Winter Evening
To-night the very horses springing by
Toss gold from whitened nostrils. In a dream
The streets that narrow to the westward gleam
Like rows of golden palaces; and high
From all the crowded chimneys tower and die
A thousand aureoles. Down in the west
The brimming plains beneath the sunset rest,
One burning sea of gold. Soon, soon shall fly
The glorious vision, and the hours shall feel
A mightier master; soon from height to height,
With silence and the sharp unpitying stars,
Stern creeping frosts, and winds that touch like steel,
Out of the depth beyond the eastern bars,
Glittering and still shall come the awful night.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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On the Bluff
O grandly flowing River!
O silver-gliding River!
Thy springing willows shiver
In the sunset as of old;
They shiver in the silence
Of the willow-whitened islands,
While the sun-bars and the sand-bars
Fill air and wave with gold.
O gay, oblivious River!
O sunset-kindled River!
Do you remember ever
The eyes and skies so blue
On a summer day that shone here,
When we were all alone here,
And the blue eyes were too wise
To speak the love they knew?
O stern impassive River!
O still unanswering River!
The shivering willows quiver
As the night-winds moan and rave.
From the past a voice is calling,
From heaven a star is falling,
And dew swells in the bluebells
Above her hillside grave.
Musings
Last night
The Sunset
Wrapped herself
In skirts of 24Karat Gold
As the crowded
Busy streets
Wore their Neon
And concrete
And carried on the
Progress
Its way
Driving back home
Today
Sitting tight behind
The wheel
Between the leather
Glass and steel
And between several
Lanes of cars
My muse somehow
Missed the Sunset
As he slowly retired
Himself
Beneath his comforter
Of the stars
poem by Theodora Onken
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Republic And Motherland
(Written after entering New York Harbor at Daybreak)
Up the vast harbor with the morning sun
The ship swept in from sea;
Gigantic towers arose, the night was done,
And--there stood Liberty.
Silent, the great torch lifted in one hand,
The dawn in her proud eyes,
Silent, for all the shouts that vex her land,
Silent, hailing the skies;
Hailing that mightier Kingdom of the Blest
Our seamen sought of old,
The dream that lured the nations through the West,
The city of sunset gold.
Saxon and Norman in one wedded soul
Shook out one flag like fire;
But westward, westward, moved the gleaming goal,
Westward, the vast desire.
Westward and ever westward ran the call,
They followed the pilgrim sun,
Seeking that land which should enfold them all,
And weld all hearts in one.
Here on this mightier continent apart,
Here on these rolling plains,
Swells the first throb of that immortal heart,
The pulse of those huge veins.
Still, at these towers, our Old-World cities jest,
And neither hear nor see
The brood of gods at that gigantic breast,
The conquering race to be.
Chosen from many--for no sluggard soul
Confronts that night of stars--
The trumpets of the last Republic roll
Far off, an end to wars;
An end, an end to that wild blood-red age,
That made and keeps us blind;
A mightier realm shall be her heritage,
The kingdom of mankind.
Chosen from many nations, and made one;
But first, O Mother, from thee,
When, following, following on that Pilgrim sun,
Thy Mayflower crossed the sea.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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The City
Beyond the dusky corn-fields, toward the west,
Dotted with farms, beyond the shallow stream,
Through drifts of elm with quiet peep and gleam,
Curved white and slender as a lady's wrist,
Faint and far off out of the autumn mist,
Even as a pointed jewel softly set
In clouds of colour warmer, deeper yet,
Crimson and gold and rose and amethyst,
Toward dayset, where the journeying sun grown old
Hangs lowly westward darker now than gold,
With the soft sun-touch of the yellowing hours
Made lovelier, I see with dreaming eyes,
Even as a dream out of a dream, arise
The bell-tongued city with its glorious towers.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Sestina
I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth,
And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height
Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies.
Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad highway
I caught the glimmer of a golden goal,
While from a blooming bower smiled siren Love.
Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at Love,
With all the haughty insolence of youth,
As past her bower I strode to seek my goal.
'Now will I climb to glory's dizzy height, '
I said, ' for there above the common way
Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skies.'
But when I reached that summit near the skies,
So far from man I seemed, so far from Love-
'Not here, ' I cried, 'doth Pleasure find her way, '
Seen from the distant borderland of youth.
Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height,
But frowns in shadows when we reach the goal.
Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal,
Dear to all sense-sunk souls beneath the skies.
Gold tempts the artist from the lofty height,
Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love,
Gold buys the fresh ingenuous heart of youth,
'And gold, ' I said, 'will show me Pleasure's way.'
But ah! the soil and discord of that way,
Where savage hordes rushed headlong to the goal,
Dead to the best impulses of their youth,
Blind to the azure beauty of the skies;
Dulled to the voice of conscience and of love,
They wandered far from Truth's eternal height.
Then Truth spoke to me from that noble height,
Saying: 'Thou didst pass Pleasure on the way,
She with the yearning eyes so full of Love,
Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal.'
Two blending paths beneath God's arching skies
Lead straight to Pleasure. Ah, blind heart of youth,
Not up fame's height, not toward the base god's goal,
Doth Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies
Where Duty walks with Love in endless youth.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Midsummer Night
Mother of balms and soothings manifold,
Quiet-breathed night whose brooding hours are seven,
To whom the voices of all rest are given,
And those few stars whose scattered names are told,
Far off beyond the westward hills outrolled,
Darker than thou, more still, more dreamy even,
The golden moon leans in the dusky heaven,
And under the one star-a point of gold:
And all go slowly lingering toward the west,
As we go down forgetfully to our rest,
Weary of daytime, tired of noise and light:
Ah, it was time that thou should'st come; for we
Were sore athirst, and had great need of thee,
Thou sweet physician, balmy-blossomed night.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Your Gold Dress
You gold dress is whirling around
Like a fan its lifting you high
High above the ground
Never coming down
You gold dress is burning alight
Deafens me with the sound of the sun
Setting fire to the night
And everythings all right
Vibrations coming my way
When youre floating on by
In your gold dress
Vibrations coming to play
When youre filling the sky
With your gold ... dress
Your gold dress is shaming the stars
A thousand melting dali guitars
Make no sound
And dripping slowly down
Your gold dress is all I can see
Blind my eyes but there it will be
Beacon burning bright
And everythings all right
Your gold dress!
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Off Riviere Du Loup
O ship incoming from the sea
With all your cloudy tower of sail,
Dashing the water to the lee,
And leaning grandly to the gale,
The sunset pageant in the west
Has filled your canvas curves with rose,
And jeweled every toppling crest
That crashes into silver snows!
You know the joy of coming home,
After long leagues to France or Spain
You feel the clear Canadian foam
And the gulf water heave again.
Between these somber purple hills
That cool the sunset's molten bars,
You will go on as the wind wills,
Beneath the river's roof of stars.
You will toss onward toward the lights
That spangle over the lonely pier,
By hamlets glimmering on the heights,
By level islands black and clear.
You will go on beyond the tide,
Through brimming plains of olive sedge,
Through paler shadows light and wide,
The rapids piled along the ledge.
At evening off some reedy bay
You will swing slowly on your chain,
And catch the scent of dewy hay,
Soft blowing from the pleasant plain.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Ode To A Road...
Into A Gold Sunset
And Silver Twilight Stars
Into Darkness of A Desert
And Coyote Choirs
And A Cold, Lonely Wind
Which Touches Warm Skin
And Stretches of Sand
On and On, Without End
On A Black-Top Road
By A Car’s High Beam
Heard An Oil Rig’s Ode
Lit, Like A Castle-Dream
Awake On An Interstate
Driving 101 – West
High Noon, Thru A Desert
Into A Gold Sunset …
poem by by unknown author
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Crimson Amongst The Gold
We watch the burning sky
as the setting sun warms
it just before night falls.
The crimson amongst the gold
where our dream lie
to be awoken in our hearts.
Beyond the horizon
where we always want to be.
We see the world there
as something we have not got.
The life we dream about
we know it lies there.
In the night, we reach out to touch the stars
knowing that if we touch them
all our wishes and dreams
will one day come true
in our tomorrow’s quest
down life’s road.
We keep walking to our sunset
never knowing when destiny
will take us to our dreams.
That paradise just beyond our imagination
where all things are possible
and some day will be.
10 May 2009
poem by David Harris
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Come To My WIndow
Climbing the stairs to the window sitter
With brown eyes that twinkle and glitter
Louder than the shimmering moon over yonder
Gazing at her, for the heart is fonder
My dear princess, Rumpelstiltskin
With a golden locks that spring
From your crowning glittering nest
Golden twigs that fall off in zest
With an Alice band that pulls the locks
As your shadow falls over across
The moon smiles at the glimmering beauty
As the stars in a jealous rage seek mutiny
For an earthly star that glitters like gold
Springing light in to the galaxy's fold
You gaze with your luminescent getaways
At the vast oceans of space in our own milky way
Come to the window my love, for night breaks
Plant a million windy kisses for the skies are awake
For the glittering dwarfs to bow at a giant at heart
For the night to coast, for a starry renaissance to start
As the moon and stars see the flying kisses
Murmurs and whispers lingering in hisses
Jealousy parts for goodwill to prosper
As the stars line up for an earthly caper
With my lass leading the way, dear Rumpelstiltskin
With glittering getaways, tresses and skin
Gazing at the stars on a cold windy night
As the stars explode in to an extravaganza of light
Now the galaxy is filled with light abound
A goddess gazing from a window on a tower mound
As stars line up to fall down from the sky
Shooting to a window from their celestial high
The night embraces a fiesta of color
As stars fall to a window on a lonely tower
Rumpelstiltskin smiles and hold her hand out
To embrace a meteor shower coy she nought
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Take Her
As she danced about the sun,
She whitened the green plains under her;
As she moved about the moon,
She whitened the red valley below her;
But, in the light of her golden wings i do rest my case.
With a gentle motion in heaven's blue smile,
Over the lakes and the plains with her sweet love;
But in the depths of the purple sea,
The stars peeped behind her and peered.
She is very far away but,
Her love and rest ardour me;
And the diamond lights up her secret mine like,
The dark plains below her;
Which is found in an old region when looking for her.
The pearl gleams forth from her coral strand,
Like the wealth of the seas;
Over her sands of gold i do respect.
Not there my child,
Over here to see the fearless eyes of love;
Like the lit by her deep love's truth.
Her love is like the flowers of the bees,
Remembering the day when she first came;
Take her as your wife and make love to her.
Take her like the sages of Egypt,
Take her like the wealth of the seas,
The very lit by her deep love's truth;
Study her dance and be in love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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New York at Night
A near horizon whose sharp jags
Cut brutally into a sky
Of leaden heaviness, and crags
Of houses lift their masonry
Ugly and foul, and chimneys lie
And snort, outlined against the gray
Of lowhung cloud. I hear the sigh
The goaded city gives, not day
Nor night can ease her heart, her anguished labours stay.
Below, straight streets, monotonous,
From north and south, from east and west,
Stretch glittering; and luminous
Above, one tower tops the rest
And holds aloft man's constant quest:
Time! Joyless emblem of the greed
Of millions, robber of the best
Which earth can give, the vulgar creed
Has seared upon the night its flaming ruthless screed.
O Night! Whose soothing presence brings
The quiet shining of the stars.
O Night! Whose cloak of darkness clings
So intimately close that scars
Are hid from our own eyes. Beggars
By day, our wealth is having night
To burn our souls before altars
Dim and tree-shadowed, where the light
Is shed from a young moon, mysteriously bright.
Where art thou hiding, where thy peace?
This is the hour, but thou art not.
Will waking tumult never cease?
Hast thou thy votary forgot?
Nature forsakes this man-begot
And festering wilderness, and now
The long still hours are here, no jot
Of dear communing do I know;
Instead the glaring, man-filled city groans below!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Hamilton
WILD and wet, and windy wet falls the night on Hamilton,
Hamilton that seaward looks unto the setting sun,
Lady of the patient face, lifted everlastingly,
Veiled and hushed and mystical as a cloistered nun.
O the days, the cruel days creeping over Hamilton
Like a train of haggard ghosts, homeless and accursed,
Moaning for a fleet o’ dream silver-sailed and wonderful,
Moaning for a sorrow’s sake, the fairest and the first.
O the moon, the lonely moon, leaning low on Hamilton,
Thro’ the years that sunder us the dead come back, come back,
Scent of white eucrephia stars blown on winds of Memory,
Glint and gleam of fagus gold adown the torrent’s track.
Half my heart is buried there, buried high on Hamilton,
Lonely is the sepulchre with never stone for sign,
Where the nodding myrtle-plumes stand like sable sentinels
And the ruddy rimony wreathes the hooded pine.
Half my heart is yearning yet, yearning yet for Hamilton,
Hamilton beyond the surge of sobbing Southern main,
O the croon of wistful winds calling, calling, calling me,
Where the mottled mountain thrush is singing in the rain.
We shall ne’er go back again, back again to Hamilton,
Heart o’ me, our track is toward the heart of burning day,
Hills beyond the call of hills beaconing and beckoning—
Westward, westward winds the track, a thread of dusky grey.
poem by Marie E J Pitt
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Golden Years
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, angel
Come here baby
Look at that sky, life's begun
Nights are warm and the days are young
Come here baby
There's my baby, lost that's all
Once I'm begging you save her little soul
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Come here baby
Last night they loved you, opening doors and pulling some strings, angel
Come here baby
In walked luck and you looked in time
Never look back, walk tall, act fine
Come here baby
I'll stick with you baby for a thousand years
Nothing's gonna touch you in these golden years, gold
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Come here baby
Some of these days, and it won't be long
Gonna drive back down where you once belonged
In the back of a dream car twenty foot long
Don't cry my sweet, don't break my heart
Doing all right, but you gotta get smart
Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day, I believe oh lord
I believe all the way
Come here baby
There's my baby, lost that's all
Once I'm begging you save her little soul
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Come here baby
Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, angel
Come get up my baby
Run for the shadows, run for the shadows
Run for the shadows in these golden years
I'll stick with you baby for a thousand years
Nothing's gonna touch you in these golden years, gold
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunset
From this windy bridge at rest,
In some former curious hour,
We have watched the city's hue,
All along the orange west,
Cupola and pointed tower,
Darken into solid blue.
Tho' the biting north wind breaks
Full across this drifted hold,
Let us stand with iced cheeks
Watching westward as of old;
Past the violet mountain-head
To the farthest fringe of pine,
Where far off the purple-red
Narrows to a dusky line,
And the last pale splendours die
Slowly from the olive sky;
Till the thin clouds wear away
Into threads of purple-gray,
And the sudden stars between
Brighten in the pallid green;
Till above the spacious east,
Slow returned one by one,
Like pale prisoners released
From the dungeons of the sun,
Capella and her train appear
In the glittering Charioteer;
Till the rounded moon shall grow
Great above the eastern snow,
Shining into burnished gold;
And the silver earth outrolled,
In the misty yellow light,
Shall take on the width of night.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Joy's City
Joy's City hath high battlements of gold;
Joy's City hath her streets of gem-wrought flow'rs;
She hath her palaces high reared and bold,
And tender shades of perfumed lily bowers;
But ever day by day, and ever night by night,
An Angel measures still our City of Delight.
He hath a rule of gold, and never stays,
But ceaseless round the burnish'd ramparts glides;
He measures minutes of her joyous days,
Her walls, her trees, the music of her tides;
The roundness of her buds--Joy's own fair city lies,
Known to its heart-core by his stern and thoughtful eyes.
Above the sounds of timbrel and of song,
Of greeting friends, of lovers 'mid the flowers,
The Angel's voice arises clear and strong:
'O City, by so many leagues thy bow'rs
Stretch o'er the plains, and in the fair high-lifted blue
So many cubits rise thy tow'rs beyond the view.'
Why dost thou, Angel, measure Joy's fair walls?
Unceasing gliding by their burnish'd stones;
Go, rather measure Sorrow's gloomy halls;
Her cypress bow'rs, her charnel-house of bones;
Her groans, her tears, the rue in her jet chalices;
But leave unmeasured more, Joy's fairy palaces.
The Angel spake: 'Joy hath her limits set,
But Sorrow hath no bounds--Joy is a guest
Perchance may enter; but no heart puls'd yet,
Where Sorrow did not lay her down to rest;
She hath no city by so many leagues confin'd,
I cannot measure bounds where there are none to find.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Hello My Old Friend
Early morning day is dawning
Cooling towers and factory gates
Dirty streets and laughing people
Skinny dogs and beer crates
Hello my old friend
Hello my old friend
Sad canals green black water
Somewhere bicycles and beds
Wet and windy afternoons
And pigeons coo in garden sheds
Hello my old friend
Hello my old friend
High-rise tower blocks with panoramic
Views of trains and coal
Tiehead railway tracks tread faithfully
The gas works to behold
Hello my old friend
Hello my old friend
Just to see the sunset
Pretty rainbows over your majestic towers
To feel your earth beneath my feet
Here I could stand for hours and hours
(young girls sing fara jacka in the background)
Big machines that once were champions
Turn to dust under the sky
Broken windows choking chimneys
Factory walls for miles and miles
By bye my old friend
By bye my old friend
Just to see the sunset
Pretty rainbows over your majestic towers
To feel your earth beneath my feet
Here I could stand for hours and hours
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From The Tuscan
WHEN in the west the red sun sank in glory,
The cypress trees stood up like gold, fine gold;
The mother told her little child the story
Of the gold trees the heavenly gardens hold.
In golden dreams the child sees golden rivers,
Gold trees, gold blossoms, golden boughs and leaves,
Without, the cypress in the night wind shivers,
Weeps with the rain and with the darkness grieves.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Blue Gold Sky
Blue gold sky
Your fire is burning
Horizon questions why
Your evening is yearning
For a day that is soon gone
Into oblivion abyss
To carry the night on
In dreamy nocturnal kiss
All the blue gold is bound
Into your drifting clouds
Sunset of silver found
Among the streets and crowds
Love song of dusky distant
Where weaving dreams go
In to the nonexistent
Of ocean’s nightly glow
Blue gold sky
Yesterday is in your sight
When you come in sweet lullaby
In the falling off the eve light
Chariot of fire gold
Blue silver moon beyond
Nothing your dreams can hold
You are to stars whishes bond
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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