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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Related quotes
Le Balcon (The Balcony)
Le Balcon
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses,
Ô toi, tous mes plaisirs! ô toi, tous mes devoirs!
Tu te rappelleras la beauté des caresses,
La douceur du foyer et le charme des soirs,
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses!
Les soirs illuminés par l'ardeur du charbon,
Et les soirs au balcon, voilés de vapeurs roses.
Que ton sein m'était doux! que ton coeur m'était bon!
Nous avons dit souvent d'impérissables choses
Les soirs illumines par l'ardeur du charbon.
Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes soirées!
Que l'espace est profond! que le coeur est puissant!
En me penchant vers toi, reine des adorées,
Je croyais respirer le parfum de ton sang.
Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes soirées!
La nuit s'épaississait ainsi qu'une cloison,
Et mes yeux dans le noir devinaient tes prunelles,
Et je buvais ton souffle, ô douceur! ô poison!
Et tes pieds s'endormaient dans mes mains fraternelles.
La nuit s'épaississait ainsi qu'une cloison.
Je sais l'art d'évoquer les minutes heureuses,
Et revis mon passé blotti dans tes genoux.
Car à quoi bon chercher tes beautés langoureuses
Ailleurs qu'en ton cher corps et qu'en ton coeur si doux?
Je sais l'art d'évoquer les minutes heureuses!
Ces serments, ces parfums, ces baisers infinis,
Renaîtront-ils d'un gouffre interdit à nos sondes,
Comme montent au ciel les soleils rajeunis
Après s'être lavés au fond des mers profondes?
— Ô serments! ô parfums! ô baisers infinis!
The Balcony
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses,
O you, all my pleasure, O you, all my duty!
You'll remember the sweetness of our caresses,
The peace of the fireside, the charm of the evenings.
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses!
The evenings lighted by the glow of the coals,
The evenings on the balcony, veiled with rose mist;
How soft your breast was to me! how kind was your heart!
We often said imperishable things,
The evenings lighted by the glow of the coals.
How splendid the sunsets are on warm evenings!
How deep space is! how potent is the heart!
In bending over you, queen of adored women,
I thought I breathed the perfume in your blood.
How splendid the sunsets are on warm evenings!
The night was growing dense like an encircling wall,
My eyes in the darkness felt the fire of your gaze
And I drank in your breath, O sweetness, O poison!
And your feet nestled soft in my brotherly hands.
The night was growing dense like an encircling wall.
I know the art of evoking happy moments,
And live again our past, my head laid on your knees,
For what's the good of seeking your languid beauty
Elsewhere than in your dear body and gentle heart?
I know the art of evoking happy moments.
Those vows, those perfumes, those infinite kisses,
Will they be reborn from a gulf we may not sound,
As rejuvenated suns rise in the heavens
After being bathed in the depths of deep seas?
— O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses!
— Translated by William Aggeler
The Balcony
Mother of memories, queen of paramours,
Yourself are all my pleasure, all my duty;
You will recall caresses that were yours
And fireside evenings in their warmth and beauty.
Mother of memories, queen of paramours.
On eves illumined by the light of coal,
The balcony beneath a rose-veiled sky,
Your breast how soft! Your heart how good and whole!
We spoke eternal things that cannot die —
On eves illumined by the light of coal!
How splendid sets the sun of a warm evening!
How deep is space! the heart how full of power!
When, queen of the adored, towards you leaning,
I breathed the perfume of your blood in flower.
How splendid sets the sun of a warm evening!
The evening like an alcove seemed to thicken,
And as my eyes astrologised your own,
Drinking your breath, I felt sweet poisons quicken,
And in my hands your feet slept still as stone.
The evening like an alcove seemed to thicken.
I know how to resuscitate dead minutes.
I see my past, its face hid in your knees.
How can I seek your languorous charm save in its
Own source, your heart and body formed to please.
I know how to resuscitate dead minutes.
These vows, these perfumes, and these countless kisses,
Reborn from gulfs that we could never sound,
Will they, like suns, once bathed in those abysses,
Rejuvenated from the deep, rebound —
These vows, these perfumes, and these countless kisses?
— Translated by Roy Campbell
The Balcony
Inspirer of my youth, mistress beyond compare,
You who were all my pleasures, all my hopes and dreams!
Do you recall our cheerful room — our evenings there,
Quiet and passionate? Like yesterday, it seems,
Inspirer of my youth, mistress beyond compare!
The evenings lighted by the hushed flame of the coal,
The warm rose-misted twilights in the early springs,
The balcony! How I adored you, body and soul!
And, darling, we have said imperishable things
The evenings lighted by the hushed flame of the coal.
How splendid were the long slow summer sunsets, too!
How large the world appeared to us! How strong and good
Life ran then in our veins! When I leaned close to you
I thought that I could breathe the perfume of your blood.
How splendid were the long slow summer sunsets, too!
The night would close around us like a dim blue wall,
And your eyes flashed within the darkness, and the sweet
Drug of your breath came over me. Do you recall
How I would love to lie for hours holding your feet?
The night would close around us like a dim blue wall.
I can relive the ecstasy that Time has slain;
At moments I can feel myself between your thighs.
What use to hope for anything like that again
With someone else? What use to seek in any wise?
I can relive the ecstasy that Time has slain.
Those cries, those long embraces, that remembered scent:
Can they be lost for ever? Will they not come round
Like stars, like suns, to blaze upon the firmament
Of future worlds, from the abyss we cannot sound?
— O cries! O long embraces! O remembered scent!
— Translated by George Dillon
The Balcony
Mistress of mistresses, mother of memories,
O you my every pleasure, you my every duty!
You shall recall our blandishments and ecstasies,
The warm peace of our hearth, the evening's placid beauty.
Mistress of mistresses, mother of memories!
Evenings illumined by the glow of coals afire
Or on the balcony, veiled in a rosy mist.
How soft your breast, how kind your heart to my desire!
We said imperishable things the while we kissed,
Evenings illumined by the glow of coals afire.
How glorious the sunset on warm summer nights!
How deep space is! the human heart how competent!
As I bent over you, queen of my soul's delight,
I thought I breathed your blood with its suave acrid scent.
How glorious the sunset on warm summer nights!
The night grew dense, forming a wall to compass us,
Across the dark your eyes bound mine with golden bands,
I drank your breath in deep, O sweet, O poisonous!
Your slender feet slept softly in my gentle hands.
The night grew dense, forming a wall to compass us.
The resurrection of glad moments is an art
I know: I live anew, my head pressed to your knees,
For where, if not in your loved flesh and tender heart,
Can I seek out the wonder of your languidness?
The resurrection of glad moments is an art.
These vows, these fragrant scents, these kisses without end,
Shall they be born again out of infinity?
As suns rejuvenated in the skies ascend,
Having been laved in the unfathomable sea?
— O vows! O fragrant scents! — O kisses without end!
— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
Le Balcon
mother of memories, mistress of mistresses
— thou, all my pleasure, thou, my fealties all!
thou shalt recall each kiss how soft it is,
how warm our hearth, the night how magical,
mother of memories, mistress of mistresses!
long hours illumined by the glowing fire
long balcony-hours veiled with misty rose;
soft pillowing breast! heart warm to my desire!
and all the imperishable things we whispered, those
long hours illumined by the glowing fire
how softly shone the golden, shimmering sun!
how deep the skyey space! how rich love's power!
for bending toward thee, most belovèd one,
I seemed to breathe thy pulses like a flower.
how softly shone the golden, shimmering sun!
Night with her thickening wall imprisoned us,
eyes groped for widening eyes the black withheld,
I drank thy breath, o sweet, o poisonous!
thy feet slept in my hands fraternal held;
Night with her thickening wall imprisoned us.
my magic art evoked a rapture perished,
for in thy clasp I saw my youth afresh,
could others yield the languorous charm I cherished,
thy gentle heart, thy dear and lovely flesh?
my magic art evoked a rapture perished!
but — vows and fragrance, infinite desire —
shall they arise from gulfs too deep to plumb,
as morn by morn new suns of rosier fire
mount, laved in some dark sea Elysium?
o vows! o fragrance! infinite desire!
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Le Balcon
Mere des souvenirs, mattresses des mattresses
Mother of Memories! O mistress-queen !
Oh ! all my joy and all my duty thou !
The beauty of caresses that have been,
The evenings and the hearth remember now,
Mother of Memories! O mistress-queen !
The evenings burning with the glowing fire,
And on the balcony, the rose-stained nights!
How sweet, how kind you were, my soul's desire.
We said things wonderful as chrysolites,
When evening burned beside the glowing fire.
How fair the Sun is in the evening !
How strong the soul, how high the heaven's high tower !
O first and last of every worshipped thing,
Your odorous heart's-blood filled me like a flower.
How fair the sun is in the evening !
The night grew deep between us like a pall,
And in the dark I guessed your shining eyes,
And drank your breath, O sweet, O honey-gall!
Your little feet slept on me sister-wise.
The night grew deep between us like a pall;
I can call back the days desirable,
And live all bliss again between your knees,
For where else can I find that magic spell
Save in your heart and in your Mysteries ?
I can call back the days desirable.
These vows, these scents, these kisses infinite,
Will they like young suns climbing up the skies
Rise up from some unfathomable pit,
Washed in the sea from all impurities ?
O vows, O scents, O kisses infinite !
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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With The Twilight of Evening
With the twilight of evening
An angel slips by and disappears
But is not lost
On the grass of forgetful evenings
Her eyes beckon….
Let her not know
That I the poet am possessed
By the memory
By the perfume of her…
And I swear, by the evening
That all my days are evenings
When at every instant
Come another sunset
And in the same evenings
The same eyes
Take away the memory of her…
Oh Angel! ! ! Oh Evening…
I truly love you, woman!
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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This Evening
this evening is another lovely evening
i see stars. i think of some memories. sticky ones. sweet ones.
mouthwatering ones between us. in the room dim and cold. warmed by our
two bodies.kisses. hugs. touches. caresses. whispers.
indeed, this is a lovely evening.
i have a glass of mild wine in my hand. an orange. an apple. some spices
of mint and chili. to make me feel hot on this lovely, cold night. the wind blows
from the sea. i hear the waves. but they are sounding so gently
reminding of a boat where we ride. kisses. hugs. touches. caresses.
whispers. making love. the boat stopped in the middle of the ocean.
both of us.
indeed this is a lovely evening. i have another glass of wine. an orange.
some chili. some pepper.
i like it hot. these memories. i have your picture in my hand. your last letter.
i have the picture of you and your husband. and your children. they all have
grown up. your daughter looks just like you. some smiles. hugs. kisses.
embraces. your family on your last wedding anniversary. in maryland.
indeed this is a lovely evening. an honest one.
everything is accepted. everything is true. and i wish you all the happiness.
for indeed this is a lovely evening. with myself. still strong as ever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Somthing New
Every moment
the world wants something new.
Novel evenings
And novel dawns,
Raw days
And fresh nights
Pretentious abjures,
And blatant vows
Novel affinities,
And novel copulations
Novel inclinations,
And new appreciations
Yore myths,
And bygone tales
Isn't what they really admire
Or desire.
This constant grinding of phrases and words
Had me haggard and wearied out
So I wrapped them all so exquisitely
in a finest wrap I could find,
And then threw them all
In the fiery pits of my heart,
Screaming and crying
while burned into ashes
the words called out
from the dancing fires,
While ashes flew higher and higher.
what would you do?
What would you do?
How will you express your desires?
Since you're left bare and blank
With only our ashes in hands.
Ashes Oh ashes,
Now fly away;
There's nothing left to say.
For I've clocked myself into my own
Narrative.
poem by Faeza gilani
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Burning Words
Every moment
the world wants something new.
Novel evenings
And novel dawns,
Raw days
And fresh nights
Pretentious abjures,
And blatant vows
Novel affinities,
And novel copulations
Novel inclinations,
And new appreciations
Yore myths,
And bygone tales
Isn't what they really admire
Or desire.
This constant grinding of phrases and words
Had me haggard and wearied out
So I wrapped them all so exquisitely
in a finest wrap I could find,
And then threw them all
In the fiery pits of my heart,
Screaming and crying
while burned into ashes
the words called out
from the dancing fires,
While ashes flew higher and higher
what would you do?
What would you do?
How will you express your desires?
Since you're left bare and blank
With only our ashes in hands.
Ashes Oh ashes,
Now fly away there's nothing left to say.
For I've clocked myself into my own
Narrative.
poem by Faeza gilani
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When I Stand At The End Of Our Love
I
When I stand at the end of our love
that disappears as if the flame
of destiny determines our feelings
then you trample my humanity to its depths.
When that which we see as holy does go lost
it makes my wonder,
if we can find a place somewhere
without any suspicion
where things are peaceful and clear
where we both are stripped from others,
where you wait faithful
with every word and deed a small witness
that our feelings did not change
in the glittering night full of stars.
II
In the glittering night full of stars
I saw you for moments
held you tightly
with passion that could not wait,
you were mine through a summer day
as if you eternally true
would only keep to me
your eyes shone pretty like the stars
but now you are not there anymore
to reach for me,
and our time is past and forever finished,
the song of our lost love has finally been sung
and in the evenings I see your eyes gaze,
in the evenings the memories flare up.
III
In the evenings the memories flare up
with shining eyes full of deep meaning,
that which was between us was no secret
and the light of it circled out to others
but another came into our lives
making that which was pure and noble
trampled, lost and full of woe,
twisted away from all beauty,
broken to many pieces
and with painful suspicion and prayer
I wanted to spare our love from destruction,
I wanted our relationship to be restored,
wanted to rescue the beauty in its fullness;
I had to accept your free will.
IV
I had to accept your free will
and the feelings that we had
was suddenly broken and finished,
even the way we did live
but now I know that love does sometimes fail,
even when it's seen as being eternal,
a person has sometimes got to experience pain
and heartache that falls like a lightning bolt
while that which was between us did perish
and I had to go on another way
that shines up to the highest heavens,
which God Himself sets out for me
and the break-up was your decision;
I wonder from where our love did come?
V
I wonder from where our love did come,
the feelings that once was between us
about the glittering eyes that met each other,
the beauty that almost was something Godly?
Somewhere that fire was distinguished,
was scorched, burnt to ashes,
you were infected by love for someone else
while you did leave me pain
and I wonder how your blushing cheeks,
the glittering fire in your eyes
could so easily catch me,
could bewitch me,
when your heart could despise me,
while that which was between us now fades.
VI
While that which was between us now fades.
to only broken memories,
into my lost ponderings
the branches of our spring is now sawn off
and the beauty did perish like it did please you,
with heartache that goes to the depths of the soul
and sometimes it feels as if this sadness goes wider,
as if these feelings go to other horizons
and the pain is like a falling drop
that in water circles out wider
and later the surface is without a crease
as it goes into oblivion
but memories do tell
you did once love me passionately.
VII
You did once love me passionately
with love in your eyes,
fire and electricity in every touch,
with the glory of rainbows
and now there is just scorn in your gaze
while I am a stranger,
while you are lost in the traps of life
and now you are wild like an animal
that preys and mangles and set selfish claims,
like a cat from hell that slyly steals upon me,
as if my love and tenderness does not count
as you sneak nearer with anger and destruction
but still life goes on at its time
when I stand at the end of our love
poem by Gert Strydom
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Calling All Stations
Calling all stations
Can anybody tell me, tell me exactly where I am
Ive lost all sense of direction
Watching the darkness closing around me
Feeling the cold all through my body
Thats why Im calling all stations
In the hope that someone hears me
A single lonely voice
I feel the sensation disappearing
Theres a tingling in my arms
And theres a numbness in my hands
All the broken promises
All my good intentions dont add up to very much
And I realise whatever happened, whatever happened
I remember all the moments that Ive wasted in my life
All the things I was always gonna do
Why is it now when its too late
That Ive finally realised its important to me
To think that everything thats dear to me
And is always in my heart
Could so easily be taken
And its tearing me apart
Going over and over in my mind
I relive it one second at a time
Calling all stations
Can anybody tell me, tell me exactly where I am
How different things look when your all on your own
Watching the darkness closing all around me
All around me
And Im lost with feeling
Of your arms to remind me
Of everything thats dear to me
And is always in my heart
Could so easily be taken
And its tearing me apart
Going over and over in my mind
I relive it one second at a time
Dont you know theres never been a moment
When I havent had the thought
That everything thats dear to me
And is always in my heart
Could so easily be taken
And its tearing me apart
Going over and over in my mind
I relive it one second at a time
As I sit here in the darkness
Feeling so alone
And everything thats dear to me
And is always in my heart...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter Love Song
My heart is now in dark
As the day dimly goes
In the wintry cold and spark
As the winter now grows
Summer feeling deep in heart
Only memories now on
Kisses and touches apart
To yesterdays now gone
Summer feeling we had everywhere
Burned in yellow brown leaves
Red and gold is still thou here
In those moments of old grieves
Every hour is in a silence deep
Through the streets we walk alone
Nothing but old memories to keep
With this dark and wintry tone
I miss my roses red
All the sunshine flowers
My garden's an empty bed
In these lonely hours
Summer feeling deep in heart
Only memories now on
Kisses and touches apart
To yesterdays now gone
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The Days Of Summer
All the days of summer
Is ending now
All the nights of summer
Are now just sweet memories
Let’s set together
Let’s have a cup of tea
And let’s remember
The days of summer
The beautiful evenings
We had together
At that park…
I climb the mango tree
And you look at me
With your beautiful eyes
How can you forget?
Tell me how can you forget? ? ?
The days of summer
We had together…
All the night
Setting under moon light
I told you some jokes
Just to see your smile
All those memories
I packed in bags
I kept it like treasure
I can’t show you
Because the days of summer
Are over…
poem by Shyama Mohapatra
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The mistress
Mistresses save men from bad marriages.
Mistresses break marriages that are smooth.
However, the word mistress still suggests
A sleazy liaison devoid of respect.
To have mistress stems from carnal desire.
A triumph or extravaganza can induce.
Desire to conquer a new territory
That lets them sow wild oats there, rules in men.
Mistress is branded as other woman
And is hated by all other women,
However worth she is or however
Beneficial her connection is.
However, the society gives lineage
To the mistress who is popular or
Whose custodian is all powerful,
And hails their relationship, dumping wives.
Affluent mistresses aren’t branded
As a man stealer or a home wrecker.
Rather, their power of being a temptress
Gathers more charm and wipe out wives’ presence.
03.06.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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True Colours (Love Poem)
Blonde colours shine in my true love’s hair
Blue night solitude when we are apart
Red sunset romance of together evenings
Purple moments relaxing by the fireside
Grey eyes bright smile melt my heart
Pink glowing bodies curled on silver bed
White hot passion in my arms last night
Black coffee sips of breakfast intimacy.
poem by Ian Beckett
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To Sara
One kiss, dear maid! I said and sighed,
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
Can danger lurk within a kiss?
Yon viewless wand'rer of the vale,
The spirit of the western gale,
At morning's break, at evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the rose
And hovers o'er th' uninjured bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor to the zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing kisses fling;
And he the glitter of the dew
Scatters on the rose's hue.
Bashful, lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper red!
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the op'ning rose:
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whispered 'No!'
The whispered 'No' ---- how little meant!
Sweet falsehood, that endears consent!
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feigned dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of joy.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Paradise the planets of bliss
Paradise is the planets of bliss
The home of God’s Body
The garden of Beauty
It is full of good flora and fauna
And made of gold, silver and precious other things
There are fountains and streams in paradise
They are also signs of God’s superb workmanship
There is morning, noontime and evening in paradise
But there is no night
At noontime it is full of silver light
In the morning and in the evening
Tints of various colors are visible in its sky
In paradise
The evenings are more colorful than the mornings
And the mornings are more refreshing than the evenings
The residential area of the poor people of paradise is near its gates
The middle class people live in the middle area of paradise
The high-class people live at the end of paradise.
There is currency in paradise and many market places
To buy things of one's choice
Where all salespersons are angels
The residential area of the prophets and the like
Is at the end of Ferdous paradise
Wherefrom God’s main court
Laohay Mahfuz and Sidratul Muntaha are nearby.
poem by Asif Andalib
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Blue, Red & Grey
Some people seem so obsessed with the morning
Get up early just to watch the sun rise
Some people like it more when theres fire in the sky
Worship the sun when its high
Some people go for those sultry evenings
Sipping cocktails in the blue, red and grey
But I like every minute of the day
I like every second, so long as you are on my mind
Every moment has its special charm
Its all right when youre around, rain or shine
I know a crowd who only live after midnight
Their faces always seem so pale
And then theres friends of mine who must have sunlight
They say a suntan never fails
I know a man who works the night shift
Hes lucky to get a job and some pay
And I like every minute of the day
I dig every second
I can laugh in the snow and rain
I get a buzz from being cold and wet
The pleasure seems to balance out the pain
And so you see that Im completely crazy
I even shun the south of france
The people on the hill, they say Im lazy
But when they sleep, I sing and dance
Some people have to have the sultry evenings
Cocktails in the blue, red and grey
But I like every minute of the day
I like every minute of the day
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Envoy
THIS wind, that through the silent woodland blows,
O'er rippling corn and dreaming pastures goes
Straight to the garden where the heart of spring
Faints in the heart of summer's earliest rose.
Dimpling the meadow's grassy green and grey,
By furze that yellows all the common way,
Gathering the gladness of the flowering broom,
And too persistent fragrance of the may--
Gathering whatever is of sweet and dear,
The wandering wind has passed away from here,
Has passed to where within your garden waits
The concentrated sweetness of the year.
And in your leafed enclosure as you stood,
Training your flowers to new beatitude--
Ah! did you guess the wind that kissed your hair
Had kissed my forehead in this solitude--
Had kissed my lips, and gathered there the heat
It breathed upon your mouth, my only sweet--
Had gathered from my eyes the tender thought
That drooped your eyes, and stirred your pulses' beat?
You only thought the sun's caress too warm
That lay upon your bosom and your arm;
You did not guess the wind had brought from me
The unacknowledged fancy's fire and charm--
You only said, 'Too strong these sunlit skies,
More dear the moments when the daylight dies!'
And then you dreamed of meetings by your gate
In sanctity of sunset and moonrise.
To-night, when he shall come and meet you there,
To kiss your lips and hands and eyes and hair,
To light with love and hope youth's waiting shrine--
Think of my love, and my assured despair!
To-night the wind will rob the languid flowers
Of secret scents kept close through daylit hours;
It will blow coolly over dewy lawns,
Where the laburnums fall in silent showers.
I, too, shall learn a secret then--shall wrest
Life's hidden things from out her languorous breast,
Shall learn the way that leads away from life
Into the land where nothing lives but rest.
You will not know that the cold air you prize,
After the stormy sweetness of his sighs,
Is cold from blowing through a moonlit wood
Over the hollow where a dead man lies!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Red And Grey
Some people seem so obsessed with the morning
Get up early just to watch the sunrise
Some people like it more when there's fire in the sky
Worship the sun when it's high
Some people go for those sultry evenings
Sipping cocktails in the blue, red, and grey
But I like every minute of the day
I like every second
So long as you are on my mind
Every moment has its special charm
It's all right when you're around, rain or shine
I know a crowd who only lives after midnight
Their faces always seem so pale
And then there's friends of mine who must have sunlight
They say a suntan never fails
I know I was a man who works the night shift
Hes lucky to get a job and some pay
And I like every minute of the day
I dig every second
I can laugh in the snow and rain
I get a buzz from being cold and wet
The pleasure seems to balance out the pain
And so you see that I'm completely crazy
I even shun the south of France
The people on my hill they say I'm lazy
But when they sleep I sing and dance
Some people have to have the sultry evenings
Sipping cocktails in the blue, red and grey
But I like every minute of the day
I like every minute, of the day.
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vesperal
Strange grows the river on the sunless evenings!
The river comforts me, grown spectral, vague and dumb:
Long was the day; at last the consoling shadows come:
_Sufficient for the day are the day's evil things!_
Labour and longing and despair the long day brings;
Patient till evening men watch the sun go west;
Deferred, expected night at last brings sleep and rest:
_Sufficient for the day are the day's evil things!_
At last the tranquil Angelus of evening rings
Night's curtain down for comfort and oblivion
Of all the vanities observed by the sun:
_Sufficient for the day are the day's evil things!_
So, some time, when the last of all our evenings
Crowneth memorially the last of all our days,
Not loth to take his poppies man goes down and says,
'Sufficient for the day were the day's evil things!'
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Soldier Uniform
There lay the young soldier, see, from his side,
Flows swiftly the current whose dark pulsing tide
Is bearing away the bright sands of life,
And closing forever this wild dream of strife.
Farewell! life is o'er, earth fades from his sight,
Around him is closing death's long dreamless night.
Then softly as star-light melts into day,
On pinions of Angels his soul passed away.
And who was he? A young soldier boy,
Of his home the pride and joy;
The pet and darling of every heart,
That in his young life has shared a part.
His fond Mother blessed him and looked up above,
Commending to Heaven the child of her love.
Then parting the flowers they laid him to rest,
And heaped the green sod o'er the young soldier breast.
Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
Gently touch it and look upon it with pride.
For close it be to his Mother heart for evermore
The uniform her son had wore.
poem by Othel Cowan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Change
She leaned out into the soft June weather,
With her long loose tresses the night breeze played;
Her eyes were as blue as the bells on the heather:
Oh, what is so fair as a fair young maid!
She folded her hands, like the leaves of a lily,
'My life, ' she said, 'is a night in June,
Fair and quiet, and calm and stilly;
Bring me a change, O changeful moon!
'Who would drift on a lake forever?
Young hearts weary - it is not strange,
And sigh for the beautiful bounding river;
New moon, true moon, bring me a change! '
The rose that rivalled her maiden blushes
Dropped from her breast, at a strangers feet;
Only a glance; but the hot blood rushes
To mantle a fair face, shy and sweet.
To and fro, while the moon is waning,
They walk, and the stars shine on above;
And one is in earnest, and one is feigning -
Oh, what is so sweet as a sweet young love?
A young life crushed, and a young heart broken,
A bleak wind blows through the lovely bower,
And all that remains of the love vows spoken -
Is the trampled leaf of a faded flower.
The night is dark, for the moon is failing -
And what is so pale as a pale old moon?
Cold is the wind through the tree tops wailing -
Woe that the change should come so soon.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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