Evening Harmony
The hour has come at last when, trembling to and fro,
Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
The scent and sounds all swirl in evening’s gentle fume;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!
Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!
The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom,
A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe,
A tender heart detests the black of nullity,
The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom;
The sun is drowning in the evening’s blood-red glow.
A tender heart detests the black of nullity,
And lovingly preserves each trace of long ago!
The sun is drowning in the evening’s blood-red glow …
Your memory shines through me like an ostensory!
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Related quotes
Harmonic Du Soir
Voici venir le temps
Now is the hour when, swinging in the breeze,
Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet.
The air is full of scents and melodies,
O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing feet!
Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet,
The violins are like sad souls that cry,
O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing feet!
A shrine of Death and Beauty is the sky.
The violins are like sad souls that cry,
Poor souls that hate the vast. black night of Death ;
A shrine of Death and Beauty is the sky.
Drowned in red blood, the Sun gives up his breath.
This soul that hates the vast black night of Death
Takes all the luminous past back tenderly,
Drowned in red blood, the Sun gives up his breath.
Thine image like a monstrance shines in me.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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My Evening Star
MY EVENING STAR
In the gathering gloom of my evening
sky,
I saw your face in that evening star;
Showering your brightness and your
magic light,
To dispel my gloom from afar!
While in my heart a sad old tune, -
A tune of sadness and of love,
Played like the melody of an old violin,
And I listened as if in a waking dream!
For you have left me and gone afar,
To shine as my enduring evening star!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi
12 Jun 08
Bow and Strings
What heavy, dark delirium!
What dim and moonlit heights!
To touch the violin for years
And not to know the strings by light!
Who needs us now? And who lit up
Two hollow, melancholy faces...
And suddenly the bow felt
Someone take them up, unite them.
"How long it's been! Amidst this gloom
Just tell me this: are you still the same?"
The strings caressed the bow,
Rang out, caressed it slightly trembling.
"Is it not true, that we will never more
Be parted. It's enough..."
Yes, replied the violin,
But pain was throbbing in her heart.
The bow discerned it and grew mute,
The echo still continued in the violin...
What was a torture to them both
The people heard as music.
But the violinist didn't snuff
The candles out 'til dawn...The strings sang on...
The sun found them worn out
On the black velvet of their bed.
poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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The Last Waltz Is Over
The last waltz is over
and we’ll leave together.
Then you will go your way
and I will go another.
Although the waltz is over
and we have to part,
you are still with me
deep within my heart.
Tomorrow is another day
and the dance begins again.
All day we’ll be dancing to the music
that should never end.
However no sooner does it start,
than it is over once again
and the last waltz is playing
as the evening descends.
poem by David Harris
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As I stay with you Forever.....
in the flower of pleasant morning, it comes
the morning dew, halos every raindropp that the
blooming flower it flews its petal snow of
perfume of each day's glow
the humid air had just come to feel the breezing
cool and embracing call of hyacinth fall, as the
beautiful gloom of the Cherry mid- autumn lure,
come my dear heart and go placidly into the
honey comb of my stay in your lurking fume
cherish my dream of my wisdom dream, the
ageless moment just come in the blinking eyes
of every blew, let the sudden time hold the
willing heart to hammock of your presence and
as i surrender my truly heart, i pray to touch your
pleasing hands of giving
see my dear heart the passionate heart of my
surrender, the beginning of my wisdom of loving
you, till life comes not may to end forever.......
poem by Antonio Liao
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In These Poems That We Write
these are the wounds of the heart
let your fingers pierce that part
blood drips from a wounded heart
pain gleaming against the light
time has not healed the wounds
you can hear the screaming sounds
these are the wounds of my heart
we are not many miles apart
we share the wounds of the heart
in these poems that we draft
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Day and night (Russian romance)
Day and night dropp tenderness in my heart,
Day and night my head goes around,
Day and night your words as fairy tale
Break my heart and lovely sound.
Only once your heart filled with desire,
Only once your destiny breaks down.
Only once when evening is so gloomy
I need love and want to love.
Purple ray is melting on the sunset
Lovely flowers are shrouded in blue.
Where are you desired once and tender?
Where are you my fell asleeping dreams?
Only once your heart filled with desire,
Only once your destiny breaks down,
Only once when evening is so gloomy
I need love and want to love.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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An Angel And A Violin
Thoroughly magically blended,
To caress my ears as intended,
Through beauty and soulful sounds,
In my defense it softly rebounds...
An angel and a classical violin,
The century's concerto begins,
Plays like one hundred and one,
A million stars around the sun...
Soothing my heart and mind,
Finally leaving sorrow behind,
By helping me forget the past,
Only the good memories last...
An angel with streaming hair,
A beauty that lovingly stares,
Sparkling eyes, baby soft skin,
She orchestrated sounds again...
Her unique heartbeat clearly cast,
A conductor's baton circles fast,
We awake from a too real dream,
To rise to the top as a stronger beings..
New York's Philharmonic Symphony,
Is where the angels play in harmony,
Her bow glides softly over the strings,
With a sound of tenderness she sings...
To wish but it is only about reality,
Poetically, God's only soul for me,
But, when I fail to fall asleep,
There is no angel behind the violin...
When the sun rises I go about my day,
Her melancholy glow guides the way,
Anxiously awaiting darkness to begin,
Lovely dreams the angel comes again...
Life manifests itself in different forms,
The one behind my thoughts and poems,
The one I saw vividly in my dream,
The angel behind the violin...
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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The Balcony
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses,
O you, all my pleasures! O you, all my learning!
You will remember the joy of caresses,
the sweetness of home and the beauty of evening,
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses!
On evenings lit by the glow of the ashes
and on the balcony, veiled, rose-coloured, misted,
how gentle your breast was, how good your heart to me!
We have said things meant for eternity,
on evenings lit by the glow of the ashes.
How lovely the light is on sultry evenings!
How deep the void grows! How powerful the heart is!
As I leaned towards you, queen of adored ones
I thought I breathed perfume from your blood’s kiss.
How lovely the light is on sultry evenings!
The night it was thickening and closing around us,
and my eyes in the dark were divining your glance,
and I drank your nectar. Oh sweetness! Oh poison!
your feet held, here, in these fraternal hands.
The night it was thickening and closing around us.
I know how to summon up happiest moments,
and relive my past, there, curled, touching your knees.
What good to search for your languorous beauties
but in your dear body, and your heart so sweet?
I know how to summon up happiest moments!
Those vows, those perfumes, those infinite kisses,
will they be reborn, from gulfs beyond soundings,
as the suns that are young again climb in the sky,
after they’ve passed through the deepest of drownings?
-O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Tender Heart
How tender the heart is when
you love the way it is
How tender the heart is when
you reached out with a gentle kiss
How tender the heart is when
you think you'd found the one
you always want to be with
How tender the heart is when
you're willing to forgive whatever
mistakes they've done
How tender the heart is when
yo find you're alone in love
that's just the way it is.
How tender the heart is when
you're willing to sacrifice
your all with the one you love....
How tender heart really is....
poem by Hannah Baquiran
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Lazarus Heart
He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mothers hand
Every day another miracle
Only death will tear us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you cant hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Ive no stones that chase them away
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Will sit on my roof some day
They fly at the window, they fly at the door
Where does she get the strength to fight them anymore
She counts all her children as a shield against the pain
Lifts her eyes to the sky like a flower in the rain
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ebb and Flow
When first Thou on me, Lord, wroughtest Thy sweet print,
My heart was made Thy tinder-box,
My 'ffections were Thy tinder in't,
Where fell Thy sparks by drops.
Those holy sparks of heavenly fire that came
Did ever catch and often out would flame.
But now my heart is made Thy censer trim,
Full of Thy golden altar's fire,
To offer up sweet incense in
Unto Thyself entire:
I find my tinder scarce Thy sparks can feel
That drop from out Thy holy flint and steel.
Hence doubts out bud for fear Thy fire in me
'S a mocking ignis fatuus,
Or lest Thine altar's fire out be,
It's hid in ashes thus.
Yet when the bellows of Thy spirit blow
Away mine ashes, then Thy fire doth glow.
poem by Edward Taylor
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I Saw A Lovely Encounter
I saw a lovely encounter
A small boy stands with his Father
Like my son once did
His face red from crying
Like mine would once do
His tender heart is tender
Like my son’s once was
A tenderness that opens wounds to my own regret of not winning his heart
Things that creep, wanting to attach to me, are always near
Even in all this my son will say to me:
“I love you more than anyone of earth, you know this”
Telling him his son is handsome, well behaved – he invited me to help him stay that way
I have sorrow more permanent that tattoos
that my son’s father was not this way
poem by Dicky Cantrell
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Verses by Lady Geralda
Why, when I hear the stormy breath
Of the wild winter wind
Rushing o'er the mountain heath,
Does sadness fill my mind?
For long ago I loved to lie
Upon the pathless moor,
To hear the wild wind rushing by
With never ceasing roar;
Its sound was music then to me;
Its wild and lofty voice
Made by heart beat exultingly
And my whole soul rejoice.
But now, how different is the sound?
It takes another tone,
And howls along the barren ground
With melancholy moan.
Why does the warm light of the sun
No longer cheer my eyes?
And why is all the beauty gone
From rosy morning skies?
Beneath this lone and dreary hill
There is a lovely vale;
The purling of a crystal rill,
The sighing of the gale,
The sweet voice of the singing bird,
The wind among the trees,
Are ever in that valley heard;
While every passing breeze
Is loaded with the pleasant scent
Of wild and lovely flowers.
To yonder vales I often went
To pass my evening hours.
Last evening when I wandered there
To soothe my weary heart,
Why did the unexpected tear
From my sad eyelid start?
Why did the trees, the buds, the stream
Sing forth so joylessly?
And why did all the valley seem
So sadly changed to me?
I plucked a primrose young and pale
That grew beneath a tree
And then I hastened from the vale
Silent and thoughtfully.
Soon I was near my lofty home,
But when I cast my eye
Upon that flower so fair and lone
Why did I heave a sigh?
I thought of taking it again
To the valley where it grew.
But soon I spurned that thought as vain
And weak and childish too.
And then I cast that flower away
To die and wither there;
But when I found it dead today
Why did I shed a tear?
O why are things so changed to me?
What gave me joy before
Now fills my heart with misery,
And nature smiles no more.
And why are all the beauties gone
From this my native hill?
Alas! my heart is changed alone:
Nature is constant still.
For when the heart is free from care,
Whatever meets the eye
Is bright, and every sound we hear
Is full of melody.
The sweetest strain, the wildest wind,
The murmur of a stream,
To the sad and weary mind
Like doleful death knells seem.
Father! thou hast long been dead,
Mother! thou art gone,
Brother! thou art far away,
And I am left alone.
Long before my mother died
I was sad and lone,
And when she departed too
Every joy was flown.
But the world's before me now,
Why should I despair?
I will not spend my days in vain,
I will not linger here!
There is still a cherished hope
To cheer me on my way;
It is burning in my heart
With a feeble ray.
I will cheer the feeble spark
And raise it to a flame;
And it shall light me through the world,
And lead me on to fame.
I leave thee then, my childhood's home,
For all thy joys are gone;
I leave thee through the world to roam
In search of fair renown,
From such a hopeless home to part
Is happiness to me,
For nought can charm my weary heart
Except activity.
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dancing Days
Dancing days are here again
As the summer evenings grow
I got my flower, I got my power
I got a woman who knows.
Chorus
I said its alright
You know its alright
I guess its all in my heart
Youll be my only, my one and only
Is that the way it should start?
Crazy ways are evident
In the way that youre wearing your clothes
Suppin boze is precedent
As the evening starts to glow.
Chorus
I told your mamma Id get you home
But I didnt tell her I had no car
I saw a lion he was standing alone
With a tadpole in a jar.
Chorus
Dancing days are here again
As the summer evening grows
You are my flower, you are my power
You are my woman who knows.
Chorus
song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Difting away...
Thoughts of home or thoughts of friends,
the air has a different scent,
a lovely flower forgotten near,
makes my heart sick with colours & joy.
I suffer and cry,
Yet again cannot see the flower,
The home is far and so the flower,
Though the heart so yearns to feel the touch
Come again Oh,
winds from south,
to carry a cry of breaking heart.
Waiting for that joyus day,
to catch the wind I know so well,
and i will sail in the ship of time,
to reach that land where my hopes so dwell.
poem by Bijoy Philip
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Tuesday Evening
AN EVENING
AFTER MONDAY
IS ALDO KRASS'
FAVORITE EVENING
IT IS TUESDAY
EVENING AND
IT IS NOT A BUSY
EVENING AND
ALDO LIKES IT
TO BE NOT
A BUSY EVENING
WITH HIS JULIET
AFTER WINTER
AND SPRING
IT WILL BE SUMMER
ON A TUESDAY
EVENING AND
IT WILL BE A LOVELY
EVENING
ALONE PERHAPS
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One evening
One evening
~
Caught in the candles lights
Flickering shadows on the wall
Softly the music plays, serenading
Whilst a conversation flows
Like the finest of wine poured
Into the glasses which rolled in hand
Flavour the scent of the evening
The warmest of company, love
Grows in the look of an eye
The curl of every smile
Caught in the candles light
A romance blossoming
Little else is as beautiful
Or motions to the heart
The warming amber glow
Captures in perfect silhouette
The first kiss of the evening
A relationship beginning
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Modern Love XLV: It Is the Season
It is the season of the sweet wild rose,
My Lady's emblem in the heart of me!
So golden-crownèd shines she gloriously,
And with that softest dream of blood she glows:
Mild as an evening heaven round Hesper bright!
I pluck the flower, and smell it, and revive
The time when in her eyes I stood alive.
I seem to look upon it out of Night.
Here's Madam, stepping hastily. Her whims
Bid her demand the flower, which I let drop.
As I proceed, I feel her sharply stop,
And crush it under heel with trembling limbs.
She joins me in a cat-like way, and talks
Of company, and even condescends
To utter laughing scandal of old friends.
These are the summer days, and these our walks.
poem by George Meredith
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Untitled: O the Dwelling
O the dwelling in the stillness of the dusking garden,
When the eyes of the sister round and dark opened in the brother,
The purple of their broken mouths
Melted in the coolness of the evening.
Heart-breaking hour.
September ripened the golden pear. Sweetness of incense
And the dahlia burns at the old fence
Say! where were we, when we passed by on small black boat
In the evening,
The crane passed over. The freezing arms
Held black embraced, and inside blood ran.
And around our temples moist blue. Poor little child.
Deeply a dark race ponders out of knowing eyes.
poem by Georg Trakl
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