Poulain The Prisoner
I.
BEYOND his silent vault green springs went by,
The river flashed along its open way,
Blithe swallows flitted in their billowy play,
And the sweet lark went quivering up the sky.
With him was stillness and his heart's dumb cry
And darkness of the tomb through hopeless day,
Save that along the wall one single ray
Shifted, through jealous loop-holes, westerly.
One single ray: and where its light could fall
His rusty nail carved saints and angels there,
And warriors, and slim girls with braided hair,
And blossomy boughs, and birds athwart the air.
Rude work, but yet a world. And light for all
Was one slant ray upon a prison wall.
II.
One ray, and in its track hlie lived and wrought,
And in free wideness of the world, I know,
One said, 'Fair sunshine, yet it serves not so,
It needs a tenderer when I shape my thought;'
And, ''Tis too brown and molten in the drought,'
And, ''Tis too wan a greyness in this snow,'
And would have toiled, but wearied and was woe,
While days stole past and had bequeathed him nought.
Maybe in Gisors, round the fortress mead—
Gisors where now, when fair-time brings its press,
They seek the prisoner's tower to gaze and guess
And love the work he made in loneliness—
One cursed the gloom, and died without a deed,
The while he carved where his one ray could lead.
III.
'Oh loneliness! oh darkness!' so we wail,
Crying to life to give we know not what,
The hope not come, the ecstasy forgot,
The things we should have had and, needing, fail,
Nor know what thing it was for which we ail,
And, like tired travellers to an unknown spot,
Pass listless, noting only 'Yet 'tis not,'
And count the ended day an empty tale.
Ah me! to linger on in dim repose
And feel the numbness over hand and thought,
And feel the silence in the heart, that grows.
Ah me! to have forgot the hope we sought.
One ray of light, and a soul lived and wrought,
And on the prison walls a message rose.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Related quotes
Light The Heart
Time pushed me into dark
It closed all the doors
And locked me in cage
For days and months
With no rays of light
I lived in with a hope
In that cage for months
For a light of hand
To reach my darkness
And to pull into light
Days and months passed
In darkness and hope
No light of hand came
To pull me into light
Slowly my hope died
I stopped to look
For light of hand
And started to think
How to light darkness?
How to light darkness?
Finally the light came
In my cage of darkness
Its not light of hand
Its a light of lights
That showed me light
It divvy's any darkness
It unlocks any cage
It lights all the time
It always helps me out
Its a light of my heart
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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Life's Mighty Flood
WHAT is wrought in the forge of the living and life--
All things are nought! Ho! fill me the bowl,
For nought is the gear of the world and the strife!
One passion has quickened the heart and the soul,
The Beloved's presence alone they have sought--
Love at least exists; yet if Love were not,
Heart and soul would sink to the common lot--
All things are nought!
Like an empty cup is the fate of each,
That each must fill from Life's mighty flood;
Nought thy toil, though to Paradise gate thou reach,
If Another has filled up thy cup with blood;
Neither shade from the sweet-fruited trees could be bought
By thy praying-oh Cypress of Truth, dost not see
That Sidreh and Tuba were nought, and to thee
All then were nought!
The span of thy life is as five little days,
Brief hours and swift in this halting-place;
Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays,
For Time's self is nought and the dial's face.
On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short
Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass
While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass
Ere all is nought!
Consider the rose that breaks into flower,
Neither repines though she fade and die--
The powers of the world endure for an hour,
But nought shall remain of their majesty.
Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought
That virtue was easy and recompense yours;
From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors
The way is nought
What though I, too, have tasted the salt of my tears,
Though I, too, have burnt in the fires of grief,
Shall I cry aloud to unheeding ears?
Mourn and be silent! nought brings relief.
Thou, Hafiz, art praised for the songs thou hast wrought,
But bearing a stained or an honoured name,
The lovers of wine shall make light of thy fame--
All things are nought!
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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The Thought
Into the skies, one summer's day,
I sent a little Thought away;
Up to where, in the blue round,
The sun sat shining without sound.
Then my Thought came back to me.—
Little Thought, what did you see
In the regions whence you come?
And when I spoke, my Thought was dumb.
But she breathed of what was there,
In the pure bright upper air;
And, because my Thought so shone,
I knew she had been shone upon.
Next, by night a Thought I sent
Up into the firmament;
When the eager stars were out,
And the still moon shone about.
And my Thought went past the moon
In between the stars, but soon
Held her breath and durst not stir,
For the fear that covered her;
Then she thought, in this demur:
'Dare I look beneath the shade,
Into where the worlds are made;
Where the suns and stars are wrought?
Shall I meet another Thought?
'Will that other Thought have wings?
Shall I meet strange, heavenly things?
Thought of Thoughts, and Light of Lights,
Breath of Breaths, and Night of Nights?'
Then my Thought began to hark
In the illuminated dark,
Till the silence, over, under,
Made her heart beat more than thunder.
And my Thought, came trembling back,
But with something on her track,
And with something at her side;
Nor till she has lived and died,
Lived and died, and lived again,
Will that awful thing seem plain.
poem by William Brighty Rands
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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
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The German Student’s Love-Song
I.
BY the rush of the Rhine's broad stream,
Down whose rapid tide
We sailed as in some sweet dream
Sitting side by side;
By the depth of its clear blue wave
And the vine-clad hills,
Which gazed on its heart and gave
Their tribute rills;
By the mountains, in purple shade,
And those valleys green
Where our bower of rest was made,
By the world unseen;
By the notes of the wild free bird,
Singing over-head
When nought else in the sunshine stirr'd
Round our flowery bed;
By these, and by Love's power divine,
I have no thought but what is thine!
II.
By the glance of thy radiant eyes,
Where a glory shone
That was half of the summer skies
And half their own;
By the light and yet fervent hold
Of thy gentle hand,--
(As the woodbines the flowers enfold
With their tender band
By thy voice when it breathes in song,
And the echo given
By lips that to Earth belong,
Float up to Heaven;
By the gleams on thy silken hair
At the sunset hour,
And the breadth of they forehead fair
With its thoughtful power;
By these, and by Love's soul divine,
I have no hope but what is thine!
III.
By the beauty and stilness round
When the lake's lone shore
Scarce echoed the pleasant sound
Of the distant oar;
By the moonlight which softly fell
On all objects near,
And thy whisper seemed like a spell
In thy Lover's ear;
By the dreams of the restless past,
And the hope that came
Like sunshine in shadow cast
With thy gentle name;
By the beat of thy good true heart
Where pure thoughts have birth;
By thy tears, when Fate bade us part,
And thy smiles of mirth;
By these, and by Love's power divine,
I have no hope but what is thine!
IV.
By the gloom of those holy fanes
Where the light stream'd through
Dim orange and purple panes
On the aisles below;
By the ruin'd and roofless wall
Of that castle high,
With its turrets so grey and tall
In the clear blue sky;
By beauty, because its light
Should thy portion be,
And whatever is fair and bright
Seems a part of thee;
And by darkness and blank decay,
Because they tell
What the world would be, THOU away,
Whom I love so well;
By these, and by Love's power divine,
My heart, my soul, my life, are thine!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Hope and Light, and Love
You – whose inner strength, I always think
to be the greater than my fluctuating own –
ask, only half humorously, as
business, family support, collapses all around,
for a poem of hope and light and love…
and I fall still and silent; for to me
only stillness, silence, are my answer
to those mighty questions of what within ourselves
we have, and have not; lose and find again…
and in the stillness of the silence, because
I am of ‘certain’ yet uncertain age…
hear the family voice still sounding in the ear of memory
of that sweet Stoicism of the Victorian working class:
…‘working’ indeed; even to the work-house…
and ‘class’; yet class with pride; hope (wasn’t the Baptist chapel
built along with Hope Street?): light; and love…
that Stoicism (would they know the word?)
that folds its hands onto its tidy lap, when
all around collapses, and says quietly,
“It’s trying.. as the good Lord knows,
for he’s tried me oftentimes enough…”
and Sunday starts and ends the week,
the ‘day of rest’ when God and Man
work hardest, and together..
that sweet Stoicism… that responds
to the muted tea-cup whine of others, with
‘We must just count our blessings, dear…’
or break into the mutual relief of song:
‘Count your blessings, one by one’..
and never was the One more to be sought, whose blessings
are only counted, as sleep’s sheep leap
over the stile of thought,
counted one by one; each one blessing, blest,
containing All -
All, and as you said yourself,
Hope; Light; and Love; these three..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Portrait
This is her picture as she was:
It seems a thing to wonder on,
As though mine image in the glass
Should tarry when myself am gone.
I gaze until she seems to stir,--
Until mine eyes almost aver
That now, even now, the sweet lips part
To breathe the words of the sweet heart:--
And yet the earth is over her.
Alas! even such the thin-drawn ray
That makes the prison-depths more rude,--
The drip of water night and day
Giving a tongue to solitude.
Yet only this, of love's whole prize,
Remains; save what in mournful guise
Takes counsel with my soul alone,--
Save what is secret and unknown,
Below the earth, above the skies.
In painting her I shrin'd her face
Mid mystic trees, where light falls in
Hardly at all; a covert place
Where you might think to find a din
Of doubtful talk, and a live flame
Wandering, and many a shape whose name
Not itself knoweth, and old dew,
And your own footsteps meeting you,
And all things going as they came.
A deep dim wood; and there she stands
As in that wood that day: for so
Was the still movement of her hands
And such the pure line's gracious flow.
And passing fair the type must seem,
Unknown the presence and the dream.
'Tis she: though of herself, alas!
Less than her shadow on the grass
Or than her image in the stream.
That day we met there, I and she
One with the other all alone;
And we were blithe; yet memory
Saddens those hours, as when the moon
Looks upon daylight. And with her
I stoop'd to drink the spring-water,
Athirst where other waters sprang;
And where the echo is, she sang,--
My soul another echo there.
But when that hour my soul won strength
For words whose silence wastes and kills,
Dull raindrops smote us, and at length
Thunder'd the heat within the hills.
That eve I spoke those words again
Beside the pelted window-pane;
And there she hearken'd what I said,
With under-glances that survey'd
The empty pastures blind with rain.
Next day the memories of these things,
Like leaves through which a bird has flown,
Still vibrated with Love's warm wings;
Till I must make them all my own
And paint this picture. So, 'twixt ease
Of talk and sweet long silences,
She stood among the plants in bloom
At windows of a summer room,
To feign the shadow of the trees.
And as I wrought, while all above
And all around was fragrant air,
In the sick burthen of my love
It seem'd each sun-thrill'd blossom there
Beat like a heart among the leaves.
O heart that never beats nor heaves,
In that one darkness lying still,
What now to thee my love's great will
Or the fine web the sunshine weaves?
For now doth daylight disavow
Those days,--nought left to see or hear.
Only in solemn whispers now
At night-time these things reach mine ear;
When the leaf-shadows at a breath
Shrink in the road, and all the heath,
Forest and water, far and wide,
In limpid starlight glorified,
Lie like the mystery of death.
Last night at last I could have slept,
And yet delay'd my sleep till dawn,
Still wandering. Then it was I wept:
For unawares I came upon
Those glades where once she walk'd with me:
And as I stood there suddenly,
All wan with traversing the night,
Upon the desolate verge of light
Yearn'd loud the iron-bosom'd sea.
Even so, where Heaven holds breath and hears
The beating heart of Love's own breast,--
Where round the secret of all spheres
All angels lay their wings to rest,--
How shall my soul stand rapt and aw'd,
When, by the new birth borne abroad
Throughout the music of the suns,
It enters in her soul at once
And knows the silence there for God!
Here with her face doth memory sit
Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline,
Till other eyes shall look from it,
Eyes of the spirit's Palestine,
Even than the old gaze tenderer:
While hopes and aims long lost with her
Stand round her image side by side,
Like tombs of pilgrims that have died
About the Holy Sepulchre.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Now It's More Than Seven
So maybe I thought that I could be satisfied
I assure you, I tried
But my heart would not corporate
Even though I have yet to even recuperate
From old scar and old pain
My heart still throws itself every which way
I seek a peace I cannot attain
Because the evil of my heart is becoming my master this day
It tries to lead my life and my soul
It tries to lead me again as a whole
Because giving into darkness is natural
Because there's a piece of hell
In the innermost parts, locked away, locked- but not secure
Locked because there's no cure
Striving for light is what is learned
Striving for light should have turned
My darkness into that light
But instead I'm overtaken by more darkness- blackness of night
Darkness, that can be felt, darkness that can speak
I've found the opposite of what I seek
And now it's more than seven
And I feel farther from heaven
Now I've almost lost count
I no longer know that amount
My heart is like a mirror
First darkened and filled with horror
And then shattered into pieces
And each piece only a fraction of who I once was, if that was anything
Criss crossed and broken heart? no more
Shattered
poem by David Knox
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As I Am...Was.
No, I don't. I could never think that.
No, I won't. I could never become that.
No, I will never be...like her...Be her..
But..
I became her and now I
And I write these through her beautiful dead eyes
She..
I..
Am a bad girl who often does good
I am a dark heart which sometimes pores light
I'm alone in a sea of blank faces
In a world of hollow graces
Loneliness walks with me all my crooked mornings
He's dumb but his lonely eyes ask me how I feel
'Lonely', I replied
No one to talk to, or who really breathes love into my heart
My heart...
Once loving, once caring, trod broken
Now dead. I'm numb..dumb, and the Crumbs you crushed over to reach your true love...
...which is never me...
Dear life, why bore me? ...inexistence is perfection
My growth left me promises
My dreams made an eagle crawl
The accidents broke my bones
The solitude broke my mind
Their words broke my spirit
As I am...I fear bringing a child into...here
I've fought life for a good life
I walk heads bowed with shame
In fear that the world's mirror reveals my sins
Well I just heard the news today
It says my life is gonna change, yay!
Today it rains heavily as it pours in May
I've forgotten if rain is good or sunshine better
July or when September ends
They all leave with their leaves
Scattered on my shattered life
Sunshine or rain, the pain remains the way
Pin drops, heart breaks, blood splashes
On a cracking ground
My heart beats no more
Stone cold, thread hold
Love walks, eyes cry, life goes on
Bad lucks, rude shocks
Went deaf, blind and dumb...faith
The tunnel flickered a light
Yay! , the end of my tunnel
He told me there's a light at the end of every tunnel
This was her...my light faith, my end trail
Yea, the train, her date with fate
The light, hope at the end of the tunnel
Wasn't light, was...but speeding of a blind train
Breaking the body of a dead soul and broken spirit
Deaf, blind and dumb...faith
Darkness, darkness, train, dead, fate.
Goodbye loneliness, goodbye world.
No I don't. I could never think that.
No, I won't. I could never become that.
No, I will never be...like her...Be her.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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Your Light Has Come
In truth; God’s world, is hard to tell
Gross darkness clouds her mind
While Satan leads her brood to hell
She’s wicked proud and blind
You may not even like God’s child
Who stands within your sight
Sometimes I’ll even make you wild
Because I’m of “The Light”
God’s Light and darkness can’t agree
They can’t see eye to eye
That’s why you’re not at ease with me
No matter how you try
In love I come to speak of peace
No need to use your sword
Your Light has come, that you may cease
To hide from Christ the Lord
God’s Light is truth who comes to live
To touch with Love’s own hand
He comes to save God’s joy to give
And lead to understand
When light comes through an open door
All darkness must depart
Please bear with me a moment more
To shine within your heart
Allow God’s Light, to come to you
Let darkness disappear
In just a while you’ll feel brand new
There’ll be no need to fear
You’ll feel the Father’s love arrive
His warm reviving Light
And you yet dead He’ll bring alive
In Christ; to stand and fight.
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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It Is Love Still, There Is No Other...
i accompany you to a wall
i know this wall fully well
it walled me since i was small,
and then i fall in love with you
and you feel the same wall despite the openness of the port of
the city where our love boat is docked
despite the songs of seagulls
despite the softness of my hands cupping your breasts
you ask me to explain about this wall
and so i am taking you there
for you to see
the wall has become thicker and higher
walling me since ages then
and it stares at me
asking, if i have learned about love at all?
if i have really love you? if i really love myself
despite the blindness that the wall is giving me
all my life
the wall is teasing me in front of you
i am ashamed
but i do not give up and hand all my life
without a fight to this wall
and i look at you
and i tell the wall your name
'here is my savior
have pity, she does not know a wall
she has not lived there once
she does not know your name
she cannot feel your
loneliness
she will die
she does not know a fight
against the wall'
and then there is silence
like an ocean's trench
the wall opens a door
some tears are left on the stairs
'it is love still, there is no other' the wind
sings to the highest cliff
on that mountain of
death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 07
The day opens with the brown light of snowfall
And past the window snowflakes fall and fall.
I sit in my chair all day and work and work
Measuring words against each other.
I open the piano and play a tune
But find it does not say what I feel,
I grow tired of measuring words against each other,
I grow tired of these four walls,
And I think of you, who write me that you have just had a daughter
And named her after your first sweetheart,
And you, who break your heart, far away,
In the confusion and savagery of a long war,
And you who, worn by the bitterness of winter,
Will soon go south.
The snowflakes fall almost straight in the brown light
Past my window,
And a sparrow finds refuge on my window-ledge.
This alone comes to me out of the world outside
As I measure word with word.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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When There's Darkness, The Will Always Be Light
[b]When There's Darkness, There will always be light[/b]
It was said that
Every corner of darkness,
There will always a spark of light
To eases the burden of human kind
The light will gives us hope
To live for tomorrow
The light will gives us strength
To fight for what we believe in
The light will gives us faith
To carry on living.
The light will gives us power
To stand up for our rights
To help others who is in need
To save the world from destruction and extinction
To give them the strength
To fight for tomorrow
The light is a person
Who will rise from the ashes
Who will help us to make the world a better place
Who will keep us from falling
Who will save us all from the disaster of the world
This person is an unknown person
Who will lead us all from the crisis
Who will lead us to our freedom
By Mia
poem by Mia Anna Vandutchess
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On That Cross
Light swallows darkness
Like a candle in a room
Truth always uncovers
And both remove the gloom
Where life before was empty
And Hope was hard to find
Light from Jesus sets you free
Trust Him with heart and mind.
As one of those in prison
Held by pain and by sorrow
Wracked in anger that goes on
I had no Peace and no tomorrow
When to Jesus at last I cried
With His great Love He healed me
On that Cross for me He died
My sins forgiven, I was free!
Jesus is the only Answer
And the Healer of all our pain
He alone is our Redeemer
In Him we're never lost again
The peace He gives is never ending
His grace sufficiently He gives
He ever lives and interceding
For all who trust, in Him believe.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Darkness triumph
In gust of sorrow, does darkness dwell
Eyes open or closed, it hardly quell
Engulfs into heart shell, never to be flare
Here darkness stays virgin, forever to reign
Such purity of darkness, pious than light
Embrace every form, without any bias
Shuns worldly treasure, in emptiness seek pleasure
No light manipulate, such darkness immaculate
And in such darkness, we still feel worried
Nothing but of, our own devious belief
That in light we hardly gaze, in darkness chase
Besiege light illuminated, fails prize integrity
Of human conscience, blight by fragility
Eternity has witness, blindfold justice conquest
Alas! After viciousness, committed in light.
Triumph of darkness, linger in reverberating silence
...rAHUL
poem by Rahul Gade
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Blade Of Darkness
I am shut down in my own heart,
And all its little doors are closed to me,
I am alone with my thoughts,
Living in my world of silence and melancoly.
It is a world of darkness,
Where hope tries to break in,
There is but a glimmer of light to warm up my soul,
As long as light exists, there is hope for me.
Blade of darkness is tearing up my heart into pieces,
Its depth and edge are so grievous to me,
You are the light that embraces my darkness,
As long as you exist, there is happiness for me.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Never Try To Understand Me
NEVER TRY TO UNDERSTAND ME
Never try to understand me for you will never know why I am the way I am, sometimes I cant understand myself, thoughts all mixed up emotions all tied in a knot a heart full of ice sometimes, sometimes its not, I feel like I want to break free from me be someone else but it don’t work that way, sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in the darkness and I cant see the light. Sometimes I feel so fragile inside sometimes I feel like I want to let everything out but I cannot its like the world is moving so fast sometimes and i’m stuck in the same spot. I’m a prisoner of my own mind it pulls me back time after time sometimes I wish couldn’t feel anything that way things wont get to me as much but I don’t let it show I keep it inside and let it fester and grow
“copyright 2009 Kerry green all rights reserved”
http: //thepaganshop.co.uk/KerryGreen.aspx
poem by Kerry Green
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Doubting Heart
WHERE are the swallows fled?
Frozen and dead,
Perchance, upon some bleak and stormy shore.
O doubting heart!
Far over purple seas
They wait, in sunny ease,
The balmy southern breeze,
To bring them to their northern homes once more.
Why must the flowers die?
Prison’d they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.
O doubting heart!
They only sleep below
The soft white ermine snow,
While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile upon you soon again.
The sun has hid its rays
These many days;
Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
O doubting heart!
The stormy clouds on high
Veil the same sunny sky,
That soon (for spring is nigh)
Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.
Fair hope is dead, and light
Is quench’d in night.
What sound can break the silence of despair?
O doubting heart!
Thy sky is overcast,
Yet stars shall rise at last,
Brighter for darkness past,
And angels’ silver voices stir the air.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Day That I Die
One day I woke up woke up knowing today is the day I will die
Cashdogg was barking went to the park and enjoyed that one last time
Called my mother told her I loved her and begged her not to cry
Wrote her a letter that said Id miss her and signed that goodbye...
You know the happiest day of my life
I swear the happiest day of my life is the day that I die
(the day that I died)
Can you feel the cold tonight?
(the day that I died)
It sets in but its alright
(the day that I died)
Darkness falls Im letting go
(the day that I died)
All alone but I feel fine
We took a drive and we drove thru d.c.
To see the places we lived, long conversations
We talked of old friends and all the things that we did
Summer nights, drunken fights
Mistakes we made...did we live it right?
You know the happiest day of my life I swear the happiest day of my life
Is the day that I died
(the day that I died)
Can you feel the cold tonight?
(the day that I died)
It sets in but its alright
(the day that I died)
Darkness falls Im letting go
(the day that I died)
All alone but I feel just fine
You know the happiest day of my life
I know the happiest day of my life
I swear the happiest day of my life is the day that I died
(the day that I died)
Can you feel the cold tonight?
(the day that I died)
It sets in but its alright
(the day that I died)
Darkness falls Im letting go
(the day that I died)
All alone but I feel just fine
Did I live it right?
I hope I lived it right
I hope I lived it right, I know I lived it right
Did I live it right?
I hope I lived it right, I know I lived it right
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beauteous Flower - Son Of The Imprisioned Count
COUNT.
I KNOW a flower of beauty rare,
Ah, how I hold it dear!
To seek it I would fain repair,
Were I not prison'd here.
My sorrow sore oppresses me,
For when I was at liberty,
I had it close beside me.
Though from this castle's walls so steep
I cast mine eyes around,
And gaze oft from the lofty keep,
The flower can not be found.
Whoe'er would bring it to my sight,
Whether a vassal he, or knight,
My dearest friend I'd deem him.
THE ROSE.
I blossom fair,--thy tale of woes
I hear from 'neath thy grate.
Thou doubtless meanest me, the rose.
Poor knight of high estate!
Thou hast in truth a lofty mind;
The queen of flowers is then enshrin'd,
I doubt not, in thy bosom.
COUNT.
Thy red, in dress of green array'd,
As worth all praise I hold;
And so thou'rt treasured by each maid
Like precious stones or gold.
Thy wreath adorns the fairest face
But still thou'rt not the flower whose grace
I honour here in silence.
THE LILY.
The rose is wont with pride to swell,
And ever seeks to rise;
But gentle sweethearts love full well
The lily's charms to prize,
The heart that fills a bosom true,
That is, like me, unsullied too,
My merit values duly.
COUNT.
In truth, I hope myself unstain'd,
And free from grievous crime;
Yet I am here a prisoner chain'd,
And pass in grief my time,
To me thou art an image sure
Of many a maiden, mild and pure,
And yet I know a dearer.
THE PINK.
That must be me, the pink, who scent
The warder's garden here;
Or wherefore is he so intent
My charms with care to rear?
My petals stand in beauteous ring,
Sweet incense all around I fling,
And boast a thousand colours.
COUNT.
The pink in truth we should not slight,
It is the gardener's pride
It now must stand exposed to light,
Now in the shade abide.
Yet what can make the Count's heart glow
Is no mere pomp of outward show;
It is a silent flower.
THE VIOLET.
Here stand I, modestly half hid,
And fain would silence keep;
Yet since to speak I now am bid,
I'll break my silence deep.
If, worthy Knight, I am that flower,
It grieves me that I have not power
To breathe forth all my sweetness.
COUNT.
The violet's charms I prize indeed,
So modest 'tis, and fair,
And smells so sweet; yet more I need
To ease my heavy care.
The truth I'll whisper in thine ear:
Upon these rocky heights so drear,
I cannot find the loved one.
The truest maiden 'neath the sky
Roams near the stream below,
And breathes forth many a gentle sigh,
Till I from hence can go.
And when she plucks a flow'ret blue,
And says "Forget-me-not!"--I, too,
Though far away, can feel it.
Ay, distance only swells love's might,
When fondly love a pair;
Though prison'd in the dungeon's night,
In life I linger there
And when my heart is breaking nigh,
"Forget-me-not!" is all I cry,
And straightway life returneth.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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