At the Stage Door
Kicking my heels in the street,
Here at the edge of the pavement I wait for you, sweet,
Here in the crowd, the blent noises, blurred lights, of the street.
Under the archway sheer,
Sudden and black as a hole in the placarded wall,
Faces flicker and veer,
Wavering out of the darkness into the light,
Wavering back into night;
Under the archway, suddenly seen, the curls
And thin, bright faces of girls,
Roving eyes, and smiling lips, and the glance
Seeking, finding perchance,
Here at the edge of the pavement, there by the wall,
One face, out of them all.
Steadily, face after face,
Cheeks with the blush of the paint yet lingering, eyes
Still with their circle of black ...
But hers, but hers?
Rose-leaf cheeks, and flower-soft lips, and the grace
Of the vanishing Spring come back,
And a child's heart blithe in the sudden and sweet surprise,
Subtly expectant, that stirs
In the smile of her heart to my heart, of her eyes to my eyes
poem by Arthur Symons
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One Face
One face in a crowd is hard to find.
One face in that crowd is on my mind.
How can I find the face of one,
The face that to me is like the sun?
Shiny and bright with a radiant glow,
The face that picks me up when I'm low,
Eyes that light up wherever they are
Just like the splendor of an evening star,
Lips that break into the sweetest smile
That lingers for me for the longest while,
Hair that surrounds that face like a frame
That always sets my heart aflame.
I search all the faces but cannot see
The one that means the world to me.
I'm lost. I'm wretched. This should not be.
There are too many faces. I'm lost at sea.
One last glance and to my surprise
There's your face, your smile, your eyes.
The crowd's still there but not for me.
For the face I love is all I see.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Painting Jealousy
Her lips spell his name...
her cheeks, his smile.
Her tender glance reflects his soul,
as though his shadow made her whole.
I tried to paint her silent lips
till it clamored out his name.
And when I tried to sketch her cheeks...
I saw his smile, it's all the same.
Yet when I tried to paint her eyes,
in my canvas it's his face.
And so I stopped painting her,
and stopped loving her as well.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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90
your eyes in that picture insist on asking why
well, i was yet 15 but i already keep a photograph of you
in my pocket,
you are the face of my heart beat in black and white
i often kiss your tiny lips and put you on my chest
as though i feel you one with me
in my sleep,
that was long time ago and the picture suffered
with the way i was keeping it
inside my old poetry books
in those pages eaten by bookworms
some scratches ultimately
are inflicted in your cheeks
and even your lips
have become empty spaces
blurred by time
what keeps insistent however are your eyes
stripped of a nose and lips and even a neck
thriving on lesser hair
and thin ears
they float in that picture
still looking at me
asking
why?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Faces
I cant read faces but i can read yours;
I know it when youre sad or happy,
not through your smile but through your eyes;
and the lines of your forehead,
and the lines of your cheeks...
they tell your secrets and then mystery unfolds.
The beauty of your chin...and the lines of your lips,
they tell me of something that hasn't been told.
Sometimes you laugh, but you're empty inside...
sometimes you frown, but your heart glowed with pride.
Sometimes serious, but your face
has something to hide.
I know coz your eyes tell me everything,
everything within your soul.
You have so many faces...
and i wonder if the world knows.
I wonder if they can read them,
or see what you conceal..
I wonder if they can see your mysteries...
secrets to steal.
And i wonder if they can look into
your eyes like open doors.
I know i cant read faces...
but i can read yours.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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The Quest
I am looking for Love. Has he passed this way,
With eyes as blue as the skies of May,
And a face as fair as the summer dawn?--
You answer back, but I wander on,--
For you say: 'Oh, yes; but his eyes were gray,
And his face as dim as a rainy day.'
Good friends, I query, I search for Love;
His eyes are as blue as the skies above,
And his smile as bright as the midst of May
When the truce-bird pipes: Has he passed this way?
And one says: 'Ay; but his face, alack!
Frowned as he passed, and his eyes were black.'
O who will tell me of Love? I cry!
His eyes are as blue as the mid-May sky,
And his face as bright as the morning sun;
And you answer and mock me, every one,
That his eyes were dark, and his face was wan,
And he passed you frowning and wandered on.
But stout of heart will I onward fare,
Knowing _my_ Love is beyond--somewhere,--
The Love I seek, with the eyes of blue,
And the bright, sweet smile unknown of you;
And on from the hour his trail is found
I shall sing sonnets the whole year round.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Your Eyes In That Picture Insist On Asking Why
well, i was yet 15 but i already keep a photograph of you
in my pocket,
you are the face of my heart beat in black and white
i often kiss your tiny lips and put you on my chest
as though i feel you one with me
in my sleep,
that was long time ago and the picture suffered
with the way i was keeping it
inside my old poetry books
in those pages eaten by bookworms
some scratches ultimately
are inflicted in your cheeks
and even your lips
have become empty spaces
blurred by time
what keeps insistent however are your eyes
stripped of a nose and lips and even a neck
thriving on lesser hair
and thin ears
they float in that picture
still looking at me
asking
why?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mary Bateman
My love she wears a cotton plaid,
A bonnet of the straw;
Her cheeks are leaves of roses spread,
Her lips are like the haw.
In truth she is as sweet a maid
As true love ever saw.
Her curls are ever in my eyes,
As nets by Cupid flung;
Her voice will oft my sleep surprise,
More sweet then ballad sung.
O Mary Bateman's curling hair!
I wake, and there is nothing there.
I wake, and fall asleep again,
The same delights in visions rise;
There's nothing can appear more plain
Than those rose cheeks and those bright eyes.
I wake again, and all alone
Sits Darkness on his ebon throne.
All silent runs the silver Trent,
The cobweb veils are all wet through,
A silver bead's on every bent,
On every leaf a bleb of dew.
I sighed, the moon it shone so clear;
Was Mary Bateman walking here?
poem by John Clare
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Mask of My Heart
As the cloud went to black
We lost our way back
As the sun set to night
No smiles of something bright
Lonely the moon bounced the starlight
When blood became cold as frostbite
Bleeding inside till black from red
Let the honesty fainted bed
They broke words of silent voices
Without harm with many chances
Never to see the truth
Nor then to face the truth
All remained invisible sight
Black blocked the white to face to light
Broken the heart of smiling face
When sense was gone no eyes to gaze
It turned into the silent noise
Black without smile and cheer but voice
Whispering tears dropped inside heart
It hurt it broke Mask of my heart
poem by Vidi Pudinkz
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Lips and Eyes.
IN Celia's face a question did arise,
Which were more beautiful, her lips or eyes ?
“ We,” said the eyes, “send forth those pointed darts
Which pierce the hardest adamantine hearts.”
“ From us,” repli'd the lips, “proceed those blisses
Which lovers reap by kind words and sweet kisses.”
Then wept the eyes, and from their springs did pour
Of liquid oriental pearl a shower ;
Whereat the lips, moved with delight and pleasure,
Through a sweet smile unlock'd their pearly treasure
And bad Love judge, whether did add more grace
Weeping or smiling pearls to Celia's face.
poem by Thomas Carew
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Painted Smile
Paint a smile on my face
Try to hide the pain
The smile never meets my eyes
My heart is full of shame
Paint a smile on my face
Try to forget the lies
The smile never meets my eyes
My heart is filled with pain
Paint a smile on my face
Try to forget I'm alone
The smile never meets my eyes
My heart begins to break
I feel a tender touch upon
The smile painted on
He wipes the smile off my face
Tells my heart to not be fake
He replaces the paint with a smile so true
I know I can't be alone
He takes the pain out of my heart
And fills me up again
For My God
poem by Lacey UnKnown
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To His Sleeping Mistress
Oh, fair sweet face! oh, eyes, celestial bright,
Twin stars in heaven, that now adorn the night!
Oh, fruitful lips, where cherries ever grow,
And damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow!
Oh, thou, from head to foot divinely fair!
Cupid's most cunning net's made of that hair;
And, as he weaves himself for curious eyes,
'Oh me, oh me, I'm caught myself!' he cries:
Sweet rest about thee, sweet and golden sleep,
Soft peaceful thoughts, your hourly watches keep,
Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice,
To beauty sacred, and those angel eyes!
poem by John Fletcher
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I will wear myself in the beauty of you
I wear myself in the beauty of spring
the white flowers put on my skin
the rose petals paint my cheeks
the red of sunset kisses my lips
I wash my face in the crystal water of stream
I wear myself in the beauty of my dreams
the green hopes put into my eyes
the red of my heart kisses my soul
I wash my face among drops of my tears
I will wear myself in all beauty of this world
and come to your heart
as spring
as summer
as autumn
as winter
as your wish
I will wash my face in your tears
I will wear myself in the beauty of you
poem by Ata Augustyn
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The Little House
WHEN my heart goes a-roving
'Tis the wide ways for me,
And the fields, and the hills,
And the big, blue sea.
Then 'tis far, far I wander,
And 'tis little that you care,
With your wiles, and your smiles,
And your eyes and hair.
But the dream of you follows,
Or it gleams at my side;
And I turn, turn about,
For the world seems wide.
There's a rose-mist about you
And 'tis sweet, sweet you are,
With your throat and your cheeks
And your face a star.
When my heart comes a-homing
'Tis the little house I see,
Where you sit all alone
With a stool for me.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Twin Faces
I gazed into her lovely eyes
and saw miniature faces
of myself looking back at me.
Do these blue orbs see what I see?
Is what I see what she perceives
through these tinted panes to her soul?
Can she see Mr. Hyde lurking
behind the comely mask I wear?
A smile on her innocent face
appeared, then she gently kissed me
caressing my cheeks with both hands.
I knew then it did not matter
what I saw in those twin faces
hidden now behind her closed eyes.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Near But Far Away
She wavered, stopped and turned, methought her eyes,
The deep grey windows of her heart, were wet,
Methought they softened with a new regret
To note in mine unspoken miseries,
And as a prayer from out my heart did rise
And struggled on my lips in shame's strong net,
She stayed me, and cried "Brother!" our lips met,
Her deawr hands drew me into Paradise.
Sweet seemed that kiss till thence her feet were gone,
Sweet seemed the word she spake, while it might be
As wordless music--But truth fell on me,
And kiss and word I knew, and, left alone,
Face to face seemed I to a wall of stone,
While at my back there beat a boundless sea.
poem by William Morris
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At the Opera
THE CURTAIN rose—the play began—
The limelight on the gay garbs shone;
Yet carelessly I gazed upon
The painted players, maid and man,
As one with idle eyes who sees
The marble figures on a frieze.
Long lark-notes clear the first act close,
So the soprano: then a hush—
The tenor, tender as a thrush;
Then loud and high the chorus rose,
Till, with a sudden rush and strong,
It ended in a storm of song.
The curtain fell—the music died—
The lights grew bright, revealing there
The flash of jewelled fingers fair,
And wreaths of pearls on brows of pride;
Then, with a quick-flushed cheek, I turned,
And into mine her dark eyes burned.
Such eyes but once a man may see,
And, seeing once, his fancy dies
To thought of any other eyes:
So shadow-soft, they seemed to be
Twin haunted lakes, lit by the gleams
Of a mysterious moon of dreams.
Silk lashes veiled their liquid light
With such a shade as tall reeds fling
From the lake-marge at sunsetting:
Their darkness might have hid the night—
Yet whoso saw their glance would say
Night dreamt therein, and saw the day.
Long looked I at them, wondering
What tender memories were hid
Beneath each blue-veined lily-lid;
What hopes of joys the years would bring;
What griefs? In vain: I might not guess
The secret of their silentness.
What of her face? Her face, meseems,
Was such as painters see who muse
By moonlight in dim avenues,
Yet cannot paint; or as in dreams,
Young poets see, but, when they try
To limn in verse are dumb—so I.
Yet well I know that I have seen
That sweet face in the long ago
In a rose-bower—well I know—
Laughing the singing leaves between,
In that strange land of rose and rhyme—
The land of Once upon a Time.
O unknown sweet, so sweetly known,
I know not what your name may be—
Madonna is your name for me—
Nor where your lines in life are thrown;
But soul sees soul—what is the rest?
A passing phantom at the best.
Did your young bosom never glow
To love? or burns your heart beneath
As burns the rosebud in its sheath?
I neither know nor wish to know:
I smell the rose upon the tree;
Who will may pluck and wear, for me—
May wear the rose, and watch it die,
And, leaf by red leaf, fade and fall,
Till there be nothing left at all
Of its sweet loveliness; but I
Love it so well, I leave it free—
The scent alone I take with me!
As one who visits sacred spots
Brings tokens back, so I from you
A glance, a smile, a rapture new!
And these are my forget-me-nots!
I take from you but only these—
Give all the rest to whom you please.
Sweet eyes, your glance a light shall cast
On me, when dreaded ghosts arise
Of dead regrets with shrouded eyes,
And phantoms of the perished past,
Old thoughts, old hopes, and old desire
Gather around my lonely fire!
Farewell! In rhyme, I kiss your hand—
Kiss not unsweet, although unheard!—
This is our secret—say no word—
That I have been in Fairyland,
And seen for one brief moment’s space
The Queen Titania face to face.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Premonition
'Twas a year ago and the moon was bright
(Oh, I remember so well, so well);
I walked with my love in a sea of light,
And the voice of my sweet was a silver bell.
And sudden the moon grew strangely dull,
And sudden my love had taken wing;
I looked on the face of a grinning skull,
I strained to my heart a ghastly thing.
'Twas but fantasy, for my love lay still
In my arms, with her tender eyes aglow,
And she wondered why my lips were chill,
Why I was silent and kissed her so.
A year has gone and the moon is bright,
A gibbous moon, like a ghost of woe;
I sit by a new-made grave to-night,
And my heart is broken -- it's strange, you know.
poem by Robert William Service
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More Strong Than Time
Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;
Since it was given to me to hear on happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;
Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;
I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.
Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget
poem by Victor Hugo
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More Strong Than Time
Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;
Since it was given to me to hear on happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;
Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;
I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.
Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget
poem by Victor Hugo
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My heart is a mirror
Your face is like my mirror, I can see it all
Your face is like a mirror, a mirror on my heart’s wall
You smile and so does my heart
Frown on your face and my smile breaks apart
The glow on your face has its reflection in my heart
Tear in your eyes and my sorrows start
The love on your face is felt by me
Your success is my ecstasy
If you feel the pain
The sorrow of my heart, I can’t explain
If you go away
My heart will no longer stay
Your face is like my mirror, I can see it all
You have my heart and so you control…
poem by Amita Singh
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