Once a sea-nymph loved a boy
ONCE a sea-nymph loved a boy:
He and she they loved so well.
'Oh the foamy billow's joy!
Oh the rippling in the sun!
Oh the round waves, one by one, Swaying, swaying, swaying, To and fro.
Oh my pearl and coral cell, And the long weeds playing,
While the surges come and go, Come and go!'
Boy and nymph were hand in hand:
He and she they had much love.
'Oh the green and ripening land!
Oh the lime-scent in the trees!
Oh the langour of the breeze,
Wooing, wooing, wooing, Light and low!
Oh the twilight in my grove, And the cushats cooing;
While the brook steals soft and slow, Soft and slow.'
Love, that heard them, laughed aloud, Took them to the side of him.
Was it land or leafy cloud?
Was it billowy cloud or sea? 'Twas the home that eyes, kissed dim,
Look on as they'd have it be.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Slow Dancing
(jack tempchin)
Its late at night and were all alone
With just the music of the radio
No ones comin, no ones gonna telephone
Just me and him and the lights down low
And were slow dancing, swaying to the music
Slow dancing, just me and my guy
Slow dancing, swaying to the music
No one else in the whole wide world
In the whole wide world
And we just float together when the lights are low
And the shadows dancing across the wall
The musics playing so soft and slow
And the rest of the worlds so far away and small
Slow dancing, swaying to the music
Slow dancing, just me and my guy
Slow dancing, swaying to the music
No one else in the whole wide world
In the whole wide world
Hold me, please hold me
Dont ever let me go
And as we dance together in the dark
Theres so much love in this heart of mine
He whispers to me and I hold him tight
Hes the one I thought Id never find
Slow dancing, swaying to the music
Slow dancing, just me and my guy
Slow dancing, swaying to the music
No one else in the whole wide world
In the whole wide world
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fickle Breeze
Sighing softly to the river
Comes the loving breeze,
Setting nature all a-quiver,
Rustling through the trees!
And the brook in rippling measure
Laughs for very love,
While the poplars, in their pleasure,
Wave their arms above!
River, river, little river,
May thy loving prosper ever.
Heaven speed thee, poplar tree,
May thy wooing happy be!
Yet, the breeze is but a rover,
When he wings away,
Brook and poplar mourn a lover!
Sighing well-a-day!
Ah, the doing and undoing
That the rogue could tell!
When the breeze is out a-wooing,
Who can woo so well?
Pretty brook, thy dream is over,
For thy love is but a rover!
Sad the lot of poplar trees,
Courted by the fickle breeze!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Perpetual Wooing
The dull world clamors at my feet
And asks my hand and helping sweet;
And wonders when the time shall be
I'll leave off dreaming dreams of thee.
It blames me coining soul and time
And sending minted bits of rhyme--
A-wooing of thee still.
Shall I make answer? This it is:
I camp beneath thy galaxies
Of starry thoughts and shining deeds;
And, seeing new ones, I must needs
Arouse my speech to tell thee, dear,
Though thou art nearer, I am near--
A-wooing of thee still.
I feel thy heart-beat next mine own;
Its music hath a richer tone.
I rediscover in thine eyes
A balmier, dewier paradise.
I'm sure thou art a rarer girl--
And so I seek thee, finest pearl,
A-wooing of thee still.
With blood of roses on thy lips--
Canst doubt my trembling?--something slips
Between thy loveliness and me--
So commonplace, so fond of thee.
Ah, sweet, a kiss is waiting where
That last one stopped thy lover's prayer--
A-wooing of thee still.
When new light falls upon thy face
My gladdened soul discerns some trace
Of God, or angel, never seen
In other days of shade and sheen.
Ne'er may such rapture die, or less
Than joy like this my heart confess--
A-wooing of thee still.
Go thou, O soul of beauty, go
Fleet-footed toward the heavens aglow.
Mayhap, in following, thou shalt see
Me worthier of thy love and thee.
Thou wouldst not have me satisfied
Until thou lov'st me--none beside--
A-wooing of thee still.
This was a song of years ago--
Of spring! Now drifting flowers of snow
Bloom on the window-sills as white
As gray-beard looking through love's light
And holding blue-veined hands the while.
He finds her last--the sweetest smile--
A-wooing of her still.
poem by Eugene Field
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Trees
Green with spendour when Summer's here,
Brown contender in Autumn's sphere,
Bare the branches in Winter's embrace,
New growth created, when Spring shows her face.
Stalwart trunks, with many years standing,
Leaves when over, steadily landing,
Branches swaying in the breeze,
How I love all kinds of trees.
Forests of green, where they all meet,
Swaying together as they all greet,
Each morning, when the light appears,
Each growing slowly over the years.
Sentinels of the land they survey,
Strong and upstanding in every way,
Graceful, mighty, powerful and fine,
Tall and sleek just like the Pine.
The Oak, Ash, Sycamore and Lime,
The Rowan, White Beam and Silver Birch sublime,
Each one giving of their glorious best,
To the World - The World's been blest.
What would we do without our trees,
Don't cut them down, will you please,
Remember how they give us shade,
From the sun, within the glade.
Stand and study these majestic creations,
Upright descendants of past relations,
Their dignity, against all weathers,
If it were us, we'd lose our tethers.
But these gallant trees require our care,
They give oxygen, in the air
That we breathe, so, if we want to survive,
Let us keep our trees alive.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Shell-Music
YOU with the shell to your ear,
What do you hear,
Slim and so white
In the moonlight?
'Oh, I hear surging and shouting and singing,
The sea-folk at market — their little bells ringing,
The tall weeds about them, the green world above!
Oh, blithe are the pedlars of ribbons and laces,
Yet blither and sweeter upon the wide spaces
The footfalls of Love!'
You with the shell to your ear,
What do you hear,
Waves at your feet,
White and so sweet?
'Oh, I hear cooing and kissing and cooing,
The sound of sea-folk in their coral groves wooing,
The red branches round them, the green world above!
Oh, sweet are the songs of the witching sea-daughters,
But sweeter, far sweeter, upon the wide waters,
The footfalls of Love!'
You with the shell to your ear,
What do you hear,
Large eyes aglow,
Forehead of snow?
'Oh, I hear shouting and sobbing and sighing,
The sounds of the sea-folk in battle-rage vieing,
The torn weeds about them, the green world above!
The merman may shout as he stumbles and slaughters,
But, ever and ever, I hear on the waters
The footfalls of Love!'
You with the shell to your ear,
What do you hear,
As you stand there,
Pale and so fair?
'Oh, as frost on the seaways the foam-spaces glisten;
My heart is the shell, to its echoes I listen;
Red petals, rose petals around and above!
Oh sweeter, far sweeter, than little bells ringing
Or market-men shouting, or mermaidens singing,
The footfalls of Love!'
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Twilight, Mercy, Love
Twilight, mercy,
love to share
soft breezes,
gentle air.
Trees are swaying
birds give flight,
sing to sunset
lullaby night.
poem by Steven Federle
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To the Night Breeze
BREEZE of the night, across my pillow straying
Breeze of the night, of summer dews begot,
Salt from the sea-shore, where the waves are playing,
Slow, to and fro, my window curtains swaying
Cool my flushed cheeks, by recent sleep left hot.
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Two Lovers
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime!
Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!
Two faces o'er a cradle bent:
Two hands above the head were locked:
These pressed each other while they rocked,
Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
O hidden power!
Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
O tender strife!
The two still sat together there,
The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!
The red light shone upon the floor
And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!
O past that is!
poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Visitant
1
A cloud moved close. The bulk of the wind shifted.
A tree swayed over water.
A voice said:
Stay. Stay by the slip-ooze. Stay.
Dearest tree, I said, may I rest here?
A ripple made a soft reply.
I waited, alert as a dog.
The leech clinging to a stone waited;
And the crab, the quiet breather.
2
Slow, slow as a fish she came,
Slow as a fish coming forward,
Swaying in a long wave;
Her skirts not touching a leaf,
Her white arms reaching towards me.
She came without sound,
Without brushing the wet stones,
In the soft dark of early evening,
She came,
The wind in her hair,
The moon beginning.
3
I woke in the first of morning.
Staring at a tree, I felt the pulse of a stone.
Where’s she now, I kept saying.
Where’s she now, the mountain’s downy girl?
But the bright day had no answer.
A wind stirred in a web of appleworms;
The tree, the close willow, swayed.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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My Walk
Leaves sparkling with colours of red, yellow, brown and gold.
The peacefulness of the walk
a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind,
yet somehow gives a little calm to the raging waves.
Birds chirp their songs to each other
playing musical chairs across high branches.
Stop for awhile
try to catch a glimpse of a field mouse
busy on it's journey through the undergrowth,
but it stays elusive to my eyes if not my ears.
Fallen trees lay about in perfect posture
offering the rambler a seat to rest and look around.
Bluebells in abundance
covering the floor like a carpet,
swaying gentle on the sometimes breeze.
Young sapling trees point skyward
chasing old gnarled ones to reach a passing cloud,
straight as an arrow the young ones against the twisted shape of old.
Walk past a familiar spot once shared
with a lover so far away,
extends my smile.
Clouds on high drift silently along
as if looking for wishes to transport to another land.
I love the sun high in the sky
knowing the warmth I feel is the same it gives you.
One sun warming us both.
RG/NB
poem by Robert Green
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Lynton Verses
Sweet breeze that sett'st the summer birds a swaying,
Dear lambs amid the primrose meadows playing
Let me not think!
O floods, upon whose brink
The merry birds are maying,
Dream, softly dream! O blessed mother lead me
Unsevered from thy girdle — lead me! feed me!
I have no will but shine;
I need not but the juice
Of elemental wine—
Perish remoter use
Of strength reserved for conflict yet to come!
Let me be dumb,
As long as I may feel thy hand—
This, this is all—do ye not understand
How the great Mother mixes all our bloods ?
O breeze! O swaying buds!
O lambs, O primroses, O floods!
poem by Thomas Edward Brown
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You Are Not A Dream
last night you are the woman undressing before me
beside the brook with bamboo trees swaying on its side
i am told that you are just a dream
the fruit of my weary mind
i have seen the waterfalls flowing from your hair
i have touched the full moon of your breasts
i laid my body on the cool green grass of your body
your hands are soft and perfumed like the orange flowers
cascading on my face
i feel the rain dripping on my cheeks
when you left me
you are not just a dream my love
you are real from the very beginning of my sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Daisies
IN THE scented bud of the morning—O,
When the windy grass went rippling far,
I saw my dear one walking slow,
In the field where the daisies are.
We did not laugh and we did not speak
As we wandered happily to and fro;
I kissed my dear on either cheek,
In the bud of the morning—O.
A lark sang up from the breezy land,
A lark sang down from a cloud afar,
And she and I went hand in hand
In the field where the daisies are.
poem by James Stephens
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A Love Song from the North
Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,
Wouldst thou recall to my heart, papeeha,
Dreams of delight that are gone,
When swift to my side came the feet of my lover
With stars of the dusk and the dawn?
I see the soft wings of the clouds on the river,
And jewelled with raindrops the mango-leaves quiver,
And tender boughs flower on the plain.....
But what is their beauty to me, papeeha,
Beauty of blossom and shower, papeeha,
That brings not my lover again?
Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,
Wouldst thou revive in my heart, papeeha
Grief for the joy that is gone?
I hear the bright peacock in glimmering woodlands
Cry to its mate in the dawn;
I hear the black koel's slow, tremulous wooing,
And sweet in the gardens the calling and cooing
Of passionate bulbul and dove....
But what is their music to me, papeeha
Songs of their laughter and love, papeeha,
To me, forsaken of love?
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Before the Fall - 0102 - For Annie Boudet
Love was for me framed in eternity.
Whispering and wooing, in our sleek youth happy,
where air and water seek dry sand,
there far from others of the band,
fair hearts held high, her hand my hand, together linked were we
The doves of love were cooing in Cupid's comany;
above our heads bright stars did shine,
spread out in soft light milky line,
shed silver on the sacred shrine of her divinity.
Through time the scene reviewing, with no uncertainty,
thread perfect wed, divine design,
rose vision sworn, reflection fine,
whose face sublime fond Earth did sign to grace humanity
We cared not, to undoing, we dared ‘to be' to be,
before rash fires of passion fanned,
before, as ashes, pyres were panned;
ere separation, forced or planned, diverted destiny.
Is love, for thee, still certainty?
(3 October 1975)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Little Lucy Landman
Oh, the day has set me dreaming
In a strange, half solemn way
Of the feelings I experienced
On another long past day,--
Of the way my heart made music
When the buds began to blow,
And o' little Lucy Landman
Whom I loved long years ago.
It 's in spring, the poet tells us,
That we turn to thoughts of love,
And our hearts go out a-wooing
With the lapwing and the dove.
But whene'er the soul goes seeking
Its twin-soul, upon the wing,
I 've a notion, backed by mem'ry,
That it's love that makes the spring.
I have heard a robin singing
When the boughs were brown and bare,
And the chilling hand of winter
Scattered jewels through the air.
And in spite of dates and seasons,
It was always spring, I know,
When I loved Lucy Landman
In the days of long ago.
Ah, my little Lucy Landman,
I remember you as well
As if 't were only yesterday
I strove your thoughts to tell,--
When I tilted back your bonnet,
Looked into your eyes so true,
Just to see if you were loving
Me as I was loving you.
Ah, my little Lucy Landman
It is true it was denied
You should see a fuller summer
And an autumn by my side.
But the glance of love's sweet sunlight
Which your eyes that morning gave
Has kept spring within my bosom,
Though you lie within the grave.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Birds' Lullaby
I
Sing to us, cedars; the twilight is creeping
With shadowy garments, the wilderness through;
All day we have carolled, and now would be sleeping,
So echo the anthems we warbled to you;
While we swing, swing,
And your branches sing,
And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
II
Sing to us, cedars; the night-wind is sighing,
Is wooing, is pleading, to hear you reply;
And here in your arms we are restfully lying,
And longing to dream to your soft lullaby;
While we swing, swing,
And your branches sing,
And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
III
Sing to us, cedars; your voice is so lowly,
Your breathing so fragrant, your branches so strong;
Our little nest-cradles are swaying so slowly,
While zephyrs are breathing their slumberous song.
And we swing, swing,
While your branches sing,
And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Pastiche
I.
LOVE, oh, Love's a dainty sweeting,
Wooing now, and now retreating;
Brightest joy and blackest care,
Swift as light, and light as air.
II.
Would you seize and fix and capture
All his evanescent rapture?
Bind him fast with golden curls,
Fetter with a chain of pearls?
III.
Would you catch him in a net,
Like a white moth prankt with jet?
Clutch him, and his bloomy wing
Turns a dead, discoloured thing!
IV.
Pluck him like a rosebud red,
And he leaves a thorn instead;
Let him go without a care,
And he follows unaware.
V.
Love, oh Love's a dainty sweeting,
Wooing now, and now retreating;
Lightly come, and lightly gone,
Lost when most securely won!
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Brian Lubeck
I will hold your hand
And we shall dance
The chacha
The sound of
Brian lubeck
Is chacha
I hold you by my hand
Your hand
Your side
Of pleasure
As I slide
My mind
To your
Soft slender
Body swaying
The chacha
To the magic
Of brian lubeck
How I wish
To make love
To someone
Like you
Tonight
Nameless
Woman of
This dancing floor
Where your name
Is simply
A chacha
To the beat
Of brian lubeck.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lonely:
Lonely,
So, so lonely,
I feel like that flower I seen today,
It was in a yard surrounded by nothing but weeds and grass, none of his flower friends were out with him swaying along with him in the breeze,
So he was swaying all alone in the breeze.
Lonely,
Lonely,
So, so lonely,
Along with the loneliness, comes along boredom,
To make me feel even worse,
Great!
Fabulous!
My boredom is growing old,
So, so old,
I am about to scream,
So as not to be board anymore,
Who is with me?
On this road of pure boredom?
poem by Sherry Painter
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