The Loons
Once ye were happy, once by many a shore,
Wherever Glooscap's gentle feet might stray,
Lulled by his presence like a dream, ye lay
Floating at rest; but that was long of yore.
He was too good for earthly men; he bore
Their bitter deeds for many a patient day,
And then at last he took his unseen way.
He was your friend, and ye might rest no more:
And now, though many hundred altering years
Have passed, among the desolate northern meres
Still must ye search and wander querulously,
Crying for Glooscap, still bemoan the light
With weird entreaties, and in agony
With awful laughter pierce the lonely night.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
We Can Make The Morning
(words & music by j. ramsey)
I just thought I heard a small voice crying
Looked again and saw that it was me
I feel like a little boy denying
That he fears the night cause he cant see
Then a larger thought said stop your crying
Dont be scared to search cause you may find
Fate holds out a candle for your footsteps
Time rolls back the shadows of your mind
Its a long, long lonely night
You can make the morning if you try
Its a long, long lonely night
Oh, we can make the morning if we try
Girl, we can make the morning you and i
Together, together, together
Loneliness is darkness first companion
Spend the night alone and faith may bend
Share it all and see how fear starts fading
Chase away the shadows with a friend
Dawns elusive light is just beginning
Now the day can push away the night
Dreams can make the sun feel much brighter
Hope creates a foothold for the light
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Girl, we can make the morning you and i, oh
Together
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wandering Jew
The stars are falling, and the sky
Is like a field of faded flowers;
The winds on weary wings go by;
The moon hides, and the tempest lowers;
And still through every clime and age
I wander on a pilgrimage
That all men know an idle quest,
For that the goal I seek is-- Rest!
I hear the voice of summer streams,
And following, I find the brink
Of cooling springs, with childish dreams
Returning as I bend to drink--
But suddenly, with startled eyes,
My face looks on its grim disguise
Of long gray beard; and so, distressed,
I hasten on, nor taste of rest.
I come upon a merry group
Of children in the dusky wood,
Who answer back the owlet's whoop,
That laughs as it had understood;
And I would pause a little space,
But that each happy blossom-face
Is like to one His hands have blessed
Who sent me forth in search of rest.
Sometimes I fain would stay my feet
In shady lanes, where huddled kine
Couch in the grasses cool and sweet,
And lift their patient eyes to mine;
But I, for thoughts that ever then
Go back to Bethlehem again,
Must needs fare on my weary quest,
And weep for very need of rest.
Is there no end? I plead in vain:
Lost worlds nor living answer me.
Since Pontius Pilate's awful reign
Have I not passed eternity?
Have I not drunk the fetid breath
Of every fevered phase of death,
And come unscathed through every pest
And scourge and plague that promised rest?
Have I not seen the stars go out
That shed their light o'er Galilee,
And mighty kingdoms tossed about
And crumbled clod-like in the sea?
Dead ashes of dead ages blow
And cover me like drifting snow,
And time laughs on as 'twere a jest
That I have any need of rest.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At Twilight
Was it so long? It seems so brief a while
Since this still hour between the day and dark
Was ligntened by a little fellow’s smile;
Since we were wont to mark
The sunset’s crimson dim to gold, to gray,
Content to know that, though he loved to roam
Care-free among the comrades of his play,
Twilight would lead him home.
A year ago! The well-remembered hail
Of happy-hearted children on the green
We hear to-night, and see the sunset pale,
The distant hills between:
But when the busy feet shall homeward turn,
When little wearied heads shall seek for rest,
Where shall you find the weight for which you yearn,
Ah, tender mother-breast?
Dear lips, that in the twilight hushed and dim
Lulled him with murmured fantasies of song;
Dear slender arms, that safely sheltered him,
The empty years are long!
The night’s caressing wind moves babbling on,
And all the whispered gossip of the firs
Is busy with his name who now is gone—
My little lad and hers!
But if we so, with eager eyes and glad,
Looked forward to his coming in the gloom;
If so our hearts leaped out to meet the lad
Whose smile lit all the room,—
Shall there not be a Presence waiting thus
To still the bitter craving of the quest?
Shall there not be a welcome, too, for us
When we go home to rest?
Yes, God be thanked for this: the ashen-gowned
Sweet presence of the twilight, and, afar,
The strong, enduring hills, in beauty crowned
With one white, steadfast star!
A year ago? What, love, to us are years?
The selfsame twilight, cool, and calm, and dim,
That led him home to us, despite our fears,
Shall lead us home to him!
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Lady’s Lament
Never happy any more!
Aye, turn the saying o'er and o'er,
It says but what it said before,
And heart and life are just as sore.
The wet leaves blow aslant the floor
In the rain through the open door.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
The eyes are weary and give o'er,
But still the soul weeps as before.
And always must each one deplore
Each once, nor bear what others bore?
This is now as it was of yore.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
Is it not but a sorry lore
That says, “Take strength, the worst is o'er”?
Shall the stars seem as heretofore?
The day wears on more and more—
While I was weeping the day wore.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
In the cold behind the door
That was the dial striking four:
One for joy the past hours bore,
Two for hope and will cast o'er,
One for the naked dark before.
No, no more.
Never happy any more!
Put the light out, shut the door,
Sweep the wet leaves from the floor.
Even thus Fate's hand has swept her floor,
Even thus Love's hand has shut the door
Through which his warm feet passed of yore.
Shall it be opened any more?
No, no, no more.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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O, water, voice of my heart...
O water, voice of my heart, crying in the sand,
All night long crying with a mournful cry,
As I lie and listen, and cannot understand
The voice of my heart in my side or the voice of the sea,
O water, crying for rest, is it I, is it I?
All night long the water is crying to me.
Unresting water, there shall never be rest
Till the last moon droop and the last tide fail,
And the fire of the end begin to burn in the west;
And the heart shall be weary and wonder and cry like the sea,
All life long crying without avail,
As the water all night long is crying to me.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Evening
WHEN the white iris folds the drowsing bee,
When the first cricket wakes
The fairy hosts of his enchanted brakes,
When the dark moth has sought the lilac tree,
And the young stars, like jasmine of the skies,
Are opening on the silence, Lord, there lies
Dew on Thy rose and dream upon mine eyes.
Lovely the day, when life is robed in splendour,
Walking the ways of God and strong with wine,
But the pale eve is wonderful and tender,
And night is more divine.
Fold my faint olives from their shimmering plain,
O shadow of sweet darkness fringed with rain.
Give me to night again.
Give me to day no more. I have bethought me
Silence is more than laughter, sleep than tears.
Sleep like a lover faithfully hath sought me
Down the enduring years.
Where stray the first white fatlings of the fold,
Where the Lent-lily droops her earlier gold
Sleep waits me as of old.
Grant me sweet sleep, for light is unavailing
When patient eyes grow weary of the day.
Young lambs creep close and tender wings are failing,
And I grow tired as they.
Light as the long wave leaves the lonely shore,
Our boughs have lost the bloom that morning bore.
Give me to day no more.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But No More
The time is now or never
The crashing is coming near
The delphi is on the corner
And he whispers in your ear
It used to be men could be solemn even while laughing
And laughter could be heard shore to shore
But no more
Now all you hear is crying
Cause no one's on the phone
Your feet are just now freezing over
You know that you are here all alone
It used to be men could be solemn even while laughing
And laughter could be heard shore to shore
But no more
When I think of friends and places
Things we wanted, hoped we'd be
All that's left is fading traces
Memories of what use to be
Hear their laughter, see their shadows
Feel the darkness, see the light
We had lit all but lost so quickly
We think we won but we lost the fight
But it's all the same to me
I've seen all I want to see
First they laugh at you
Then they cry
Say they'll always be there
Then they die
So alone yet so alive
It used to be men could be solemn even while laughing
And laughter could be heard shore to shore
But no more
song performed by by Zebra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Montefiore
I SAW—’t was in a dream, the other night—
A man whose hair with age was thin and white;
One hundred years had bettered by his birth,
And still his step was firm, his eye was bright.
Before him and about him pressed a crowd.
Each head in reverence was bared and bowed,
And Jews and Gentiles in a hundred tongues
Extolled his deeds and spake his fame aloud.
I joined the throng and, pushing forward, cried,
“Montefiore!” with the rest, and vied
In efforts to caress the hand that ne’er
To want and worth had charity denied.
So closely round him swarmed our shouting clan
He scarce could breathe, and, taking from a pan
A gleaming coin, he tossed it o’er our heads,
And in a moment was a lonely man!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Yes I Believe
The spirit of Christmas is the spirit of love
Still there when the innocence has gone
But we have each other we laugh and we cry
The cares of the world still carry on
Yes I believe in a better world
And like the rest of us I pray
For peace on this earth and a better life
With every beautiful day
I once met a holy man who showed me the way
The road to tranquility at last
The more he was listening, the more he would say
With the tales of the days of future passed
He said "Yes I believe in a better world
And like the rest of us I try
To hold on to hope for a better life
With every day that goes by"
And if we dare to dream of Paradise unseen
It might come true
And if you stand by me
I swear with all my heart
I'll stand by you
Yes, I believe in a better world
A world where my sisters can be free
And I have a place in my brother's heart
For everybody to see
I dream of my destiny, my days in the sun
To live in the garden of our love
I search for some happiness
I search for my soul
I pray for some strength from God above
Yes, I believe in a better world
And like the rest of us, I pray
For peace on this earth and a better life
With every beautiful day
With every beautiful day.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet LXVI: The Night-Flood Rakes
The night-flood rakes upon the stony shore;
Along the rugged cliffs and chalky caves
Mourns the hoarse Ocean, seeming to deplore
All that are buried in his restless waves—
Mined by corrosive tides, the hollow rock
Falls prone, and rushing from its turfy height,
Shakes the broad beach with long-resounding shock,
Loud thundering on the ear of sullen Night;
Above the desolate and stormy deep,
Gleams the wan Moon, by floating mist opprest;
Yet here while youth, and health, and labour sleep,
Alone I wander—Calm untroubled rest,
"Nature's soft nurse," deserts the sigh-swoln breast,
And shuns the eyes, that only wake to weep!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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If I Should Die Tonight
If I should die to-night,
My friends would look upon my quiet face
Before they laid it in its resting-place,
And deem that death had left it almost fair;
And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair,
Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,
And fold my hands with lingering caress, --
Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!
If I should die to-night,
My friends would call to mind with loving thought
Some kindly deed the icy hands had wrought,
Some gentle word the frozen lips had said,
Errands on which the willing feet had sped;
The memory of my selfishness and pride,
My hasty words would all be put aside,
And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.
If I should die to-night,
Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,
Recalling other days remorsefully;
The eyes that chill me with averted glance
Would look upon me as of yore, perchance,
And soften in the old familiar way,
For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay?
So I might rest, forgiven of all to-night.
Oh, friends! I pray to-night,
Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow:
The way is lonely, let me feel them now.
Think gently of me; I am travelworn;
My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.
Forgive, oh, hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!
When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need
The tenderness for which I long to-night.
poem by Arabella Eugenia Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet LXII
Written on passing by Moon-light through a Village,
while the ground was covered with Snow.
WHILE thus I wander, cheerless and unblest,
And find in change of place but change of pain;
In tranquil sleep the village labourers rest,
And taste that quiet I pursue in vain!
Hush'd is the hamlet now, and faintly gleam
The dying embers, from the casement low
Of the thatch'd cottage; while the Moon's wan beam
Lends a new lustre to the dazzling snow--
O'er the cold waste, amid the freezing night,
Scarce heeding whither, desolate I stray;
For me, pale Eye of Evening, thy soft light
Leads to no happy home; my weary way
Ends but in sad vicissitudes of care:
I only fly from doubt--to meet despair!
poem by Charlotte Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laughter - Laughter
LAUGHTER - LAUGHTER
laughter - laughter here I come
to make my friend smile and calm
jump and jump to the left to the right
thru the day time and night
laughter - laughter here I am
to make true all the sweetest dreams
like my friend always has in sleep
thru the very beautiful night
that will never skip
laughter - laughter here we are
my friend and I are blab - blab - blab
and we are happy and careless
cause the better future are waiting for us
laughter - laughter, who are you?
WHAT! you don't recognize me?
I am sorry, I thought I know you
but just let it be
because a real friendship doesn't care who we are
(build a strong good friendship among us)
poem by Juahta Sitepu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Laugh -- And A Moan
The brook that down the valley
So musically drips,
Flowed never half so brightly
As the light laugh from her lips.
Her face was like the lily,
Her heart was like the rose,
Her eyes were like a heaven
Where the sunlight always glows.
She trod the earth so lightly
Her feet touched not a thorn;
Her words wore all the brightness
Of a young life's happy morn.
Along her laughter rippled
The melody of joy;
She drank from every chalice,
And tasted no alloy.
Her life was all a laughter,
Her days were all a smile,
Her heart was pure and happy,
She knew not gloom nor guile.
She rested on the bosom
Of her mother, like a flower
That blooms far in a valley
Where no storm-clouds ever lower.
And -- 'Merry, merry, merry!'
Rang the bells of every hour,
And -- 'Happy, happy, happy!'
In her valley laughed the flower.
There was not a sign of shadow,
There was not a tear nor thorn,
And the sweet voice of her laughter
Filled with melody the morn.
* * * * *
Years passed -- 'twas long, long after,
And I saw a face at prayer;
There was not a sign of laughter,
There was every sign of care.
For the sunshine all had faded
From the valley and the flower,
And the once fair face was shaded
In life's lonely evening hour.
And the lips that smiled with laughter
In the valley of the morn,
In the valley of the evening
They were pale and sorrow-worn.
And I read the old, old lesson
In her face and in her tears,
While she sighed amid the shadows
Of the sunset of her years.
All the rippling streams of laughter
From our hearts and lips that flow,
Shall be frozen, cold years after,
Into icicles of woe.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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Autopilot
I can sleep, but I won't rest
I'll try to rest, but I'll only sleep
My dreams were once my escape
My nights held my happy days
Awake, I was depresed
Alseep, I had energy
I'd cry myself to sleep
Then I'd cry no more
Spreading my wings
I'd laugh under night's sun
Flying around the world
I'd make a hundred friends
Throwing fire and ice
I'd defeat all my enemies
Then I would wake up
And happiness fled
Walking through autopilot
In a world that wasn't real
Looking but never seeing
I'd cry under day's moon
Existing but never living
I'd avoid everyone
Closing my eyes
I'd hide from any enemies
I once rested
In the chaos of my dreams
The loud sleeping happiness
Was better than the quiet waking sadness
But things have changed
In a moment, a lifetime
Awake, I am content
Asleep, I am upset
If I sleep, I dream
When I dream, I fear
Running in terror
Crying in death
I see faces unkown
And know pain unfelt
I once looked for sleep to find rest
Now I avoid sleep so not to lose rest
My heaven became my hell
My hallucination became my shelter
I do not sleep, I do not rest
Tired, but I am happy
A new kind of autopilot
Which existance is worse?
Awake, I fear sleep coming
Asleep, I cannot wake
Never resting, only existing
Life on autopilot
poem by Juvela Obi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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East Of Midnight
Put me somewhere east of midnight
West of the turnpike
Anywhere I wander is where Ill take my rest
As I lie down, toss some thoughts around
Dreams Im told will come true if you
Believe in those who love you right now
Sea of dreams I long for you
Forget about the others
This is my hike, you can come if you like
To feel good, I would help you if I could
But I am out here searching
For the things that might have been
I need no more reminders
Not one love letter have I seen
And thats a pretty good start
The ocean is where lovers meet again
Sea of dreams by all means
Float me out of danger until then
Forever amen
Its a long long hike
Well be leavin early travelin light
Thats alright heaven will be ours tonight
The road is paved with moonbeams
There are faces that I knew
They all came back to haunt me
But that aint fair to the folks like me and you
It takes a bit of my heart
Tonight I shall be watching from the shore
Sea of dreams from now on
Forget about all the others
Back where the line forms
Destination sea of storms
By all means ever onward sea of dreams
Put me somewhere east of midnight
Along about daylight
Anywhere I wander is where Ill take my rest
If we could just lie down
Toss some thoughts around
Its a tough and a dirty long hike
You can come if you like
If we could just lie down
Toss some thoughts around
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Science Fiction
["Fields Of Regret" with changed lyrics]
Forever I'll enjoy you underchevement
I gonna see you every day now if I can
Why then don't the night show really matters
I still wake on the fields of regret
There is something to this dream we're all involved in
wow, Can I see it, can I say it may exist
Rest me, hide my years around the planet.
If we dwell in the fields of regret
What horror must invade the mind
When the approaching judge shall find
What sinful deeds from all mankind
With death and nature in surprise
Behold the wretched sinners rise
To meet the judge's searching eyes
And when the doomed no more can flee
From the flames of misery
Assist me while I die
Wander through those ever thoughts though if imagined
But come down on it's so easy to resist
Rest me, hide my years around the planet.
Sound another, no part over, won't forget
When we laugh at the fields of regret.
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Millworker
(james taylor)
Now my grandfather was a sailor,
He blew in off the water
My father was a farmer
I, his only daughter,
Took up with a no-good millworking man from massachusetts
Who dies from too much whiskey
And leaves me these three faces to feed
Millwork aint easy; mill-work aint hard
Millwork, it aint nothing but an awful boring job
Im waiting for a day dream
To take me through the morning
And put me in my coffee break
Where I can have a sandwich and remember
Then its me and my machine
For the rest of the morning
For the rest of the afternoon
And the rest of my life
Now my mind begins to wander
To the days back on the farm
I can see my father smiling at me,
Swingin on his arm
I can hear my grand-dads stories
Of the storms out on lake erie
Where vessels and cargos and fortunes
And sailors lives were lost
Yes, but its my life has been wasted,
And I have been the fool
To let this manufacture use my body for a tool.
I can ride home in the evening,
Staring at my hands
Swearing by my sorrow that a young girl
Ought to stand a better chance
So may I work the mills
Just as long as I am able
And never meet the man whose
Name is on the label
It be me and my machine
For the rest of the morning
For the rest of the afternoon
And the rest of my life
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep mists of longing blur the land
Deep mists of longing blur the land
as in your late October eve:
almost I think your hand might leave
its old caress upon my hand —
for sure this floating world of dream
hath touch'd that far reality
of memory's heaven; nor would I deem
the chance a strange one, if to thee
my feet should stray ere fall the night,
or, reaching to that lucent shore,
these eyes should wake on tenderer light
to greet the spring and thee once more.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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