By and By
Was the parting very bitter?
Was the hand clasped very tight?
Is a storm of tear-drops falling
From a face all sad and white?
Think not of it, in the future,
Calmer, fairer days are nigh--
Gaze not backward, but look onward
For a sunny 'by and by.'
Was the priceless love you lavished,
Sought for, played with, and then slain?
Were its crushed and quivering remnants
Calmly thrown you back again?
Calmly, too, those remnants gather,
Bring them home without a sigh;
Sweet returns they yet shall bring you
In the coming 'by and by.'
Are the eyelids very heavy?
Does the tired head long for rest?
Are the temples hot and throbbing,
And the hands together pressed?
Hope shall lay you on her bosom,
Cool the poor lips parched and dry,
And shall whisper, 'Rest is coming--
Rest forever, 'by and by.'
And when calmed and cheered and freshened
By her soul-inspiring voice,
Then look up, the heavens are brightening--
Cease your wailing and rejoice.
Cry not for the days departed,
None wil hear you, none reply;
But look up where light is breaking
O'er a brighter 'by and by.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Have You Ever Seen The Rain?
(john fogerty)
Producer for bonnie: jim steinman
Someone told me long ago
Theres a calm before the storm
I know, and its been coming for sometime
When its over so they say
Itll bring a sunny day
I know, shining down like water
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain
Coming down on a sunny day
Yesterday and days before
Sun is cold and rain is hot
I know, been that way for all my time
Till forever on it goes
Fill the circle fast and slow
I know, and I cant stop my wonder
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain
Coming down on a sunny day
Instrumental
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain
Coming down on a sunny day
Have you ever seen the rain...repeat and fade
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House In The Woods
Im going down to the house in the woods
See my little darling
Im going down, out in the fields
With summertime coming
Oh my love, what can I do
What can I do but love you?
For the rest of my days, the rest of my nights
What can I do but love you
Babe
Summertime falls on the house in the woods
Back by the power lines
I aint got a neighbor for nine or ten miles
Back in the tall pines
And hey, now baby, what can I do?
What am I goin to do but trust you?
The rest of my nig hts, the rest of my days
What can I do but love you?
Babe
Hey now baby, what can I do?
What am I going to do but love you
For the rest of my days, the rest of my nights
What could I do but love you?
Babe
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Precious Love
(coverdale/vandenberg)
I'm far from home,
And tired of this place,
I miss your good, good love
And your sweet embrace
Can't sleep at night
With you on my mind,
I just wanna run to you, baby,
Leave it all behind
'cause it seems so long
Since i heard your song,
I'm coming home to you, baby,
Back where i belong
Your precious love,
That's all i need,
Angel spread your wings
And bring it on home to me
Sometimes in my life
I don't know what to do,
Tho' i'm weak for myself
I try to be strong for you.
You're there when i need you,
After all these years,
So i send you this letter, baby,
Written in tears
'cause it seems so long
Since i heard your song,
I'm coming home to you, baby, baby,
Back where i belong
Your precious love,
That's all i need,
Angel spread your wings
And bring it on home to me
'cause it seems so long
Since i heard your song,
I'm coming home to you, baby,
Back where i belong
Your precious love,
That's all i need,
Angel spread your wings
And bring it, bring it, bring on home
Your precious love, your precious love,
That's all that i need.
Angel spread your wings and
Bring it, bring it, bring on home
Bring it baby, baby, that's all i want.
Your precious love
Your precious love, that's all i need
Your precious love, your precious love
Your precious love, that's all i need
C'mon bring on home, baby
Won't you bring on home
I need your love...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Home-Going
We must get home--for we have been away
So long it seems forever and a day!
And O so very homesick we have grown,
The laughter of the world is like a moan
In our tired hearing, and its songs as vain,--
We must get home--we must get home again!
We must get home: It hurts so, staying here,
Where fond hearts must be wept out tear by tear,
And where to wear wet lashes means, at best,
When most our lack, the least our hope of rest
When most our need of joy, the more our pain--
We must get home--we must get home again!
We must get home: All is so quiet there:
The touch of loving hands on brow and hair--
Dim rooms, wherein the sunshine is made mild---
The lost love of the mother and the child
Restored in restful lullabies of rain.--
We must get home--we must get home again!
We must get home, where, as we nod and drowse,
Time humors us and tiptoes through the house,
And loves us best when sleeping baby-wise,
With dreams--not tear-drops--brimming our clenched eyes,--
Pure dreams that know nor taint nor earthly stain--
We must get home--we must get home again!
We must get home; and, unremembering there
All gain of all ambitions otherwhere,
Rest--from the feverish victory, and the crown
Of conquest whose waste glory weighs us down.--
Fame's fairest gifts we toss back with disdain--
We must get home--we must get home again!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Rest My Soul
Behind the shadows angels sigh
Warm summer night by a stream
The shepherd sleeps under the stars
Illuminated with prayers of beauty
Venus shines like a great star
Red Mars is close to the earth
Realize that real love is never far
The Spirit has brought a new birth
Hear the sweet soothing waters
Rest in the bosom of eternal light
Joy is in the marvelous future
Hear the whisper of stars of night
Sorrow is apart of fleeting time
Meditations fill with stirring pools
Hope is a well of faith deep inside
The earth is his lowly footstool
Past every trial and every test
The Lion of Judah gives my soul rest
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Day Is Coming
Come hither lads and hearken,
for a tale there is to tell,
Of the wonderful days a-coming, when all
shall be better than well.
And the tale shall be told of a country,
a land in the midst of the sea,
And folk shall call it England
in the days that are going to be.
There more than one in a thousand
in the days that are yet to come,
Shall have some hope of the morrow,
some joy of the ancient home.
For then, laugh not, but listen,
to this strange tale of mine,
All folk that are in England
shall be better lodged than swine.
Then a man shall work and bethink him,
and rejoice in the deeds of his hand,
Nor yet come home in the even
too faint and weary to stand.
Men in that time a-coming
shall work and have no fear
For to-morrow’s lack of earning
and the hunger-wolf anear.
I tell you this for a wonder,
that no man then shall be glad
Of his fellow’s fall and mishap
to snatch at the work he had.
For that which the worker winneth
shall then be his indeed,
Nor shall half be reaped for nothing
by him that sowed no seed.
O strange new wonderful justice!
But for whom shall we gather the gain?
For ourselves and for each of our fellows,
and no hand shall labour in vain.
Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours,
and no more shall any man crave
For riches that serve for nothing
but to fetter a friend for a slave.
And what wealth then shall be left us
when none shall gather gold
To buy his friend in the market,
and pinch and pine the sold?
Nay, what save the lovely city,
and the little house on the hill,
And the wastes and the woodland beauty,
and the happy fields we till;
And the homes of ancient stories,
the tombs of the mighty dead;
And the wise men seeking out marvels,
and the poet’s teeming head;
And the painter’s hand of wonder;
and the marvellous fiddle-bow,
And the banded choirs of music:
all those that do and know.
For all these shall be ours and all men’s
nor shall any lack a share
Of the toil and the gain of living
in the days when the world grows fair.
Ah! such are the days that shall be!
But what are the deeds of to-day,
In the days of the years we dwell in,
that wear our lives away?
Why, then, and for what are we waiting?
There are three words to speak;
WE WILL IT, and what is the foeman
but the dream-strong wakened and weak?
O why and for what are we waiting?
while our brothers droop and die,
And on every wind of the heavens
a wasted life goes by.
How long shall they reproach us
where crowd on crowd they dwell,
Poor ghosts of the wicked city,
the gold-crushed hungry hell?
Through squalid life they laboured,
in sordid grief they died,
Those sons of a mighty mother,
those props of England’s pride.
They are gone; there is none can undo it,
nor save our souls from the curse;
But many a million cometh,
and shall they be better or worse?
It is we must answer and hasten,
and open wide the door
For the rich man’s hurrying terror,
and the slow-foot hope of the poor.
Yea, the voiceless wrath of the wretched,
and their unlearned discontent,
We must give it voice and wisdom
till the waiting-tide be spent.
Come, then, since all things call us,
the living and the dead,
And o’er the weltering tangle
a glimmering light is shed.
Come, then, let us cast off fooling,
and put by ease and rest,
For the Cause alone is worthy
till the good days bring the best.
Come, join in the only battle
wherein no man can fail,
Where whoso fadeth and dieth,
yet his deed shall still prevail.
Ah! come, cast off all fooling,
for this, at least, we know:
That the Dawn and the Day is coming,
and forth the Banners go.
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lover envies an Old Man
I envy the feeble old man
Dozing there in the sun.
When all you can do is done
And life is a shattered plan,
What is there better than
Dozing in the sun?
I could grow very still
Like an old stone on a hill
And content me with the one
Thing that is ever kind,
The tender sun.
I could grow deaf and blind
And never hear her voice,
Nor think I could rejoice
With her in any place;
And I could forget her face,
And love only the sun.
Because when we are tired,
Very very tired,
And cannot again be fired
By any hope,
The sun is so comforting!
A little bird under the wing
Of its mother, is not so warm.
Give me only the scope
Of an old chair
Out in the air,
Let me rest there,
Moving not,
Loving not,
Only dozing my days till my days be done,
Under the sun.
poem by Shaemas O'Sheel
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Coming Home
It's a long and lonely highway.
When you're traveling all alone.
I was on my way to nowhere.
But now i'm coming home.
I'm coming home.
I've been running through the fire.
I've been running for so long.
If i took it any higher.
Baby i would be still be gone.
But now i'm coming home, coming home.i'm coming home.
Coming home, coming home, i'm coming home.
Well my home was really never.
On a far and distant shore.
If i stayed away forever.
I could never miss you more.
And so i'm coming home,coming home.i'm coming home.
Coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
I think of all these years gone by.
Never even wondered why.
I never touched the ground.
All the time that's come and gone.
All the nights i've been alone.
And now i'm homeward bound.
I heard the thunder over canaan.
And i've heard the angels cry.
And their voices came revealing
"as you live,so will you die."
I'm coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
I'm coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
Coming home, coming home, i'm coming home
I'm coming home
I'm coming home, coming home, coming home...
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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March
Slayer of the winter, art thou here again?
O welcome, thou that's bring'st the summer nigh!
The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry
Make April ready for the throstle's song,
Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!
Yea, welcome March! and though I die ere June,
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,
Striving to swell the burden of the tune
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,
Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing: 'Oh joy! a new year is begun:
What happiness to look upon the sun!'
Ah, what begetteth all this storm of bliss
But death himself, who crying solemnly,
E'en from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us 'Rejoice, lest pleasureless ye die,
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.'
poem by William Morris
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Sigh
Can you hear the angels cry
Tears fall from a sorry sky
When two lovers say goodbye
That is when the heavens sigh.
Can you hear the daybreak
Do you feel the earthquake
Dreams, just like the snow - flake
Remnants of a heartache.
Did you see the nightfall
No one heard the wind call.
When one tires of love
Stars expire above.
Who will wipe your tears dry
Bring your fears a lullaby
When two souls touch, but now ask why?
That is when the heavens sigh.
poem by Kevin East
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Via Chicago
I dreamed about killing you again last night
And it felt alright to me
Dying on the banks of Embarcadero skies
I sat and watched you bleed
Buried you alive in a fireworks display
Raining down on me
You cold, hot blood ran away from me
To the sea
I painted my name on the back of a leaf
And I watched it float away
The hope I had in a notebook full of white, dry pages
Was all I tried to save
But the wind blew me back via Chicago
In the middle of the night
And all without fight
At the crush of veils and starlight
I know I'll make it back
One of these days and turn on your TV
To watch a man with a face like mine
Being chased down a busy street
When he gets caught, I wont get up
And I wont go to sleep
I'm coming home, I'm coming home
Via Chicago
Where the cups are cracked and hooked
Above the sink
They make me think
Crumbling ladder tears don't fall
They shine down your shoulders
And crawling is screw faster lash
I blow it with kisses
I rest my head on a pillowy star
And a cracked door moon
That says I havent gone too far
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
Via Chicago
Searching for a home
Searching for a home
Searching for a home
Via Chicago
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Child Of The Future
What can I give you child of the future,
Child of the Universe grand?
Only my wisdom, calmness and peace,
Through years of making a stand.
To you who hold the world for us all.
Your beauty to shine through the land.
With such warmth and devotion and love for this life,
I offer to you just my hand.
Oh child of the future how soundly you sleep.
I wonder what your life will bring.
May it only bring goodness and beauty and light.
Nothing but wonderful things.
I watch as you sleep and know there is hope,
That the future is all in your hands.
You're the child of the future, the child of our dreams.
The one to bring life to our lands.
What can I give you, you wonderful child,
As you rest at peace in your bed.
I can pass on my knowledge, my wisdom
And learning, and place it all inside your head.
Oh child of the future let love overthrow,
Evil with all that it means.
You're the next generation, I want you to know,
You're the product of all of our dreams.
So rest in your small bed and know as you sleep,
I'm standing beside you so strong.
As you take your path, be it ever so steep,
I'm walking with you all along.
poem by Rosi Caswell
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Fifty Years Apart
They sit in the winter gloaming,
And the fire burns bright between;
One has passed seventy summers,
And the other just seventeen.
They rest in a happy silence
As the shadows deepen fast;
One lives in a coming future,
And one in a long, long past.
Each dreams of a rush of music,
And a question whispered low;
One will hear it this evening,
One heard it long ago.
Each dreams of a loving husband
Whose brave heart is hers alone;
For one the joy is coming,
For one the joy has flown.
Each dreams of a life of gladness
Spent under the sunny skies;
And both the hope and the memory
Shine in the happy eyes.
Who knows which dream is the brightest?
And who knows which is the best?
The sorrow and joy are mingled,
But only the end is rest.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Listen to the QUR'AN
words beyond time utter in most sacred way,
present to every man’s heart, for the way the
true infinite presence in the soul lives forever
in every distinctive way of life
oh most precious words of God done in the
ancient and glorified land, bless and shower
our destiny, the rising of the spirited soul will
always bring the immortality of your given
wisdom in our eternal faith we live
our lips open the salvation of your sacred
whisper for the words is our command and guide
each ears to listen the coming salvation of
the coming day of our LIFE
the heaven may come down and the sky will
bring us to the heaven, as the departed soul will
gracefully return to the Father’s hand ….
poem by Antonio Liao
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Death’s Chill Between
Chide not; let me breathe a little,
For I shall not mourn him long;
Though the life-cord was so brittle,
The love-cord was very strong.
I would wake a little space
Till I find a sleeping-place.
You can go,—I shall not weep;
You can go unto your rest.
My heart-ache is all too deep,
And too sore my throbbing breast.
Can sobs be, or angry tears,
Where are neither hopes nor fears?
Though with you I am alone
And must be so everywhere,
I will make no useless moan,—
None shall say 'She could not bear:'
While life lasts I will be strong,—
But I shall not struggle long.
Listen, listen! Everywhere
A low voice is calling me,
And a step is on the stair,
And one comes ye do not see,
Listen, listen! Evermore
A dim hand knocks at the door.
Hear me; he is come again,—
My own dearest is come back.
Bring him in from the cold rain;
Bring wine, and let nothing lack.
Thou and I will rest together,
Love, until the sunny weather.
I will shelter thee from harm,—
Hide thee from all heaviness.
Come to me, and keep thee warm
By my side in quietness.
I will lull thee to thy sleep
With sweet songs:—we will not weep.
Who hath talked of weeping?—Yet
There is something at my heart,
Gnawing, I would fain forget,
And an aching and a smart.
—Ah! my mother, 'tis in vain,
For he is not come again.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Elegy On The Death Of A Young Man
Mournful groans, as when a tempest lowers,
Echo from the dreary house of woe;
Death-notes rise from yonder minster's towers!
Bearing out a youth, they slowly go;
Yes! a youth--unripe yet for the bier,
Gathered in the spring-time of his days,
Thrilling yet with pulses strong and clear,
With the flame that in his bright eye plays--
Yes, a son--the idol of his mother,
(Oh, her mournful sigh shows that too well!)
Yes! my bosom-friend,--alas my brother!--
Up! each man the sad procession swell!
Do ye boast, ye pines, so gray and old,
Storms to brave, with thunderbolts to sport?
And, ye hills, that ye the heavens uphold?
And, ye heavens, that ye the suns support!
Boasts the graybeard, who on haughty deeds
As on billows, seeks perfection's height?
Boasts the hero, whom his prowess leads
Up to future glory's temple bright!
If the gnawing worms the floweret blast,
Who can madly think he'll ne'er decay?
Who above, below, can hope to last,
If the young man's life thus fleets away?
Joyously his days of youth so glad
Danced along, in rosy garb beclad,
And the world, the world was then so sweet!
And how kindly, how enchantingly
Smiled the future,--with what golden eye
Did life's paradise his moments greet!
While the tear his mother's eye escaped,
Under him the realm of shadows gaped
And the fates his thread began to sever,--
Earth and Heaven then vanished from his sight.
From the grave-thought shrank he in affright--
Sweet the world is to the dying ever!
Dumb and deaf 'tis in that narrow place,
Deep the slumbers of the buried one!
Brother! Ah, in ever-slackening race
All thy hopes their circuit cease to run!
Sunbeams oft thy native hill still lave,
But their glow thou never more canst feel;
O'er its flowers the zephyr's pinions wave,
O'er thine ear its murmur ne'er can steal;
Love will never tinge thine eye with gold,
Never wilt thou embrace thy blooming bride,
Not e'en though our tears in torrents rolled--
Death must now thine eye forever hide!
Yet 'tis well!--for precious is the rest,
In that narrow house the sleep is calm;
There, with rapture sorrow leaves the breast,--
Man's afflictions there no longer harm.
Slander now may wildly rave o'er thee,
And temptation vomit poison fell,
O'er the wrangle on the Pharisee,
Murderous bigots banish thee to hell!
Rogues beneath apostle-masks may leer,
And the bastard child of justice play,
As it were with dice, with mankind here,
And so on, until the judgment day!
O'er thee fortune still may juggle on,
For her minions blindly look around,--
Man now totter on his staggering throne,
And in dreary puddles now be found!
Blest art thou, within thy narrow cell!
To this stir of tragi-comedy,
To these fortune-waves that madly swell,
To this vain and childish lottery,
To this busy crowd effecting naught,
To this rest with labor teeming o'er,
Brother!--to this heaven with devils--fraught,
Now thine eyes have closed forevermore.
Fare thee well, oh, thou to memory dear,
By our blessings lulled to slumbers sweet!
Sleep on calmly in thy prison drear,--
Sleep on calmly till again we meet!
Till the loud Almighty trumpet sounds,
Echoing through these corpse-encumbered hills,
Till God's storm-wind, bursting through the bounds
Placed by death, with life those corpses fills--
Till, impregnate with Jehovah's blast,
Graves bring forth, and at His menace dread,
In the smoke of planets melting fast,
Once again the tombs give up their dead!
Not in worlds, as dreamed of by the wise,
Not in heavens, as sung in poet's song,
Not in e'en the people's paradise--
Yet we shall o'ertake thee, and ere long.
Is that true which cheered the pilgrim's gloom?
Is it true that thoughts can yonder be
True, that virtue guides us o'er the tomb?
That 'tis more than empty phantasy?
All these riddles are to thee unveiled!
Truth thy soul ecstatic now drinks up,
Truth in radiance thousandfold exhaled
From the mighty Father's blissful cup.
Dark and silent bearers draw, then, nigh!
To the slayer serve the feast the while!
Cease, ye mourners, cease your wailing cry!
Dust on dust upon the body pile!
Where's the man who God to tempt presumes?
Where the eye that through the gulf can see?
Holy, holy, holy art thou, God of tombs!
We, with awful trembling, worship Thee!
Dust may back to native dust be ground,
From its crumbling house the spirit fly,
And the storm its ashes strew around,--
But its love, its love shall never die!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Time Has No Room in My Mind
Lay your head and rest it on my shoulder.
Feel you can deeply breathe and free yourself
From tensions I am here to help release.
Together...
Let us bring to each other peace.
At least,
We can try to cease discomforts.
There is no time when my love has no time for you.
You are the light that ignites my joy.
There is more hope and faith when safely placed.
You and I are together...
In this escape we choose.
And feel sheltered from stormy weather,
Together.
Lay your head and rest it on my shoulder.
Remove your shoes and I will massage your feet!
Shower in our nakedness...
We can and should,
This activity repeat!
There is no time when my love has no time for you.
With you in my arms...
Time has no room in my mind to shift gears!
Not with you near.
To hear you say my love you'll keep!
As you whisper my name and fall fast to sleep!
There is no room in my mind,
When my love has no time for you.
And I within,
Set time aside to undo.
To let us be to know just love!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Look Into The Future
Look into the future by journey
Look into the future where would it be
Space between the lives whatever will I see yah
How long will I wander before I really know
What Im here to do and where I have to go
Yes Im coming home
Yes you know Im coming home someday
You know Im coming home
Im coming home some way
There you are my shining start
Can you remember who you are
The role that you play from day to dayayayay
You know its not know its not the only way
Still Im coming home
Yes you know know Im coming home someday
The futures brighter now its not so far away
Dodododododododododo
Yes Im coming home Im coming home some way
Guitar/piano fill
But still Im coming home,
Yes you know Im coming home someday
The futures brighter now its not so far away
Guitar solo
Its right around the corner
Just around the corner, oh no
Just around the corner, oh no no no ho
Just around the corner, oh no no
song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Skylark's Message
SWEET little upturned faces,
Poor little hands and feet,
Little eyes that are careworn and anxious
From hunger and want in the street,
Hear ye that skylark singing
5
Like an angel far away?
'Tis bringing to you a message
From the Golden Gates of day.
Ah, little know ye of the meadows,
Poor little blistered feet,
10
Down in the smoke of the city,
Down in the noise of the street!
But it sings of a better country,
Where tired little hearts can rest;
Of a sun that shines for ever,
15
And the love of a Father's breast.
O poor little weary spirits,
I would that ye knew its song,
For the world is very heartless,
And your journey may be long;
20
And ye need such heavenly music
To cheer you in the night,
Little hearts that are now so noble,
Little souls that are now so white.
I would that ye heard it always,
25
That sweet bird's voice within,
When the heart is sad and lonely
In the long, long struggle with sin;
Till a rest comes out of the sunset
For the labouring hands and feet,
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And a silence has fallen for ever
On the noise and the dust of the street.
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From The Spanish Cancioneros
I.
Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful,
Heart so full of care and cumber,
I was lapped in rest and slumber,
Ye have made me wakeful, wistful!
In this life of labor endless
Who shall comfort my distresses?
Querulous my soul and friendless
In its sorrow shuns caresses.
Ye have made me, ye have made me
Querulous of you, that care not,
Eyes so tristful, yet I dare not
Say to what ye have betrayed me.
II.
Some day, some day
O troubled breast,
Shalt thou find rest.
If Love in thee
To grief give birth,
Six feet of earth
Can more than he;
There calm and free
And unoppressed
Shalt thou find rest.
The unattained
In life at last,
When life is passed,
Shall all be gained;
And no more pained,
No more distressed,
Shalt thou find rest.
III.
Come, O Death, so silent flying
That unheard thy coming be,
Lest the sweet delight of dying
Bring life back again to me.
For thy sure approach perceiving,
In my constancy and pain
I new life should win again,
Thinking that I am not living.
So to me, unconscious lying,
All unknown thy coming be,
Lest the sweet delight of dying
Bring life back again to me.
Unto him who finds thee hateful,
Death, thou art inhuman pain;
But to me, who dying gain,
Life is but a task ungrateful.
Come, then, with my wish complying,
All unheard thy coming be,
Lest the sweet delight of dying
Bring life back again to me.
IV.
Glove of black in white hand bare,
And about her forehead pale
Wound a thin, transparent veil,
That doth not conceal her hair;
Sovereign attitude and air,
Cheek and neck alike displayed
With coquettish charms arrayed,
Laughing eyes and fugitive;--
This is killing men that live,
'Tis not mourning for the dead.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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