The Countersign
Alas! the weary hours pass slow,
The night is very dark and still;
And in the marshes far below
I hear the bearded whippoorwill;
I scarce can see a yard ahead,
My ears are strained to catch each sound;
I hear the leaves about me shed,
And the spring's bubbling through the ground.
Along the beaten path I pace,
Where white rags mark my sentry's track;
In formless shrubs I seem to trace
The foeman's form with bending back,
I think I see him crouching low:
I stop and list - I stoop and peer,
Until the neighboring hillocks grow
To groups of soldiers far and near.
With ready piece I wait and watch,
Until my eyes, familiar grown,
Detect each harmless earthen notch,
And turn guerillas into stone;
And then, amid the lonely gloom,
Beneath the tall old chestnut trees,
My silent marches I resume,
And think of other times than these.
Sweet visions through the silent night!
The deep bay-windows fringed with vine.
The room within, in softened light,
The tender milk-white hand in mine;
The timid pressure, and the pause
That often overcame our speech -
That time when by mysterious laws
We each felt all in all to each.
And then that bitter, bitter day
When came the final hour to part;
When clad in soldier's honest gray,
I pressed her weeping to my heart;
Too proud of me to bid me stay,
Too fond of me to let me go, -
I had to tear myself away,
And left her, stolid in my woe.
So rose the dream - so passed the night -
When, distant in the darksome glen,
Approaching up the sombre height
I heard the solid march of men;
Till over stubble, over sward,
And fields where lay the golden sheaf,
I saw the lantern of the guard
Advancing with the night relief.
'Halt! Who goes there?' My challenge cry,
It rings along the watchful line;
'Relief!' I hear a voice reply;
'Advance and give the countersign!'
With bayonet at the charge I wait -
The corporal gives the mystic spell;
With arms aport I charge my mate,
Then onward pass, and all is well.
But in the tent that night awake,
I ask, if in the fray I fall,
Can I the mystic answer make
When the angelic sentries call?
And pray that Heaven may so ordain,
Where'er I go, what fate be mine,
Whether in pleasure or in pain,
I still may have the countersign.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Santa Claus
"HALT! Who goes there?” The sentry’s call
Rose on the midnight air
Above the noises of the camp,
The roll of wheels, the horses’ tramp.
The challenge echoed over all—
“Halt! Who goes there?”
A quaint old figure clothed in white,
He bore a staff of pine,
An ivy-wreath was on his head.
“Advance, oh friend,” the sentry said,
“Advance, for this is Christmas night,
And give the countersign.”
“No sign nor countersign have I,
Through many lands I roam
The whole world over far and wide,
To exiles all at Christmastide,
From those who love them tenderly
I bring a thought of home.
“From English brook and Scottish burn,
From cold Canadian snows,
From those far lands ye hold most dear
I bring you all a greeting here,
A frond of a New Zealand fern,
A bloom of English rose.
“From faithful wife and loving lass
I bring a wish divine,
For Christmas blessings on your head.”
“I wish you well,” the sentry said,
“But here, alas! you may not pass
Without the countersign.”
He vanished—and the sentry’s tramp
Re-echoed down the line.
It was not till the morning light
The soldiers knew that in the night
Old Santa Claus had come to camp
Without the countersign.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Camps Of Green
NOT alone those camps of white, O soldiers,
When, as order'd forward, after a long march,
Footsore and weary, soon as the light lessen'd, we halted for the
night;
Some of us so fatigued, carrying the gun and knapsack, dropping
asleep in our tracks;
Others pitching the little tents, and the fires lit up began to
sparkle;
Outposts of pickets posted, surrounding, alert through the dark,
And a word provided for countersign, careful for safety;
Till to the call of the drummers at daybreak loudly beating the
drums,
We rose up refresh'd, the night and sleep pass'd over, and resumed
our journey,
Or proceeded to battle. 10
Lo! the camps of the tents of green,
Which the days of peace keep filling, and the days of war keep
filling,
With a mystic army, (is it too order'd forward? is it too only
halting awhile,
Till night and sleep pass over?)
Now in those camps of green--in their tents dotting the world;
In the parents, children, husbands, wives, in them--in the old and
young,
Sleeping under the sunlight, sleeping under the moonlight, content
and silent there at last,
Behold the mighty bivouac-field, and waiting-camp of all,
Of corps and generals all, and the President over the corps and
generals all,
And of each of us, O soldiers, and of each and all in the ranks we
fought, 20
(There without hatred we shall all meet.)
For presently, O soldiers, we too camp in our place in the bivouac-
camps of green;
But we need not provide for outposts, nor word for the countersign,
Nor drummer to beat the morning drum.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Next Dark Night
The night is silent,
I'm in the middle,
what a deafening sound
the darkness is comforting
no one see me while I'm crashing.
But I wish, I have you like my candle
so, I don't have to stumble,
If you hear me, would you come
will you stay with me through the dark.
Because the night is cooler,
darker
older,
closer, I can't breath.
My mind is turning, searching for you,
why are you so far
I wanna be where you are,
stay with me,
let's stay with each other
through the next dark night.
Through the next dark night
maybe I won't be afraid
to do what is right
just hold me tight
and don't let me do the fight....
alone.
I know, we can make it
no matter how high the wall
no matter how dark the night,
we could pass
we could stand tall
we don't let each other fall
even the next dark night...
come.
poem by Yellowbell Alamanda
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Hardest Part Is The Night (live, Japan)
In the heat of the street of the city
A young boy hides the pain
And he walks so tall, trying to hang on
But he knows he's going down again
I know he's going down...
Darkness fades he's the prince of his city
In a place where they all know your name
You can see in their eyes life so paralyzed.
Your just a pawn in a losin' game
You lose at life it ain't no game
Hear their cries
The hardest part is the night
(In the night, hear their cries, in the night)
Stay alive
The hardest part is the night, it's the night, it's the night...
All alone in a place where the lonely
They all have to walk through the rain
And they dance on the edge where you only
Only pray that it has to end
That the night ain't no friend
Hear their cries
The hardest part is the night
(In the night, hear their cries, in the night)
Stay alive
The hardest part is the night, it's the night, it's the night...
(X 2)
These four walls they could tell you some stories
About lying and dying and fame
There's a price that you pay for the glory
About losing and choosing and pain.
Hear their cries
The hardest part is the night
In the night, hear their cries, in the night
Stay alive
In the night, stay alive, in the night
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Salvation Sought
Alone in the dark my soul does weep,
My will to live is growing weak,
The sins of my heart clog my veins,
My blood runs slow I feel no pain,
Like death does prowl from in the dark,
To halt my pain with moves so stark.
To steal my essence and rob my eyes,
Of this dreamers melancholy disguise.
But wait! If the answers are so clear,
Why is my soul still wailing here?
My silent screams pearce the night,
Won't someone lead me to the light.
And then a sound from way on high,
True love I hear my soul does sigh.
An angel swoops with gentle grace
She carries me to a higher place.
I reach for her in my time of need,
My broken heart it starts to bleed.
For something new and oh so grand,
I crave the touch of her soft hand.
Tears once bitter now so sweet,
For her alone my heart does beat.
I cried alone into the night,
And fate sent you to be my light...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Cold winter night
It was a cold winter night.
All was deadly still.
My guts so tight
I must kill!
The cry of a wolf enters my head
Like a train whistle that echoes far away.
Can it be…something lives on this winter night?
Follow the sound and pray
It does not go away.
My hunger juices flowing; I go.
I and the wolf both now know
Neither is alone in the land of snow.
Oh, how I wish I had his sight
On this cold winter night
The north wind moved in the night before.
The ground all snow and bitter cold…so bitter cold.
The sky filled with stars.
The snow grows old.
My guts so tight
What a cold, cold winter night!
The wolf stays hidden from my sight
With it’s furry coat of gray and white.
He glides across the snow without sound
Like a ballerina tiptoeing over the ground.
My guts so tight
On this bitter cold winter night
I with my blood running slow
My hands burning cold; my face red glow
Driven by the pain in my gut
On this cold-cold bitter winter night
I must kill
To make the night still
So the hunger pains
Will be gone again
I hear nothing on this cold winter night
My hair stands up on the back of my neck
I fear the wolf knows
I turn
Crutch to spring
His fangs showing white; my knife in my hand
We circle like two roosters in a pen.
For one this will be the end.
The pain in my gut is still tight
I will kill but not for the trill
On such a killing bitter cold winter night
With the grace of a cat he springs to flight
My throat his aim on this cold winter night
My knife hits his heart…he hunches in pain;
His fangs rip my throat cutting the jugular vein.
The snows now stain on this cold winter night.
Blood and flesh flung upon the snow
Cries of pain, moans of death…soon will go
From this bitter cold ground
All is still on winter’s playground.
The wolf dances no more
My lips move but there is no sound.
My gut is still tight
I feel alright
No more time to fight
On this bitter cold winter night
Wind and snow now fill the air.
The wolf has an empty den.
The snow will be tracked no more.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
Genocide complete
In a galaxy so far
poem by Ronald Brissette
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The Dying Hour
I.
OH! watch me; watch me still
Thro' the long night's dreary hours,
Uphold by thy firm will
Worn Nature's sinking powers!
II.
While yet thy face is there
(The loose locks round it flying),
So young, and fresh, and fair,
I feel not I am dying!
III.
Stoop down, and kiss my brow!
The shadows round me closing
Warn me that dark and low
I soon shall be reposing.
IV.
But while those pitying eyes
Are bending thus above me,
In vain the death-dews rise,--
Thou dost regret and love me!
V.
Then watch me thro' the night,
Thro' my broken, fitful slumber;
By the pale lamp's sickly light
My dying moments number!
VI.
Thy fond and patient smile
Shall soothe my painful waking;
Thy voice shall cheer me while
The slow grey dawn is breaking!
VII.
The battle-slain, whose thirst
No kindly hand assuages,
Whose low faint farewells burst
Unheard, while combat rages,--
VIII.
The exiled, near whose bed
Some vision'd form seems weeping,
Whose steps shall never tread
The land where he lies sleeping,--
IX.
The drown'd, whose parting breath
Is caught by wild winds only,--
Theirs is the bitter death,
Beloved, for they die lonely!
X.
But thus, tho' rack'd, to lie,
Thou near, tho' full of sadness,
Leaves still, e'en while I die,
A lingering gleam of gladness!
XI.
I feel not half my pain
When to mine thy fond lip presses,--
I warm to life again
Beneath thy soft caresses!
XII.
Once more, oh! yet once more
Fling, fling thy white arms round me,
As oft in days of yore
Their gentle clasp hath bound me;
XIII.
And hold me to that breast
Which heaves so full with sorrow--
Who knows where I may rest
In the dark and blank to-morrow?
XIV.
Ah! weep not--it shall be
An after-thought to cheer thee,
That while mine eyes could see,
And while mine ears could hear thee--
XV.
Thy voice and smile were still
The spells on which I doated,
And thou, through good and ill,
To me and mine devoted!
XVI.
And calmly by my tomb,
When the low bright day declineth,
And athwart the cypress gloom
The mellow sunset shineth,--
XVII.
Thou'lt sit and think of Him,
Who, of Heaven's immortal splendour,
Had a dream on earth, though dim,
In thy love so pure and tender,--
XVIII.
Who scarcely feels thy touch,--
Whom thy voice can rouse no longer,--
But whose love on earth was such,
That only death was stronger.
XIX.
Yes, sit, but not in tears!
Thine eyes in faith uplifting,
From thy lot of changeful years,
To the Heaven where naught is shifting.
XX.
From this world, where all who love
Are doomed alike to sever,
To the glorious realms above,
Where they dwell in peace for ever!
XXI.
And then such hope shall beam
From the grave where I lie sleeping,
This bitter hour shall seem
Too vague and far for weeping--
XXII.
And grief--ah! hold me now!
My fluttering pulse is failing,--
The death-dews chill my brow,--
The morning light is paling!
XXIII.
I seek thy gaze in vain,--
Earth reels and fades before me;
I die!--but feel no pain,--
Thy sweet face shining o'er me!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One More Night
No jacket required, 1985
One more night, one more night
Ive been trying ooh so long to let you know
Let you know how I feel
And if I stumble if I fall, just help me back
So I can make you see
Please give me one more night, give me one more night
One more night cos I cant wait forever
Give me just one more night, oh just one more night
Oh one more night cos I cant wait forever
Ive been sitting here so long
Wasting time, just staring at the phone
And I was wondering should I call you
Then I thought maybe youre not alone
Please give me one more night, give me just one more night
Oh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
Please give me one more night, ooh just one more night
Oh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
Give me one more night, give me just one more night
Ooh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
Like a river to the sea
I will always be with you
And if you sail away
I will follow you
Give me one more night, give me just one more night
Oh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
I know therell never be a time youll ever feel the same
And I know its only words
But if you change your mind you know that Ill be here
And maybe we both can learn
Give me just one more night, give me just one more night
Ooh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
Give me just one more night, give me just one more night
Ooh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Distant Spring
I who love the Spring so well
Shall be sleeping, some glad day,
When her hosts come back to dwell
In their old, familiar way.
I shall live, alas! no more
In some distant April hour,
When the Spring finds wide her door,
Calling leaf, and bloom, and flower.
I shall sleep--but I shall dream
In my home beneath the ground,
And my slumbering heart shall teem
With its visions deep, profound.
I shall know, ere you will guess
(Though with life I have no part),
What new golden loveliness
Stirs within the old earth's heart.
I shall hear the first soft sound
When the Spring is born anew,
And rejoice, beneath the ground,
At the bliss to come to you.
And the dreams that I shall dream,
In that Spring when I am dead,
May arise until they seem
Blossoms white and blossoms red!
poem by Charles Hanson Towne
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I Hear Your Voice
Out of the lonely blue
U went away and left me
(I... I hear your voice)
Without, without one single word
(I... I hear your voice)
Night after night like a ghost from the past
(I... I hear your voice calling in the night)
Your voice is all I heard
I cant take it, baby (I...)
Dont let me die like this
I remember just like it was yesterday
I woke up, baby, and U were gone
I didnt even wanna carry myself up outta bed
Let alone, I didnt wanna carry on
Cuz I could hear (I hear your voice calling in the night)
I cant stop it no matter how hard I try
I can hear (I hear your sound calling in the dark)
In a word, I feel like I wanna die
I started lookin, lookin from dusk till dawn
4 ways that I wouldnt miss U so much (I hear your voice)
I even bought a new dress, uh, but when I put it on
I could still, huh, still feel your touch
And I can hear (I hear your voice calling in the night)
I cant stop it no matter how hard I try
I can hear (I hear your sound calling in the dark)
In a word, I feel like I wanna die (I...)
My friends tell me that I need a new love
A bird in hand beats 2 in the bush (I hear your voice)
What my friends dont know, huh, and I aint about 2 tellem
Is that Ure the only bird, Ure the only one who knows what buttons 2 push
It dont take no scientist 2 tell U whats wrong with me
It dont take good vision, huh, 2 see what any fool could see
(I hear your voice calling in the night)
That I just need your body, I just need your f-f-face
Right where it counts - no, not in another place
(I hear your voice calling in the night)
Im talkin about all up, talkin about all down
Every inch, U see? I dont need U cross town
U better read my lips, I need it here with me
I cant stop it no matter how I try
(I hear your sound calling in the dark)
In a word, I feel like I wanna die
(I hear your voice)
I cant take it, baby
(I hear your voice)
Dont let me die like this
No!
I... I hear your voice {x2}
I... I hear your voice calling in the night
I
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hear Her Playing Music
I hear her playing music
In her room alone at night
She just moved in a month ago
She isn't gonna play the game
I though she'd smile
And come on slow
I still don't even know her name
She must like being lonely
Got no time for anyone
But I hear her play that stereo
Right through to the rising sun
I hear her playing music
In her room alone all night
Through the day she's so elusive
Staying safe and out of sight
If you say hello she lets it go
Cool and so polite
And I hear her playing music
In her room alone at night
Baby are you sad and lonely
Or did somebody do you wrong
'Cause I know that you need only
Look my way
And they'll play our song
And I love your nightly music
But you can't keep playing through
'Cause I'm having trouble sleeping
And when I do I dream of you
I thought I'd try and break the freeze
And win her heart with harmony
So I answered back
And played a stack of my favorite CD's
But she just doesn't hear me
Doesn't have a word to say
So I stay awake and turn it up
Hoping she'll look out my way
I hear her playing music
In her room alone at night
Through the day she's so elusive
Staying safe and out of sight
If you say hello she lets it go
Cool and so polite
And I hear her playing Dave Koz
In her room alone at night
In her room alone at night
Baby are you sad and lonely
Baby won't you tell me your name
I'm in my room alone at night
You're in your room alone at night
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Red Zouave
The stars were bright, the breeze was still,
The cicada and the whippoorwill,
Alone disturbed the scene;
A streamlet down the dark ravine,
Hasted the gloomy spot to shun,
And bear its little tribute to Cub Run.
The wayward step of one astray,
He scared the whippoorwill away.
A soldier reels to the little rill,
And tries his sordid cup to fill,
Then dizzily pitches across the branch,
Too weak his mortal wound to staunch.
He wakes anon, but weaker yet,
For the stones with his oozing gore is wet,
Feebly he feels for his stolen store,
In his shirt, made redder by his gore!
But long ere the midnight cloud grows dark,
The Red Zouave lies stiff and stark.
Why did the dying miscreant stare?
Why stood upright his clotted hair?
He sees a phantom sentinel,
A skeleton-man and musket as well,
And the ghostly cry, Halt! who goes there?
Made his glazing eyeballs wildly glare.
The sentry's laugh was shrill, yet brief,
Ere he spoke these words to the dying thief:
'I left old England long years ago,
Where I plundered and plundered both high and low;
To escape at once from my crimes and fears,
I enlisted with Braddock for seven years.
'We crossed the sea and we cut a road,
Where there never had been a christian abode,
On our march, we encamped on a wooded height;
You lay at the very same place last night;
I stole from a comrade a half a crown,
And was whipped as a thief, till the blood ran down.
'I swore for revenge as we marched along;
The jeers of the men made my vengeance strong:
So Braddock I marked, when we lost the fight,
And shot him through ere I took to flight;
I wandered this terrible wilderness through,
And died of my wounds here, as you will do.
'Though I saw our Sergeant-Major fall,
By some hidden Indian's rifle ball,
Yet plainly I heard him say, 'Murderer! Thief!
Stand sentinel here, till Hell sends you relief;
You shall challenge the panther, who prowls for his prey,
You shall challenge the savage and fright him away.
''You shall challenge the bat as he wheels -
On his flight - and the serpent that steals -
By your desolate post. Without fail
You shall halt! the storm, wind and hail.
[As they whistle and drift through your marrowless bones,]
And the turbulent stream, in its rush o'er the stones.'
'Then I shrank in my terror and asked in my grief,
How long will it be, ere you send my relief?
Then the spectre cursed me again and again,
For he seemed to delight in my mortal pain:
'I will tell you,' he said, 'assassin and thief,
When Hell will turn out your sentry relief.
''Over Braddock's road, will pass a throng,
Better armed than our army and tenfold as strong.
Over Braddock's road, will drift the same day,
The wreck of that army, fleeing away.
And Braddock's defeat is forever forgot,
In the tenfold more shameful rout of Scott.
''You will see a wounded miscreant run
From the battle-field, without firing a gun;
He has robbed a dead comrade and driven his blade,
Through his officer wounded, and begging for aid;
He will die on this rock, and his infamous ghost,
Will relieve you (a century hence) on this post.''
Then the skeleton musket and ramrod rang,
On the rock with the Zouave's dying pang,
And soon the morning sun gleamed fair,
On his pallid brow and his shaven hair
Whilst his stiffened fingers closely hold
A picture fair and a piece of gold,
[And the picture smiled and the red gold shone,
As they did in the eyes that first called them their own.]
Now creep to the edge of that dark ravine,
And say what those ghostly voices mean,
A nice and transcendental ear,
This dialogue then very plainly hear:
Zouave. Halt! who comes here to cross this line?
Bravo. Friend with the pass-word and countersign.
Zouave.Friend with the countersign advance.
He knew his ghostly friend at a glance.
Bravo. No sentinel posted will ever again,
Here the countersign, 'Braddock.' or the pass-word, 'Duquesne.'
Each spectre must give, as he passes this spot,
The parole of dishonour, 'MANASSAS and SCOTT.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Woman's Mood
I THINK to-night I could bear it all,
Even the arrow that cleft the core,—
Could I wait again for your swift footfall,
And your sunny face coming in at the door.
With the old frank look and the gay young smile,
And the ring of the words you used to say;
I could almost deem the pain worth while,
To greet you again in the olden way!
But you stand without in the dark and cold,
And I may not open the long closed door,
Nor call thro’ the night, with the love of old,—
“Come into the warmth, as in nights of yore!”
I kneel alone in the red fire-glow,
And hear the wings of the wind sweep by;
You are out afar in the night, I know,
And the sough of the wind is like a cry.
You are out afar—and I wait within,
A grave-eyed woman whose pulse is slow;
The flames round the red coals softly spin,
And the lonely room’s in a rosy glow.
The firelight falls on your vacant chair,
And the soft brown rug where you used to stand;
Dear, never again shall I see you there,
Nor lift my head for your seeking hand.
Yet sometimes still, and in spite of all,
I wistful look at the fastened door,
And wait again for the swift footfall,
And the gay young voice as in hours of yore.
It still seems strange to be here alone,
With the rising sob of the wind without;
The sound takes a deep, insisting tone,
Where the trees are swinging their arms about.
Its moaning reaches the sheltered room,
And thrills my heart with a sense of pain;
I walk to the window, and pierce the gloom,
With a yearning look that is all in vain.
You are out in a night of depths that hold
No promise of dawning for you and me,
And only a ghost from the life of old
Has come from the world of memory!
You are out evermore! God wills it so!
But ah! my spirit is yearning yet!
As I kneel alone by the red fire-glow,
My eyes grow dim with the old regret.
O when shall the aching throb grow still,
The warm love-life turn cold at the core!
Must I be watching, against my will,
For your banished face in the opening door?
It may be, dear, when the sequel’s told
Of the story, read to its bitter close;
When the inner meanings of life unfold,
And the under-side of our being shows—
It may be then, in that truer light,
When all our knowledge has larger grown,
I may understand why you stray to-night,
And I am left, with the past, alone.
poem by Jenning Carmichael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old And New Year Ditties
New Year met me somewhat sad:
Old Year leaves me tired,
Stripped of favourite things I had
Baulked of much desired:
Yet farther on my road to-day
God willing, farther on my way.
New Year coming on apace
What have you to give me?
Bring you scathe, or bring you grace,
Face me with an honest face;
You shall not deceive me:
Be it good or ill, be it what you will,
It needs shall help me on my road,
My rugged way to heaven, please God.
Watch with me, men, women, and children dear,
You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear,
Watch with me this last vigil of the year.
Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme;
Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream;
Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart.
Watch with me blessed spirits, who delight
All through the holy night to walk in white,
Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight.
I know not if they watch with me: I know
They count this eve of resurrection slow,
And cry, 'How long?' with urgent utterance strong.
Watch with me Jesus, in my loneliness:
Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes;
Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless.
Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night;
To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight:
I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.
Passing away, saith the World, passing away:
Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day:
Thy life never continueth in one stay.
Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey
That hath won neither laurel nor bay?
I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May:
Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay
On my bosom for aye.
Then I answered: Yea.
Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away:
With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play;
Hearken what the past doth witness and say:
Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array,
A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay.
At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day
Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay:
Watch thou and pray.
Then I answered: Yea.
Passing away, saith my God, passing away:
Winter passeth after the long delay:
New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray,
Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May.
Though I tarry wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray:
Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day,
My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say.
Then I answered: Yea.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blind Caravan
1 I am a slave, both dumb and blind,
2 Upon a journey dread;
3 The iron hills lie far behind,
4 The seas of mist ahead.
5 Amid a mighty caravan
6 I toil a sombre track,
7 The strangest road since time began,
8 Where no foot turneth back.
9 Here rosy youth at morning's prime
10 And weary man at noon
11 Are crooked shapes at eventime
12 Beneath the haggard moon.
13 Faint elfin songs from out the past
14 Of some lost sunset land
15 Haunt this grim pageant drifting, vast,
16 Across the trackless sand.
17 And often for some nightward wind
18 We stay a space and hark,
19 Then leave the sunset lands behind,
20 And plunge into the dark.
21 Somewhere, somewhere, far on in front,
22 There strides a lonely man
23 Who is all strength, who bears the brunt,
24 The battle and the ban.
25 I know not of his face or form,
26 His voice or battle-scars,
27 Or how he fronts the haunted storm
28 Beneath the wintry stars;
29 I know not of his wisdom great
30 That leads this sightless host
31 Beyond the barren hills of fate
32 Unto some kindlier coast.
33 But often 'mid the eerie black
34 Through this sad caravan
35 A strange, sweet thrill is whispered back,
36 Borne on from man to man.
37 A strange, glad joy that fills the night
38 Like some far marriage horn,
39 Till every heart is filled with light
40 Of some belated morn.
41 The way is long, and rough the road,
42 And bitter the night, and dread,
43 And each poor slave is but a goad
44 To lash the one ahead.
45 Evil the foes that lie in wait
46 To slay us in the pass,
47 Bloody the slaughter at the gate,
48 And bleak the wild morass;
49 And I am but a shriveled thing
50 Beneath the midnight sky;
51 A wasted, wan remembering
52 Of days long wandered by.
53 And yet I lift my sightless face
54 Toward the eerie light,
55 And tread the lonely way we trace
56 Across the haunted night.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Voices Cryin Out
Voices cryin out, voices cryin out
Voices cryin out in the night hear them call
Voices cryin out hear them call
Its a night
Like no other night
Its a day
Almost turning grey
Its a heart
Like a broken heart
Its a wheel
At the end of day
Its the plight
Of a boy whos scared
Of the waves rushing out
And the wind in the air
Its the sight
Of one longing to taste
Of life
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Visions that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call
Its a song
Of a love unsung
Its the pain
Of just being young
Its a cry
Of a voice unheard
Of a face
Speaking silent words
Its the hope
That the time goes by
Take you upon a wing
Teach your soul to fly
Its a wish
That youll live your experience life
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Vision that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call
Oh do you know how it feels to be free
Walking your path of life
Embracing destiny one day at a time
Voices cryin out...oh cant you hear them
Voices cryin out...listen please, listen to the future
Voices cryin out...millions and millions and millions of voices
Voices cryin out...oh oh oh oh
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Vision that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices crying out hear them call
Voices crying out in the night hear them call
Voices from some foreign shore
Vision that seem an incredible dream
Echoing for more
Voices cryin out
Voices cryin out
Voices cryin out...
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fever-Dream
IT was a fever-dream; I lay
Awake, as in the broad bright day,
But faint and worn I drew my breath
Like those who wait for coming death;
And my hand lay helpless on my pillow
Weak as a reed or bending willow;
And the night-lamp, with its shadowy veil,
And its light so sickly, faint, and pale,
Gleamed mournfully on objects round;
And the clock's stroke was the only sound;
Measuring the hours of silent time
With a heavy and unwelcome chime,
As still monotonously true
To its pulse-like beat, the minutes flew.
I was alone, but not asleep;
Too weary, and too wetk to weep.
My eyes had closed in sadness there;
And they who watched o'er my despair
Had placed that dim light in the room,
And deepened the surrounding gloom,
By curtaining out the few sad rays
Which made things present to my gaze;
And all because they vainly thought
At last the night its rest had brought,--
Alas! rest came no more to me
So heavy was my misery!
They left me, and my heart was filled
With wandering dreams, whose fancies thrilled
Painfully through my feeble brain,
Till I almost wished them back again.
Yet wherefore should I bid them stay?
They could not chase those dreams away,
But only watch me as I lay.
They left me, and the midnight stroke
From the old clock the silence broke;
And with a wild repining sigh
I wished it were my time to die!
And then, with spirit all dismayed,
For that wild wish, forgiveness prayed,
Humbling myself to God's high power
To bear His will, and wait His hour.
And while I darkly rested there,
The breath of a young child's floating hair,
Perfumed, and warm, and glistening bright,
Swept past me in the shrouding night;--
And the footsteps of children, light and quick,
(While my heart beat loud, and my breath came thick)
Went to and fro on the silent floor;--
And the lock was turned in the fastened door,
As a child may turn it, who tiptoe stands
With his fair round arms and his dimpled hands,
Putting out all their strength in vain
Admittance by his own means to gain:
Till his sweet impatient voice is heard
Like the chirp of a young imprisoned bird,
Seeking an entrance still to win
By fond petitions to those within.
A child's soft shadowy hair, bright smiles,
His merry laugh, and coaxing wiles,
These are sweet things,--most precious things,--
But in spite of my brain's wild wanderings,
I knew that they dwelt in my fancy only,
And that I was sad, and left, and lonely;
And the fear of a dreadful madness came
And withered my soul like a parching flame;
And I felt the strong delirium growing,
And the thread of my feeble senses going,
And I heard with a horror all untold
Which turned my hot blood icy-cold,
Those light steps draw more near my bed;
And by visions I was visited,
Of the gentle eyes which I might not see,
And the faces that were so far from me!
And blest, oh I blest was the morning beam
Which woke me up from my fever-dream!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost In The Mist
THE thin white snow-streaks pencilling
That mountain's shoulder gray,
While in the west the pale green sky
Smiled back the dawning day,
Till from the misty east the sun
Was of a sudden born
Like a new soul in Paradise--
How long it seems since morn!
One little hour, O round red sun,
And thou and I shall come
Unto the golden gate of rest,
The open door of home:
One little hour, O weary sun,
Delay the threatened eve
Till my tired feet that pleasant door
Enter and never leave.
Ye rooks that fly in slender file
Into the thick'ning gloom,
Ye'll scarce have reached your grim gray tower
Ere I have reached my home;
Plover, that thrills the solitude
With such an eerie cry,
Seek you your nest ere night-fall comes,
As my heart's nest seek I.
O light, light heart and heavy feet,
Patience a little while!
Keep the warm love-light in these eyes,
And on these lips the smile:
Out-speed the mist, the gathering mist
That follows o'er the moor!--
The darker grows the world without
The brighter seems that door.
O door, so close yet so far off;
O mist that nears and nears!
What, shall I faint in sight of home?
Blinded--but not with tears--
'T is but the mist, the cruel mist,
Which chills this heart of mine:
These eyes, too weak to see that light--
It has not ceased to shine.
A little further, further yet:
The white mist crawls and crawls;
It hems me around, it shuts me in
Its great sepulchral walls:
No earth--no sky--no path--no light--
A silence like the tomb:
O me, it is too soon to die--
And I was going home!
A little further, further yet:
My limbs are young,--my heart--
O heart, it is not only life
That feels it hard to part:
Poor lips, slow freezing into calm,
Numbed hands that helpless fall,
And, a mile off, warm lips, fond hands,
Waiting to welcome all!
I see the pictures in the room,
The figures moving round,
The very flicker of the fire
Upon the patterned ground:
O that I were the shepherd-dog
That guards their happy door!
Or even the silly household cat
That basks upon the floor!
O that I sat one minute's space
Where I have sat so long!
O that I heard one little word
Sweeter than angel's song!
A pause--and then the table fills,
The harmless mirth brims o'er;
While I--O can it be God's will?--
I die, outside the door.
My body fails--my desperate soul
Struggles before it go:
The bleak air's full of voices wild,
But not the voice I know;
Dim shapes come wandering through the dark:
With mocking, curious stares,
Faces long strange peer glimmering by--
But not one face of theirs.
Lost, lost, and such a little way
From that dear sheltering door!
Lost, lost, out of the loving arms
Left empty evermore!
His will be done. O, gate of heaven,
Fairer than earthly door,
Receive me! Everlasting arms,
Enfold me evermore!
And so, farewell * * * * *
What is this touch
Upon my closing eyes?
My name too, that I thought to hear
Next time in Paradise?
Warm arms--close lips--O, saved, saved, saved!
Across the deathly moor
Sought, found--and yonder through the night
Shineth the blessed door.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dreamed Of Forest Alleys fair
I.
I DREAMED of forest alleys fair
And fields of gray-flowered grass,
Where by the yellow summer moon
My Jenny seemed to pass.
I dreamed the yellow summer moon,
Behind a cedar wood,
Lay white on fields of rippling grass
Where I and Jenny stood.
I dreamed - but fallen through my dream,
In a rainy land I lie
Where wan wet morning crowns the hills
Of grim reality.
II.
I am as one that keeps awake
All night in the month of June,
That lies awake in bed to watch
The trees and great white moon.
For memories of love are more
Than the white moon there above,
And dearer than quiet moonshine
Are the thoughts of her I love.
III.
Last night I lingered long without
My last of loves to see.
Alas! the moon-white window-panes
Stared blindly back on me.
To-day I hold her very hand,
Her very waist embrace -
Like clouds across a pool, I read
Her thoughts upon her face.
And yet, as now, through her clear eyes
I seek the inner shrine -
I stoop to read her virgin heart
In doubt if it be mine -
O looking long and fondly thus,
What vision should I see?
No vision, but my own white face
That grins and mimics me.
IV.
Once more upon the same old seat
In the same sunshiny weather,
The elm-trees' shadows at their feet
And foliage move together.
The shadows shift upon the grass,
The dial point creeps on;
The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass,
As then they passed and shone.
But now deep sleep is on my heart,
Deep sleep and perfect rest.
Hope's flutterings now disturb no more
The quiet of my breast.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Rogues
Dim, grim, and silent as a ghost,
The sentry occupied his post,
To all the stirrings of the night
Alert of ear and sharp of sight.
A sudden something-sight or sound,
About, above, or underground,
He knew not what, nor where-ensued,
Thrilling the sleeping solitude.
The soldier cried: 'Halt! Who goes there?'
The answer came: 'Death-in the air.'
'Advance, Death-give the countersign,
Or perish if you cross that line!'
To change his tone Death thought it wise
Reminded him they 'd been allies
Against the Russ, the Frank, the Turk,
In many a bloody bit of work.
'In short,' said he, 'in every weather
We've soldiered, you and I, together.'
The sentry would not let him pass.
'Go back,' he growled, 'you tiresome ass
Go back and rest till the next war,
Nor kill by methods all abhor:
Miasma, famine, filth and vice,
With plagues of locusts, plagues of lice,
Foul food, foul water, and foul gases,
Rank exhalations from morasses.
If you employ such low allies
This business you will vulgarize.
Renouncing then the field of fame
To wallow in a waste of shame,
I'll prostitute my strength and lurk
About the country doing work
These hands to labor I'll devote,
Nor cut, by Heaven, another throat!'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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