaves) and frost-fruits white and sweet,
With the toys your pocket misses — oh! and kisses upon kisses
To cherish safe from evil paths the motherless small feet.
Chirrup! chirrup! There's a patter of soft footsteps and a clatter
Of child voices. Speed it, reindeer, up the sparkling Arctic Hill!
Merry Christmas, little people! Joy-bells ring in every steeple,
And Goody's gladdest of the glad. I've had my own sweet will.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates (1889)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Song Of A Spring-Time
TOO rash, sweet birds, spring is not spring;
Sharp winds are fell in east and north;
Late blossoms die for peeping forth; Rains numb, frost blights;
Days are unsunned, storms tear the nights;
The tree-buds wilt before they swell.
Frosts in the buds, and frost-winds fell: And you, you sing.
But let no song be sweet in spring;
Spring is but hope for after-time,
And what is hope but spring-tide rime? But blights, but rain?
Spring wanes unsunned, and sunless wane
The hopes false spring-tide bore to die.
Spring's answer is the March wind's sigh: And you, you sing.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Grace Sufficient
Golden fields praise the morning sun
Dreams rise in the cool calm day
Autumn winds blow crisp dried leaves
Blue sky shines and clouds play
November courts my imagination
Walk by the wise river flowing in light
Geese flock for their long journey south
Beauty amongst birch, oak and pine
The frosty glaze of night has melted
Many sea gulls still fish and feed
Green grass thrives on a sunny day
I walk in quiet with thoughts deep
Lately my dreams wake me with tears
So many people lonely and in pain
I miss so many friends that have left
Sometimes it all seems so vain
Why am I still here, my family gone?
Maybe God doesn't want to tell me?
Maybe the plan is revealed in living?
This bright morning shines with joy free
I look up, I know his grace is sufficient
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The angels of sleep
Asleep the child fell
When night cast its spell;
The angels came near
With laughter and cheer.
Her watch at its waking the mother was keeping:
'How sweet, my dear child, was your smile now while sleeping!'
To God mother went,
From home it was rent;
Asleep the child fell
'Neath tears' troublous spell.
But soon it heard laughter and mother-words tender;
The angels brought dreams full of childhood's rare splendor.
It grew with the years,
Till gone were the tears;
Asleep the child fell,
While thoughts cast their spell.
But faithful the angels their vigils were keeping,
The thoughts took and whispered: 'Have peace now, while sleeping!'
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Colours Fly & Catherine Wheel
''belle
Never turn your back
Great times attack
Inexpensive thrills
And I said belle
Of all the friends who care
Some should be seen
But never heard
Colours fly and catherine wheels
Poor girls cry
In the beauty of both worlds
Catch a boy fell falling
Fall in love fell falling
Catch a boy fell falling
Fall in love fell falling
Catch a boy fell falling
Out of the sky
''belle
When the pulses rise
Love will tranquilize
Just before it kills
And I said belle
You turn them on
With your reflection
I know so well
Colours fly and catherine wheels
Poor girls cry
In the beauty of both worlds
Catch a boy fell falling
Fall in love fell falling
Catch a boy fell falling
Fall in love fell falling
Catch a boy fell falling
Out of the sky
Catch a boy fell falling
Fall in love fell falling
Catch a boy fell falling
Fall in love fell falling
Catch a boy fell falling
Out of the sky
Out of the sky
Colours fly and catherine wheels
Some girl cry
Over her boyfriend
When colours fly and catherine wheels
So when the colours fly
And when the catherine wheels...
Words & music : simple minds (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Far Away
Thine presence yet unfading in my thoughts
Thine voice I merely hear in echo
The comfort mine mere imagination brought
Thine bright illuminating halo
A glimpse to the sky, thy beauty lies
A view in blizzards, thy image formed
A peek in the fireplace, Memory stays
A stare on waters, thy reflection showed
How much of you mine thoughts are bothered
Thy memory was never in serenity
Upon the nights, mine dreams be shattered
To completely fade after eternity.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Adapting To Global Warming Surge Storms
the earth is a degree warmly globally
an entire degree warmer in a century
meaning earth packs in more energy
into the atmosphere
meaning more evaporation
water in rain clouds
global warming means weather shifts
more rain faster harder causing floods
less rain more deserts causing famine
sea levels are coastline rising
glaciers ice caps are melting
means more frequent storm surges
so why build on frontline beaches coastline sand?
storms wind wave surges will inundate this land
move far inland rebuild on the solid rock mass!
won't take my advice fine
don't move stay storm blind
these words come to mind
'Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine
and puts them into practice is like a wise man
who built his house on the rock. The rain came down,
the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat
against that house; yet it did not fall, because it
had its foundation on the rock. But everyone
who hears these words of mine and does not put
them into practice is like a foolish man who built
his house on sand. The rain came down,
the streams rose, and the winds
blew and beat against that house,
and it fell with a great crash.' Matthew 7: 24-27.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Commingle of seasons and love
As i ventured back to love,
A new dawn and a whole new world through my eyes seen,
I felt the tranquil beauty of nature,
I 'am in love again,
Nature seems to show likeness,
The passerine birds sings in joy,
Daffodils and lilies bloomers, dazzled and waved,
The sun shone her warmth on me,
Its spring time,
I ventured to explore the beauty of nature,
The sun rosed up and fell again,
The birds sang and was silent,
The world sleeps,
The stars displayed glitterness,
The winds blew strong and disappeared,
The moon's always wane,
The greeness tends to fade,
The leaves feel off the trees,
I ventured through all these in love with her and nature,
Everywhere i look around is white,
The sun's shinning weak,
Its all white and cold in here,
Spring's gone, summer's gone, autumn's gone,
Winter is here to stay,
Silence, quietness and a gentle breeze,
In the cold light of the day i am,
The ponds freezes and solidifies,
Love sings wintry songs,
With a cold shoulder she tapped goodbye,
I breath the dewy air,
As dewdrops fell on me,
I am frosty, benumbed,
The air in me wreak coldness,
And so is the moment without her,
As i stand alone,
Flowers died, birds don't nests,
The living are indoors,
I am the only one outside,
Lost in wilderness,
In the fields of cold winter,
Mourning the love lost.
poem by Sukkum Chang
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At Even
Hush ye! Hush ye! My babe is sleeping.
Hush, ye winds, that are full of sorrow!
Hush, ye rains, from your weary weeping!
Give him slumber until to-morrow.
Hush ye, yet! In the years hereafter,
Surely sorrow is all his reaping;
Tears shall be in the place of laughter,
Give him peace for a while in sleeping.
Hush ye, hush! he is weak and ailing:
Send his mother his share of weeping.
Hush ye, winds, from your endless wailing;
Hush ye, hush ye, my babe is sleeping!
poem by Frederic Manning
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Spring In Lisnaboy
My many walks on memory lane i enjoy
'Twill soon be Spring again in old Lisnaboy
And though March 1 is the first of the calendar Spring
March can be wet and cold and few songbirds do sing.
But April she comes with her hosts of wildflowers
And the nesting birds sing in the mild April showers
And old Lisnaboy at it's best to be seen
And everywhere looking so lush and so green.
And April will fade to the beauty of May
And the swallows above the lush fields all the day
Will sing as they chase flies with young to be fed
In their mud nest on a rafter of some nearby shed
And at dawn before the sun shines in the sky
The skylark to greet the day upwards does fly
And the hawthorns heavy laden in their blossoms of white
In the full bloom of beauty a beautiful sight.
The bloom of lost youth we can never regain
But i do love my walks on memory lane
And a hark to the past is a thing i enjoy
Fond memories of Spring in old Lisnaboy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Clouds
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue;
Rain, the rain descends aslant from angry ashen skies;
Winds, the winds bemoan their loss of reins and calm control;
Shades, the shades appear suffused, alone in lurid haze;
Trees, the trees enshroud the eyes of misty brooding woods;
Leaves, the leaves desert their branches, falling one by one;
Birds, the birds intone a tune, a mourning monody;
Grass, the grass surrenders blades, impaled in truant winds;
Fields, the fields imbibe and quaff to quench an arid thirst;
Stones, the stones repulse the pearls, exploding tears of gloom;
Streams, the streams meander, hushed, to distant vapid shores;
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue
poem by Terry O'Leary
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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