Sighs
All night I muse, all day I cry,
Ay me!
Yet still I wish, though still deny,
Ay me!
I sigh, I mourn, and say that still
I only live my joys to kill,
Ay me !
I feed the pain that on me feeds,
Ay me!
My wound I stop not, though it bleeds,
Ay me!
Heart, be content, it must be so,
For springs were made to overflow,
Ay me!
Then sigh and weep, and mourn thy fill,
Ay me!
Seek no redress, but languish still,
Ay me!
Their griefs more willing they endure
That know when they are past recure,
Ay me!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Related quotes
Sighs
All night I muse, all day I cry,
Ay me!
Yet still I wish, though still deny,
Ay me!
I sigh, I mourn, and say that still
I only live my joys to kill,
Ay me !
I feed the pain that on me feeds,
Ay me!
My wound I stop not, though it bleeds,
Ay me!
Heart, be content, it must be so,
For springs were made to overflow,
Ay me!
Then sigh and weep, and mourn thy fill,
Ay me!
Seek no redress, but languish still,
Ay me!
Their griefs more willing they endure
That know when they are past recure,
Ay me!
Sappho
I sigh at day-dawn, and I sigh
When the dull day is passing by.
I sigh at evening, and again
I sigh when night brings sleep to men.
Oh! it were far better to die
Than thus forever mourn and sigh,
And in death's dreamless sleep to be
Unconscious that none weep for me;
Eased from my weight of heaviness,
Forgetful of forgetfulness,
Resting from care and pain and sorrow
Thro' the long night that knows no morrow;
Living unloved, to die unknown,
Unwept, untended, and alone.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Weep no more
WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone:
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as winged dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.
poem by John Fletcher
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Holy Sonnet 3
O! might those sighs and tears return again
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vain.
In mine Idolatry what showers of rain
Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent?
That sufferance was my sin, I now repent;
'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain.
Th' hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joys, for relief
Of coming ills. To poor me is allow'd
No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
Th' effect and cause, the punishment and sin.
poem by John Donne from Holy Sonnets
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To a Young Child
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Spring and Fall: To a young child
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Sonnet XVI: Happy In Sleep
Happy in sleep, waking content to languish,
Embracing clouds by night; in daytime, mourn;
All things I loath save her and mine own anguish,
Pleas'd in my hurt inured to live forlorn.
Nought do I crave but love, death, or my Lady,
Hoarse with crying mercy, mercy yet my merit;
So man vows and prayers e'er made I,
That now at length t'yield, mere pity were it.
But still the Hydra of my cares renewing,
Revives new sorrows of her fresh disdaining;
Still must I go the summer winds pursuing,
Finding no end nor period of my paining.
Wail all my life, my griefs do touch so nearly,
And thus I live, because I love her dearly.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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The Heart Of Joy
DEAR, do you sigh that your love may not stay with you,
Laugh with and play with you,
Weep with and pray with you,
All his life through?
Think, O my heart, if you never had found me,
Crept through the cere-clothes the world has wound round me,
What would you do?
Wide is the world, and so many would sigh for you,
Long for and cry for you,
Weep for and die for you,
You being you.
I only I, am the man you could sigh for,
Live for and suffer for, sorrow and die for,
Twenty lives through.
Think! Had I missed you! The world was so wide for us,
Traps on each side for us,
Nothing as guide for us,
Yet I and you
Found Life's great treasure, the last and the first, love;
Life's little things, Time and Space, do their worst, love!
What, after all, can they do?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Love's Diet
TO what a cumbersome unwieldiness
And burdenous corpulence my love had grown,
But that I did, to make it less,
And keep it in proportion,
Give it a diet, made it feed upon
That which love worst endures, discretion
Above one sigh a day I allow'd him not,
Of which my fortune, and my faults had part;
And if sometimes by stealth he got
A she sigh from my mistress' heart,
And thought to feast upon that, I let him see
'Twas neither very sound, nor meant to me.
If he wrung from me a tear, I brined it so
With scorn and shame, that him it nourish'd not;
If he suck'd hers, I let him know
'Twas not a tear which he had got;
His drink was counterfeit, as was his meat;
For eyes, which roll towards all, weep not, but sweat.
Whatever he would dictate I writ that,
But burnt her letters when she writ to me;
And if that favour made him fat,
I said, "If any title be
Convey'd by this, ah! what doth it avail,
To be the fortieth name in an entail?"
Thus I reclaim'd my buzzard love, to fly
At what, and when, and how, and where I choose.
Now negligent of sports I lie,
And now, as other falconers use,
I spring a mistress, swear, write, sigh, and weep;
And the game kill'd, or lost, go talk or sleep.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Blues For The Widow Of The Victim Of A Racist Attck
Mourn, and mourn hard
Your tears shall fall wasted and uncollected
On this damp slab of concrete
Mourn though young widow
Weep because your husband is dead
Cry because the crowd has left and you're alone
And ganged up against by the priests and the
Celebrity pastors who piously tell you
To forgive and forget
Sob because you're surrounded by the officials
Whom the wise state has instructed to order you
To accept reconciliation without justice
Cry the river of your tears because
Your dear departed husband is dead
And your lovely children will know what it's like
To miss the soothing voice of their father
So brutally snatched away from them
And dragged behind a speeding vehicle and fed
To the lions for the sick amusement
Of a deranged and kaffir hating racist
Mourn for yourself mama
Now you'll face the world alone
With the dubious title of a single parent
Hanging on your fragile and emaciated neck
Mourn and cry and weep for the widows
Of the victims of genocide
Mourn and cry and weep for the sisters
Who are cornered and raped by their xenophobic neighbors
Mourn and cry and weep for the victims of the hurricane of
The internecine strife of ethnic cleansing and tribal warfare
Mourn and cry and weep for they
Who die unlamented in the flower of their youth
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Final Thoughts
Final Thoughts
Sigh on to you just lost the blow
Sigh on to you
Sigh on to you My friend
Fell thoughts of soul's descend
Final Thoughts
Sigh on to you My friend
Might be is this the end
The pain hurts the fear inside
Kill be the weak to ride
Countdown to fossil down
Show Me the cancerous meltdown
???, the architects of life
???
Final Thoughts
Sigh on to you My friend
Might be is this the end
Sigh on to you
Sigh on to you
Final Thoughts
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lyrael's Father
Father I’m listening
To all your travels and plans
Take me away
From all this troubled land
A sigh is just a sigh
And he knows you’ll never wake
Find your way home, Father
To live a little more
Father I never knew you well
You never really knew me
Wrap me in your velvet cloak
Do everything you’re meant to be
A sigh is just a sigh
And he knows you’re trying hard
Keep me safe and warm, Father
Don’t deny me
Mother she’s gone now
She was always there
Warm with compassion
Now I’m only scared
A sigh is just a sigh
You never knew me well
Tell me all your stories
Tell me about the world
Don’t live to ignore me
I didn’t do you wrong
You’ll find out soon enough
When all of you in me has gone
A Father’s meant to be there
Teach their children how to fight
In this big bad world with tough strict laws
To give it all their might
But how can I call you “Father”?
When you’re just another person to me
I have your genes and features
But not the love I need
A sigh is just a sigh
He’ll say Lyrael I’m proud
Of all the things I’ve seen you do
You’re my little girl
poem by Lyrael Myrna
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Mourn Me Whilst I Live (My living epitaph)
Mourn me now whilst I live
For not knowing the who, what, why, where and when
When I die
Do not sigh or cry
Be happy that I am done
Like the waning of the sun.
RG
poem by Robert Green
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Elegy in April and September
Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen...
I heard the flush of footsteps through the loose leaves,
And a low whistle by the water's brim.
Still! Daffodil! Nay, hail me not so gaily,-
Your gay gold lily daunts me and deceives,
Who follow gleams more golden and more slim.
Look, brook! O run and look, O run!
The vain reeds shook? - Yet search till gray sea heaves,
And I will stray among these fields for him.
Gaze, daisy! Stare through haze and glare,
And mark the hazardous stars all dawns and eves,
For my eye withers, and his star wanes dim.
2
Close, rose, and droop, heliotrope,
And shudder, hope! The shattering winter blows.
Drop, heliotrope, and close, rose...
Mourn, corn, and sigh, rye.
Men garner you, but youth's head lies forlorn.
Sigh, rye, and mourn, corn...
Brood, wood, and muse, yews,
The ways gods use we have not understood.
Muse, yews, and brood, wood...
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Teach Your Children
You, who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good bye.
Teach your children well,
Their father's hell did slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picked,
The one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why,
If they told you,
You will cry,
So just look at them & sigh
And know they love you.
And you, of tender years,
Can't know the fears
That your elders grew by,
And so please help them with your youth,
They seek the truth, before they can die.
Teach your parents well,
Their children's hell,
Will slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picked,
The one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why,
If they told you,
You will cry,
So just look at them & sigh
And know they love you.
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell, Fair Armida. A Song
Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and my grief!
In vain I have loved you, and hope no relief;
Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe,
Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me despair:
Now called by my honour, I seek with content
The fate which in pity you would not prevent:
To languish in love were to find, by delay,
A death that's more welcome the speediest way.
On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire,
The danger is less than in hopeless desire;
My death's wound you give me, though far off I bear
My fall from your sight—not to cost you a tear:
But if the kind flood on a wave should convey,
And under your window my body should lay,
The wound on my breast when you happen to see,
You'll say with a sigh—it was given by me.
poem by John Dryden
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Duet In Harmony
Wanting it more to stay.
This feeling I have and prayed for.
If it should leave,
My needs would feed
Off misery
And pain I made.
Escapade days.
This is one I would save.
Caught in between...
A love I daydream,
And past thoughts I can not free
From me.
Who is that one in a crowd?
That one that looks at me now!
With a smile that seems just for me,
And a nod or two.
Who is that one in a crowd?
That one that looks at me now!
With a smile that seems just for me,
And a nod or two.
Not knowing one nod would do!
Sitting with thoughts.
My heart with memories brought.
To give me reason to sigh...
And wonder why,
I deny I'm all alone!
If only...
You were with me,
To see the way I can be.
Wishing...
More for romance.
And just once more chance...
To duet in harmony,
When greeted!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Night
In the night, in the night,
When thou liest alone,
Ah, the sounds that are blown
In the freaks of the breeze,
By the spirit that sends
The voice of far friends
With the sigh of the seas
In the night!
In the night, in the night,
When thou liest alone,
Ah, the ghosts that make moan
From the days that are sped:
The old dreams, the old deeds,
The old wound that still bleeds,
And the face of the dead
In the night!
In the night, in the night,
When thou liest alone,
With the grass and the stone
O'er thy chamber so deep,
Ah, the silence at last,
Life's dissonance past,
And only pure sleep
In the night!
poem by William Watson
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The First Approach Of The Sweet Spring
The first approach of the sweet spring
Returning here once more,--
The memory of the love that holds
In my fond heart such power,--
The thrush again his song assaying,--
The little rills o'er pebbles playing,
And sparkling as they fall,--
The memory recall
Of her on whom my heart's desire
Is, shall be, fixed till I expire.
With every season fresh and new
That love is more inspiring:
Her eyes, her face, all bright with joy,--
Her coming, her retiring,
Her faithful words, her winning ways,--
That sweet look, kindling up the blaze,
Of love, so gently still,
To wound, but not to kill,--
So that when most I weep and sigh,
So much the higher springs my joy.
poem by Le Châtelain de Coucy
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My Thoughts To-Night
I sit by the fire musing,
With sad and downcast eye,
And my laden breast gives utt’rance
To many a weary sigh;
Hushed is each worldly feeling,
Dimmed is each day-dream bright—
O heavy heart, can’st tell me
Why I’m so sad to-night?
’Tis not that I mourn the freshness
Of youth fore’er gone by—
Its life with pulse high springing,
Its cloudless, radiant eye—
Finding bliss in every sunbeam,
Delight in every part,
Well springs of purest pleasure
In its high ardent heart.
Nor yet is it for those dear ones
Who’ve passed from earth away
That I grieve—in spirit kneeling
Above their beds of clay;
O, no! while my glance upraising
To yon calm shining sky,
My pale lips, quivering, murmur,
“They are happier than I!”
But, alas! my spirit mourns
As, weary, it looks back—
Finding naught of good or holy
On life’s past barren track—
I mourn for the countless errors
That on mem’ry’s page crowd on,
And sorrow for lost chances
Of good I might have done.
But, courage! I must arouse me,
The day is not yet o’er,
And I still may make atonement
Ere leaving life’s last shore:
One act of meek oblation,
A tear of penance bright,
Will be counted as rare treasures
In heaven’s loving sight.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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