Her Memories
NOT by her grave: thither I bid them take
Fresh garlands of the flowers that pleased her best,
And lay them by the headstone, for my sake,
My token and remembrance with the rest:
But here, where in the brightening of the west
I see her mountains grow into the sky,
Her native world, and mine because of her,
Here, where that low sigh of the pinewood's stir,
That was her dearest music, fills all sound
,I am with her;
And always, always, past comes passing by,
Lost in her grave, but here as if half found.
Not by her grave: it is too still, too cold,
And save my loss is nothing with me there.
What memories have I there of her of old?
They came not there, the dear lost days that were;
Not she lies there, but only my despair;
Not she, but death and all my loneliness.
What memories save all memories love must shun?
I would not think of death and her as one;
She shall be only life-ful in my mind,
With life's self one;
A name of glad remindings and old bliss,
So something of her presence left behind.
Not by her grave: some day will I return,
When sorrow keeps its wont unvexed by place,
And, sitting on the turf beside, will learn
To call before me there her waking face,
Not that white face that slept and took no trace
Of change because I kissed it, nor for tears.
Some day; for now I should forget her so,
Lose the fair happy woman and but know
The coldness and the silence when she died,
Lose her all so,
My love that was my life of all for years.
She loved this music when the pinewoods sighed.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Remember Me When Im Gone
Why I don't know why even how?
How Lovers turn strangers
How all the passion and love
Turn in to ashes just in a while
How your real love flew
How it could be true
The love between me and you
The thing that I've never got
How the love like flower dies
How Would you tell me how
How you could forget the love
For It's sake days and nights breathless stood there
Never got tired of knocking the doors of my heart
love I loved you and lived for your love even after you've gone
Love I loved and I lived your pain
For your sake I used to love your pain
Because my love was real and
Truer than true
No one ever will be loved like The way I loved you
Someday you will comeback
But it'll be too late
never again you'll find me there
A lifetime I'm standing right here
Got tired this heart of mine
Long years alone waited for your return
If I had one more life I would sacrifice for your love
But when the time of leaving comes
There's nothing to do my love
When you come back when I'm gone
you will return home broken
That moment you'll feel how much you've hurt the one who loved you more than her life
I'll go far away taking with me your love and all the memories
Those memories never gone away
Like my shadow always chased my way
Remember me when I'm gone
Because even in my grave I'll always love those smiling green eyes.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only A Soldier's Grave
Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents had he - they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with tearful eye;
It's only a soldier's grave - pass by.
True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk high; -
Only a soldier's grave: - pass by.
Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh; -
Yet, 'tis only a soldier's grave: - pass by.
Yet, we should mark it - the soldier's grave,
Some one may seek him in hope to save!
Some of the dear ones, far away,
Would bear him home to his native clay:
'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,
Find not the hillock, and pass him by.
poem by S.A. Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only A Soldier's Grave
Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents he had--they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with a tearful eye:
It's only a soldier's grave--pass by.
True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or of triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk high;--
Only a soldier's grave--pass by.
Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh;--
Yet,'tis only a soldier's grave:--pass by.
Yet, should we mark it--the soldier's grave,
Some one may seek him in hope to save!
Some of the dear ones, far away,
Would bear him home to his native clay:
'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,
Find not the hillock, and pass him by.
poem by Sidney Alroy Jonas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Denial
for every tear
that we shed
on the grave of
our loved one
another soul
up there
becomes restless
disturbed.
do not cry anymore.
let them have the
needed rest.
you must learn
to forget and learn
to live
your own life
of loneliness
the woman
standing next
to the grave
of your husband
mourns too
fighting her own
battle of
loneliness
look at her
she is broken
too with so much
sorrow
pity, have pity on her.
pity, have pity on yourself too
why should one be overwhelmed with so much sorrow?
when happines lurks just behind you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Requiem
NOW veiled in the inviolable past
Love lies asleep, who never more will wake;
Nor would you wake him, even for my sake
Who for your sake pray he sleep sound at last.
What good thing had we of him--we who bore
So long his yoke? what pleasant thing had we
That we should weep his deathlong sleep to see,
Or call on Life to waken him once more?
A little joy he gave, and much of pain,
A little pleasure, and enduring grief,
One flower of joy, and pain piled sheaf on sheaf,
Harvests of loss, for every bud of gain.
Yet where he lies in this deserted place
Divided by his narrow grave we sit,
Welded together by the depths of it,
Watching the years pass, with averted face.
We do not mourn for him, for here is peace;
The old unrest frets not these empty years;
With him went smiles a few, and many tears,
And peace is sweeter far than those or these.
Only--we owe him nothing. If he gave,
We too gave gifts--his gifts were less than ours:
We gave the world, that held so many flowers
For this--the world that only holds his grave.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Music, my favorite place
Music comes to life
When life is boring
Music can tell a story
That sounds like its for me
Music can torture me
With old memories
Music can love me
When theres no love for me
Music can save me
When I am lost
Music can cure me
When I almost pay the final cost
Music can yell at me
Which keeps me awake
Music can speak softly
When I need a moment away
Music can teach me
That this world isnt just hate
Music
my favorite place
poem by Jackrabbit Krjs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Buried Between two Trees
Back home again
in the yard
I used to play in
So many memories here
of days long ago
for memories, I hold dear
Saw the grave of old shep
the dog I loved so
in this yard, he followed me every step
He's buried between two trees you see
buried him in my brand new quilt
and my mother was really mad at me
In this yard, I would bathe him
many years before
his old eyes grew dim
His bed layed by the cellar door
with tall trees, all around him
oh memories, of the dog I adored
Memories of the time
that the meter man came
he hit old shep, that wasn't very kind
This old yard, was all shep had
he guarded it with his life
when he died, I was very sad
This old yard, now has in it,
a lot of beautiful flowers, all round
between two trees, he wouldn't mind a bit.
C. L. M.
In the dark womb where I began
My mother's life made me a man.
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth.
I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir.
But through the death of some of her.
Down in the darkness of the grave
She cannot see the life she gave.
For all her love, she cannot tell
Whether I use it ill or well,
Nor knock at dusty doors to find
Her beauty dusty in the mind.
If the grave's gates could be undone,
She would not know her little son,
I am so grown. If we should meet
She would pass by me in the street,
Unless my soul's face let her see
My sense of what she did for me.
What have I done to keep in mind
My debt to her and womankind ?
What woman's happier life repays
Her for those months of wretched days ?
For all my rnouthless body leeched
Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached ?
What have I done, or tried, or said
In thanks to that dear woman dead ?
Men triumph over women still,
Men trample women's rights at will.
And man's lust roves the world untamed.
* • * •
O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
Submitted by anonym
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After Death
IF we must part, this parting is the best:
How would you bear to lay
Your head on some warm pillow far away--
Your head, so used to lying on my breast?
But now your pillow is cold;
Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;
Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.
I have put the death-money upon your eyes,
So that you should not wake up in the night.
I have bound your face with white;
I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,--
Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,
Those feet that hastened when they came to me,
And all your body that belonged to me.
I have smoothed your dear dull hair,
And there is nothing left to say for you
And nothing left to fear or pray for you;
And I have got the rest of life to bear:
Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there.
If I had died
And you had stood beside
This still white bed
Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,--
I know the thing it is,
And I thank God that He has spared you this.
If one must bear it, thank God it was I
Who had to live and bear to see you die,
Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.
You will have nothing of it all to bear:
You will not even know that in your bed
You lie alone. You will not miss my head
Beside you on the pillow: you will rest
So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast.
But I--but I--Your pillow and your place--
And only the darkness laid against my face,
And only my anguish pressed against my side--
Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come With The Summer Leaves
Come with the summer leaves, love, to my grave,
And, if you doubt among the quiet dead,
Choose out that mound where greenest grasses wave
And where the flowers grow thickest and most red.
Come in the morning while the dews of night,
Which are fair Nature's tears in darkness shed,
Rim the sad petals nor are garnered quite,
Like my lost hopes untimely harvested.
Come to my grave--ah gather, love, those flowers!
Out of my heart they grow for your dear head.
These are its songs unwritten and all yours,
The love I loved you with and left unsaid.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Love And Loss
Loss molds our lives in many ways,
And fills our souls with guesses;
Upon our hearts sad hands it lays
Like some grave priest that blesses.
Far better than the love we win,
That earthly passions leaven,
Is love we lose, that knows no sin,
That points the path to Heaven.
Love, whose soft shadow brightens Earth,
Through whom our dreams are nearest;
And loss, through whom we see the worth
Of all that we held dearest.
Not joy it is, but misery
That chastens us, and sorrow;
Perhaps to make us all that we
Expect beyond To-morrow.
Within that life where time and fate
Are not; that knows no seeming:
That world to which death keeps the gate
Where love and loss sit dreaming.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sea Of Heartbreak
Oh the lights in the harbour-our-our
They don't shine for me-ee-ee-ee
I'm like a lost shi-ip
Adrift on the sea-ea-ea
Sea of heartbreak, lost love and loneliness
Memories of your caress, so divi-i-ine
How I wish you were mi-ine again my dear-ear-ear
I'm on the sea of tears, sea of heartbreak
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Oh-oh how did I lose you-ou-ou
Oh where, where did I fai-ai-ail
Why-y-y-y did you leave me
Always to sai-ai-ai-ail
The sea of heartbreak, lost love and loneliness
Memories of your caress, so divi-i-ine
How I wish you were mi-ine again my dear-ear-ear
I'm on the sea of tears, sea of heartbreak
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Oh what I'd gi-ive to sail back to shore-ore
Back to your ar-ar-arms once more-ore-ore
Come to my rescue-ue-ue
Oh co-o-ome here to me-ee-ee
Oh-oh take me, take me and keep me-ee-ee
Away-ay-ay from the sea-ea-ea
Sea of heartbreaks, lost love and loneliness
Memories of your caress, so divi-i-ine
How I wish you were mi-ine again my dear-ear-ear
I'm on the sea of tears
Sea of heartbreak, lost love and loneliness
Memories of your caress, so divi-i-ine
How I wish you were mi-ine again my dear-ear-ear
I'm on the sea of tears, sea of heartbreak
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh...ooh-ooh-ooh
On the sea of tears, sea of heartbreak
Ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh
On the sea of tears, sea of heartbreak [fade]
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She is Far From the Land
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her, sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.
She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking; --
Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.
He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his Love stay behind him.
Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
From her own loved island of sorrow.
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sea Of Heartbreak (feat. George Strait)
Jimmy:
The lights in the harbor
don't shine for me.
I'm like a lost ship
lost on the sea.
The sea of heartbreak,
lost love and loneliness,
memories of your caress,
so devine, I wish you were mine
again my dear.
I'm on a sea of tears
a sea of heartbreak.
George Strait:
How did I lose you?
Where did I fail?
Why did you leave me?
Always to sail.
The sea of heartbreak,
lost love and loneliness,
memories of your caress,
so devine, I wish you were mine
again my dear.
I'm on a sea of tears
a sea of heartbreak.
Both:
Oh what I'd give
to sail back to shore.
Back to your arms once more.
Jimmy:
So come to my rescue,
come here to me.
Both:
Take me and keep me
Jimmy:
away from this sea.
Both:
This sea of heartbreak,
lost love and loneliness,
memories of your caress,
so devine, I wish you were mine
again my dear.
I'm on a sea of tears
a sea of heartbreak.
This sea of heartbreak.
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"
-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Happy Man
Today I met a happy man
Greeting the glad new year.
About his face the sunbeams ran
And danced, as straightaway he began
To laugh with right good cheer.
His garb was mean, tho' neat and clean;
No scarf, no hat had he.
He seemed indeed to be in need
And touched by poverty.
'Good friend,' said I, 'why do you laugh
And chortle in the sun,
When we've a bitter cut to quaff.
With profits down to less than half
And gloom for every one?
Know you that these are troublous days,
And life a stern affair,
And all must tread uncertain ways,
Haunted by grim despair?'
The merry rogue looked up at me,
And grinned from ear to ear.
'Why should I not be glad?' said he,
'And strive to greet right merrily
The birth of this glad year?'
'Because,' said I - and frowned again
'Of losses grave and great
That you and I and other men
Have had to bear of late.
'Think well,' I said; 'the times are grave,
And we may lose yet more.
We must give thought on how to save . . . '
He lifted up his head and gave
A long, loud, merry roar.
'I'd like,' said he, when he had pause,
'To share your gloomy views.
But I don't care a whit, because
I've not a thing to lose!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memories in the mind
Memories are made in the mind,
and there if you search, you will find.
There in the mind, so many things,
so many memories it brings.
So many years have passed,
of our youth, away we have cast
some memories happy, some memories sad,
memories have I, when I was a lad.
Memories have I, of a dog named shep,
memories of him, when he kept in step.
Memories of my friends, when we played,
of those days, for ever memories relayed.
Memories of family and fun,
when we talked until the setting of sun.
Memories of washing our fifty-seven Ford,
and wanting things we couldn't afford.
Memories are made in the mind,
long lost, search and you will find,
memories of days gone by,
searching memories, oh how you try.
Memories will fade out,
you have forgotton, what it's about,
memories lost in the mind,
dig them out and you will find.
The Lost One
COME to the grave--the silent grave! and dream
Of a light, happy voice--so full of joy,
That those who heard her laugh, would laugh again,
Echoing the mirth of such an innocent spirit;
And pause in their own converse, to look round,
Won by the witchery of that gleesome tone.
Come to the grave--the lone dark grave! and dream
Of eyes whose brilliancy was of the soul,
Eyes which, with one bright flash from their dark lids,
Seemed at a glance to read the thoughts of others;
Or, with a full entire tenderness,
The pure expression of all-perfect love,
(Of woman's love, which is for you alone,
While your's is for yourself)--gave in that look
The promise of a life of meek affection.
Come to the grave--the mouldering grave! and dream
Of a fair form that glided over earth
One of its happiest creatures:--to her cheek
The lightest word might bring the blushing blood
In pure carnation;--down her graceful neck,
The long rich curls of jet hung carelessly,
Untortured by the cunning hand of art:
And on her brow, bright purity and joy,
Twin sisters, sate,--as on a holy throne.
Come yet unto the grave--the still, damp grave!
And dream of a young heart that beat with life,
And all life's best affections; of a heart
Where sorrow never came, nor fear, nor sin--
Nor aught save innocence, and perfect love:
And, having dreamed of such a lovely being--
So gay, so bright, so pure, so fond, so meek--
Having thus conjured up a form of love
In thine own pausing and regretful mind;--
A vision will be present to thy soul,
A faint, but faithful portraiture, of one
Most dearly loved, and now for ever lost!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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A silent murder
A silent murder
A whispering grave
Voices are spoken
But they all fade away
Left all alone
In this forsaken home
Pictures we'll bare
Lost long voices we'll share
Broken memories of the past
Where too good to last
So pack up your bags
This is your last chance
Voices we long to hear
Are crackled, unclear
And faces we miss
Are long lost in the mist
New people we will meet
Eyes don't leave our feet
For memories from our past
Were built strong, to forever last
Frame your past
Shatter your future
Lose yourself in the moment
Lose yourself in the past
Twisted lives, will forever last
Frame your past
Jump inside
Hate the moment
So feed me more lies
poem by Shannon daffsdffjk
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