A Flight of Wild Ducks
Far up the River-hark! 'tls the loud shock
Deadened by distance, of some Fowler's gun:
And as into the stillness of the scene
It wastes now with a dull vibratory boom,
Look where, fast widening up at either end
Out of the sinuous valley of the waters,
And o'er the intervenient forest, - up
Against the open heaven, a long dark line
Comes hitherward stretching-a vast Flight of Ducks!
Following the windings of the vale, and still
Enlarging lengthwise, and in places too
Oft breaking into solitary dots,
How swiftly onwards comes it - till at length,
The River, reaching through a group of hills,
Off leads it, - out of sight. But not for long:
For, wheeling ever with the water's course,
Here into sudden view it comes again
Sweeping and swarming round the nearest point!
And first now, a swift airy rush is heard
Approaching momently; - then all at once
There passes a keen-cutting, gusty tumult
Of strenuous pinions, with a streaming mass
Of instantaneous skiey streaks; each streak
Evolving with a lateral flirt, and thence
Entangling as it were, - so rapidly
A thousand wings outpointingly dispread
In passing tiers, seem, looked at from beneath,
With rushing intermixtures to involve
Each other as they beat. Thus seen o'erhead
Even while we speak-ere we have spoken, - lo!
The living cloud is onward many a rood.
Tracking as 'twere in the smooth stream below
The multifarious shadow of itself
Far coming-present-and far gone at once!
The senses vainly struggle to retain
The impression of an Image (as the same)
So swift and manifold: For now again
A long dark line upon the utmost verge
Of the horizon, steeping still, it sinks
At length into the landscape; where yet seen
Though dimly, with a wide and scattering sweep
It fetches eastward, and in column so
Dapples along the steep face of the ridge
There banking the turned River. Now it drops
Below the fringing oaks - but to arise
Once more, with a quick circling gleam, as touched
By the slant sunshine, and then disappear
As instantaneously, - there settling down
Upon the reedy bosom of the water.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Related quotes
Spring On The River
O sun, shine hot on the river;
For the ice is turning an ashen hue,
And the still bright water is looking through,
And the myriad streams are greeting you
With a ballad of life to the giver,
From forest and field and sunny town,
Meeting and running and tripping down,
With laughter and song to the river.
Oh! the din on the boats by the river;
The barges are ringing while day avails,
With sound of hewing and hammering nails,
Planing and painting and swinging pails,
All day in their shrill endeavor;
For the waters brim over their wintry cup,
And the grinding ice is breaking up,
And we must away down the river.
Oh! the hum and the toil of the river;
The ridge of the rapid sprays and skips:
Loud and low by the water's lips,
Tearing the wet pines into strips,
The saw mill is moaning ever.
The little grey sparrow skips and calls
On the rocks in the rain of the water falls,
And the logs are adrift in the river.
Oh! restlessly whirls the river;
The rivulets run and the cataract drones:
The spiders are flitting over the stones:
Summer winds float and the cedar moans;
And the eddies gleam and quiver.
O sun; shine hot, shine long and abide
In the glory and power of the summer tide
On the swift longing face of the river.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Morning on the Lièvre
Far above us where a jay
Screams his matins to the day,
Capped with gold and amethyst,
Like a vapor from the forge
Of a giant somewhere hid,
Out of hearing of the clang
Of his hammer, skirts of mist
Slowly up the woody gorge
Lift and hang.
Softly as a cloud we go,
Sky above and sky below,
Down the river; and the dip
Of the paddles scarcely breaks,
With the little silvery drip
Of the water as it shakes
From the blades, the crystal deep
Of the silence of the morn,
Of the forest yet asleep;
And the river reaches borne
In a mirror, purple gray,
Sheer away
To the misty line of light,
Where the forest and the stream
In the shadow meet and plight,
Like a dream.
From amid a stretch of reeds,
Where the lazy river sucks
All the water as it bleeds
From a little curling creek,
And the muskrats peer and sneak
In around the sunken wrecks
Of a tree that swept the skies
Long ago,
On a sudden seven ducks
With a splashy rustle rise,
Stretching out their seven necks,
One before, and two behind,
And the others all arow,
And as steady as the wind
With a swivelling whistle go,
Through the purple shadow led,
Till we only hear their whir
In behind a rocky spur,
Just ahead.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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To the River Charles
River! that in silence windest
Through the meadows, bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea!
Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.
Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver;
I can give thee but a song.
Oft in sadness and in illness,
I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflowed me, like a tide.
And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.
Not for this alone I love thee,
Nor because thy waves of blue
From celestial seas above thee
Take their own celestial hue.
Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
And thy waters disappear,
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee,
And have made thy margin dear.
More than this;--thy name reminds me
Of three friends, all true and tried;
And that name, like magic, binds me
Closer, closer to thy side.
Friends my soul with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start,
When I fan the living embers
On the hearth-stone of my heart!
'T is for this, thou Silent River!
That my spirit leans to thee;
Thou hast been a generous giver,
Take this idle song from me.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Bush Fire
“’TIS nine o’clock:—to bed!” cried Egremont,
Who with his youthful household (for ’tis now
Long since) inhabited a lonely home
In the Australian wilderness, that then
As with an unshorn fleece of gloomy wood
Robed the vast bulk of all the mighty Isle.
But ere retiring finally, he went
Forth as his wont was, to survey the night.
’Twas clear and silent: and the stirless woods
Seemed dreaming in the witch-light of the moon
As like a boat of stained pearl, she hung
Amid the ridges of a wavy cloud—
The only cloud in heaven. While Egremont
Looked thus abroad observingly, he marked
All around him, listing the horizon’s verge,
A broad unusual upward glaring gleam,
Such a drear radiance as the setting sun
Effuses when the atmosphere is stormy.
What this might be he wondered—but not long;
Divining soon the cause—a vast Bush Fire!
But deeming it too distant yet for harm,
During the night betiding, to repose
With his bed-faring household he retired.
Sound was their sleep: for honesty of life
Is somewhat lumpish when ’tis once a-bed.
And now the darkness of the night was past,
When with the dreams of Egremont, a strange
And momently approaching roar began
To mingle and insinuate through them more
And more of its own import, till a Fire
Huge as the world was their sole theme: and then
He started from his sleep to find the type
A warning! for what else however terrible,
Might breathe with a vitality so fierce
As that which reigned without?
Scarce did he wait
To clothe himself ere forth he rushed; and lo,
Within the circling forest he beheld
A vast and billowy belt of writhing fire,
That shed a wild and lurid splendour up
Against the whitening dawn, come raging on!
Raging and roaring as with ten thousand tongues
That prophesied destruction. On it came,
A dreadful apparition—such as Fear
Conceives when dreaming of the front of hell!
No time was there to lose. “Up—up!” he cried
To all the house. Instantly all within
Was haste and wonder, and in briefest space
The whole-roused family were staring out
In speechless admiration, such as kept
Even Terror dormant;—till more urgently
The voice of Egremont again was heard:—
“Lose not a moment! Follow me at once,
Each with whatever he can grasp of use
And carry unincumbered!”
Right before,
A narrow strip of clearing 1 like a glade
Stretched out tow’rds a bald summit. Thitherward
The perilled people now were hurrying all,
While in their front, beneath the ridge, a dense
Extent of brushwood into which the Fire’s
Bright teeth were eating hungrily, still brought
The danger nearer! Shall they reach that hill
Unscathed, their only refuge? Will they speed
Past the red-rushing peril? Onward yet!
And onward!—till at length the summit’s gained,
And halting, they look back—in safety all,
Though breathless.
But no sooner had they past
That fearful brush, than a vast swathe of flame
Lifted and hurried forward by the wind
Over their very passage track, was pitched
With a loud thud like thunder into it—
With such a thud as the sea-swell gives up
From under the ledges of some hanging cliff!
And in an instant all its depth of shade
Was as a lake of hell! And hark! as then,
Even like a ghastly pyramid its mass
Of flames went surging up—up with them still
A cry of mortal agony was heard
Ascending, all so terrible, indeed,
That they who heard it, never, until then,
Might deem a voice so earnest in its fear,
So strenuous in its anguish could have being
In the live bosom of the suffering Earth!
But soon did they divine, even to their loss,
Its import:—there a giant steed, their best,
Had taken refuge, there to die!
All grouped
In safety now upon that hill’s bare top—
Egremont and his household looked abroad,
Astonished at the terrors of the time!
Soon sunk their rooftree in the fiery surge,
Which entering next a high-grassed bottom, thick
With bark-ringed trees all standing bleak and leafless,
Tenfold more terrible in its ravage grew,
Upclimbing to their very tops! As when
Upon some day of national festival,
From the tall spars of the ship-crowded port
Innumerous flags in one direction all
Tongue outward, writhing in the wind: even so,
From those dry boles where still the dead bark clings
And from their multifarious mass above
Of leafless boughs, myriads of flaming tongues
Lick upward, or aloft in narrowing flakes
Stream out,—and thence upon the tortured blast
Bicker and flap in one inconstant blaze!
Scared forward by the roaring of the Fire,
A flight of parrots o’er the upper ridge
Comes whizzing, and then sweeping down, alights
Amid the oaks that fringe the base of yon
Precipitous terrace, being deterred from still
Proceeding by the smoke uprolled in front
Like a dim-moving range of spectral mountains.
There they abide, and listen in their fear
To the tremendous riot of the flames
Beyond the ridge line, that keep nearing fast
Though yet unseen from thence—unseen, till now
Furiously seizing on the withered grove
That tops the terrace, all whose spiry shafts
Rush upward, and then culminating, bend
Sheer o’er the oaks wherein the birds are lodged.
All are in flight at once, but from above
As suddenly, a mightier burst of flame
Outsheeteth o’er them!—Down they dip, but it
Keeps swooping with them even to the ground—
Where, in a moment after, all are seen
To writhe convulsed—blasted and plumeless all!
Thus through the day the conflagration raged:
And when the wings of night o’erspread the scene,
Not even their starry blazonry wore such
An aggregated glory to the eye,
As did the blazing dead wood of the forest—
On all hands blazing! Mighty sapless gums
Amid their living kindred, stood all fire—
Boles, branches, all!—like flaming ghosts of trees,
Come from the past within the whiteman’s pale
To typify a doom. Such was the prospect:
Illuminated cities were but jests
Compared to it for splendor. But enough!
Where are the words to paint the million shapes
And unimaginable freaks of Fire,
When holding thus its monster carnival
In the primeval forest all night long?
poem by Charles Harpur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A River For Him
(emmylou harris)
I crossed on the river
Therell be no returning
I crossed all the bridges
I watched them all burning
And now Im a stranger
To a strange land Im driven
Where all is forgotten
And nothings forgiven
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
I think of him now
On the road I am taking
And wonder how long
His heart will be breaking
But hell never hear when
The teardrops are falling
Or the sound of my voice
And the name Im calling
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
So sweep for the sons
And the dear darling daughters
For the passing of time
And the parting of waters
For all who have passed through
This world long before me
To a far distant shore line
Where no one waits for me
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sinking..
Down in the water
By the edge of the river
where I ponder my life
just how did I get to this
Down in the water
By the edge of the river
where the waterfall of dreams
sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the water
by the edge of the river
where time stands still
Just only forever.
Down in the water
by the edge of the river
where I buried all
that was ever childhood
Where I let it go,
where it bends and meanders,
twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the water,
I left the edge of the river,
as I looked down
for my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
......sinking forever.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Goodbye To A River
(don henley/stan lynch/jai winding/frank simes)
The rains have come early, they say
Were all gonna wash away
Well, thats all right with me
If heavens torrent can wash clean
The arrogance that lies unseen
In the damage done since we have gone
Where we ought not to be
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Lakes and levees, dams and locks
They put that river in a box
It was running wild
And men must have control
We live our lives in starts and fits
We lose our wonder bit by bit
We condescend and in the end
We lose our very souls
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
The dirty water washes down
Poisoning the common ground
Taking sins of farm and town
And bearing them away
The captains of industry
And their tools on the hill
Theyre killing everything divine
What will I tell this child of mine
(solo)
I make a church out of words
As the years dull my senses
And I try to hold on to the world that I knew
I struggle to cross generational fences
And the beauty that still remains
I can touch it through you
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
So long
Goodbye to a river
Goodbye to a river
Roll on
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Adrift: A Brisbane River Reverie
An amphitheatre of purple hills
And emerald slopes where nestling villas gleam,
Flooded with golden light that crowns and fills
Height, vale, and stream.
The clouds float motionless like isles of snow
Set in the sapphire of the summer sky,
The river, like a ribbon, far below
Winds rippling by;
As, like a creeping snake, with curve and sweep
The languid current steals past mead and scar,
To the dark mangrove fringing on the deep
Abreast the bar.
Slow drifts the boat past homestead, town, and lea;
The waters laugh and sob against the side
As down the murmuring river to the sea,
Dreaming, I glide.
Past meadowy marshland and gray limestone bluff,
Low mangrove fens and waste lantana heights,
Long reaches where the tides and winds are rough,
And sheltered bights.
Now wider spread the waters to the eyes;
Now sparser grow the homesteads, scarcely seen,
Save where some roof or gaunt gray trunk may rise
Against the green.
And salter on the cheek the breezes blow;
And in a deeper key the river sings;
And from the viewless sea move to and fro
Swift snow-like wings.
These are the harbingers from voyaged seas
Who knows what seas of thought man yet may sail
As science slowly sifts Life’s mysteries—
And lifts the veil?
poem by George Essex Evans
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Valley
Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Some bad people living further down the valley,
Not easy for us to do good trade.
We got snowmelt, snowmelt sweet water.
They got that valley road that they made.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Holding hands on the hillside.
Showing love to your brother --
Your sister and your mother --
But we hate those people down the valley.
Has anybody seen moses?
Get him off that mountain.
Bring back the tablets of stone.
Its a wise, wise prophet who keeps his own council.
Yeah, leave the other mans wife alone.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people living here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only live the valley song.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only know the valley song.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Scene At The Banks Of The Hudson
Cool shades and dews are round my way,
And silence of the early day;
Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed,
Glitters the mighty Hudson spread,
Unrippled, save by drops that fall
From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall;
And o'er the clear still water swells
The music of the Sabbath bells.
All, save this little nook of land
Circled with trees, on which I stand;
All, save that line of hills which lie
Suspended in the mimic sky--
Seems a blue void, above, below,
Through which the white clouds come and go,
And from the green world's farthest steep
I gaze into the airy deep.
Loveliest of lovely things are they,
On earth, that soonest pass away.
The rose that lives its little hour
Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
Even love, long tried and cherished long,
Becomes more tender and more strong,
At thought of that insatiate grave
From which its yearnings cannot save.
River! in this still hour thou hast
Too much of heaven on earth to last;
Nor long may thy still waters lie,
An image of the glorious sky.
Thy fate and mine are not repose,
And ere another evening close,
Thou to thy tides shalt turn again,
And I to seek the crowd of men.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Recollections of Our Native Valley
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
With wildering sound goes winding ever.
Oh! often yet with feeling strong,
On that dear stream my mem'ry ponders,
And still I prize its murm'ring song,
For by my childhood's home it wanders.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
There's music in each wind that blows
Within our native valley breathing;
There's beauty in each flower that grows
Around our native woodlands wreathing.
The memory of our brightest joys
Is dearer than the richest toys,
The present vainly shed around us.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood,
Oh, sister! when 'mid doubts and fears,
That haunt life's onward journey ever,
I turn to those departed years,
And that beloved and lovely river;
With sinking mind and bosom riven,
And heart with lonely anguish aching,
It needs my long-taught hope in heaven,
To keep that weary heart from breaking.
Know ye not that lovely river?
Know ye not that smiling river?
Whose gentle flood,
By cliff and wood.
poem by Gerald Griffin
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The River
In my first sleep
I came to the river
And looked down
Through the clear water -
Only in dream
Water so pure,
Laced and undulant
Lines of flow
On its rocky bed
Water of life
Streaming for ever.
A house was there
Beside the river
And I, arrived,
An expected guest
About to explore
Old gardens and libraries -
But the car was waiting
To drive me away.
One last look
Into that bright stream -
Trout there were
And clear on the bottom
Monster form
Of the great crayfish
That crawls to the moon.
On its rocky bed
Living water
In whorls and ripples
Flowing unbended.
There was the car
To drive me away.
We crossed the river
Of living water -
I might not stay,
But must return
By the road too short
To the waiting day.
In my second dream
Pure I was and free
By the rapid stream,
My crystal house the sky,
The pure crystalline sky.
Into the stream I flung
A bottle of clear glass
That twirled and tossed and spun
In the water's race
Flashing the morning sun.
Down that swift river
I saw it borne away,
My empty crystal form,
Exultant saw it caught
Into the current's spin,
The flashing water's run.
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Down in the deep water..
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I ponder my life
Just how did I get to this
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where the waterfall of dreams
Sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where time stands still
just only forever.
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I buried all
That was ever my childhood
Where I let it go,
Where it bends and meanders,
Twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
Were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the deep water,
I left the edge of the river,
As I looked down
For my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the deep water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
......Sinking forever.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Millions of water drops
drops of water
millions of drops
Falling down the rocks
Millions of water drops
Glittering in the sun
Shining like pearls
Millions of water drops
Ending as a river
Finding way to ocean
Millions of water drops
Creating childrens happiness
Laughter and joyfullness
Millions of water drops
Soon will tide reach
White long shores
Millions of water drops
Animating Waves
into forming caves
Millions of water drops
splittering from above
till reaching top of the hill
Millions of water drops
Without them no sound
No whispers of the living
Millions of water drops
Watch the clearness
From crest to earth
Millions of water drops
For tribe’s best
Beware of waste
Millions of water drops
Treasured should they be
As belonging to all humanity
(march 2008, Switzerland)
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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Fragment II
The light of day was fading in the west,
The smoke no more from village chimneys curled,
Nor voice of man, nor bark of dog was heard;
When she, obedient to Love's rendezvous,
Had reached the middle of a plain, than which
No other more bewitching could be found.
The moon on every side her lustre shed,
And all in robes of silver light arrayed
The trees with which the place was garlanded.
The rustling boughs were murmuring to the wind,
And, blending with the plaintive nightingale,
A rivulet poured forth its sweet lament.
The sea shone in the distance, and the fields
And groves; and slowly rising, one by one,
The summits of the mountains were revealed.
In quiet shade the sombre valley lay,
While all the little hills around were clothed
With the soft lustre of the dewy moon.
The maiden kept the silent, lonely path,
And gently passing o'er her face, she felt
The motion of the perfume-laden breeze.
If she were happy, it were vain to ask;
The scene delighted her, and the delight
Her heart was promising, was greater still.
How swift your flight, O lovely hours serene!
No other pleasure here below endures,
Or lingers with us long, save hope alone.
The night began to change, and dark became
The face of heaven, that was so beautiful,
And all her pleasure now was turned to fear.
An angry cloud, precursor of the storm,
Behind the mountains rose, and still increased,
Till moon or star no longer could be seen.
She saw it spreading upon every side,
And by degrees ascending through the air,
And now with its black mantle covering all.
The scanty light more faint and faint became;
The wind, meanwhile, was rising in the grove,
That on the farther side the spot enclosed;
And, every moment, was more boisterous;
Till every bird, awaking in its fright,
Amidst the trembling leaves was fluttering.
The cloud, increasing still, unto the coast
Descended, so that one extremity
The mountains touched, the other touched the sea.
And now from out its black and hollow womb,
The pattering rain-drops, falling fast, were heard,
The sound increasing as the cloud drew near.
And round her now the glancing lightning flashed
In fearful mood, and made her shut her eyes;
The ground was black, the air a mass of flame.
Her trembling knees could scarce her weight sustain;
The thunder roared with a continuous sound,
Like torrent, plunging headlong from the cliff.
At times she paused, the dismal scene to view,
In blank dismay; then on she ran again,
Her hair and clothes all streaming in the wind.
The cruel wind beat hard against her breast,
And rushing fiercely, with its angry breath,
The cold drops dashed, remorseless, in her face.
The thunder, like a beast, assaulted her,
With terrible, unintermitting roar;
And more and more the rain and tempest raged.
And from all sides in wild confusion flew
The dust and leaves, the branches and the stones,
With hideous tumult, inconceivable.
Her weary, blinded eyes now covering,
And folding close her clothes against her breast,
She through the storm her fearful path pursued.
But now the lightning glared so in her face,
That, overcome by fright at last, she went
No farther, and her heart within her sank;
And back she turned. And, even as she turned,
The lightning ceased to flash, the air was dark,
The thunder's voice was hushed, the wind stood still,
And all was silent round, and she,--at rest!
poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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Roll down, Long River (song)
Roll down, Long, Long River to the sea,
Call me, Long, Long River where I should be.
Sing me a lullaby
How to live and die.
Lark's song in the sky
Lets me survive…
Bring your mud mad waters to the East.
Are you tired, Long River, of the heartless lucky beasts?
Lonely tears and cries,
Cruel lies and crimes
You submerge as well,
You'll never tell…
Roll down, Long, Long River to the sea…
Call me, Long, Long River where I should be…
Roll down, Long, Long River…
Roll down, Long, Long River…
To the East…
poem by Galina Struchalina
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bridge
I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.
I saw her bright reflection
In the watrers under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.
And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the gleaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.
Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away.
As, sweeping and eddying through them
Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.
And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.
How often, oh how often,
In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!
How often oh how often,
I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
O'er the ocean wild and wide!
For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.
But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.
Yet whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.
And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.
I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!
And forever and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;
The moon and its broken reflection
Aand its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Is The River?
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere else
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or hidden under the ground
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or safe inside the cave
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or still far away
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or up above the cloud
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or out of our reach
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or trickling on the rock
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or gathering in the pool
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or down over the cliff
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or just sight of illusion
Where is the river?
Is it here
Running in your eyes
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or sudden flood in the road
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A hippo at dawn
The cracking branches as it rushed in
had a shocking kind of thunder to them
and where it entered the swollen river
I heard the rushing water splashing
and at that breaking of day
the scene was something primitive
as if from the very beginning of mankind
while that huge animal lingered with gaping jaws,
jaws that could open wide enough
to snap the small rowing boat in two
in which I was crossing the stream
while like in a kind of dream
everything was happening very slowly
before suddenly the water boiled
as in great might it turned away,
and the water swallowed it.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Air Of Diabelli's
CALL it to mind, O my love.
Dear were your eyes as the day,
Bright as the day and the sky;
Like the stream of gold and the sky above,
Dear were your eyes in the grey.
We have lived, my love, O, we have lived, my love!
Now along the silent river, azure
Through the sky's inverted image,
Softly swam the boat that bore our love,
Swiftly ran the shallow of our love
Through the heaven's inverted image,
In the reedy mazes round the river.
See along the silent river,
See of old the lover's shallop steer.
Berried brake and reedy island,
Heaven below and only heaven above.
Through the sky's inverted image
Swiftly swam the boat that bore our love.
Berried brake and reedy island,
Mirrored flower and shallop gliding by.
All the earth and all the sky were ours,
Silent sat the wafted lovers,
Bound with grain and watched by all the sky,
Hand to hand and eye to . . . eye.
Days of April, airs of Eden,
Call to mind how bright the vanished angel hours,
Golden hours of evening,
When our boat drew homeward filled with flowers.
O darling, call them to mind; love the past, my love.
Days of April, airs of Eden.
How the glory died through golden hours,
And the shining moon arising;
How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers.
Age and winter close us slowly in.
Level river, cloudless heaven,
Islanded reed mazes, silver weirs;
How the silent boat with silver
Threads the inverted forest as she goes,
Broke the trembling green of mirrored trees.
O, remember, and remember
How the berries hung in garlands.
Still in the river see the shallop floats.
Hark! Chimes the falling oar.
Still in the mind
Hark to the song of the past!
Dream, and they pass in their dreams.
Those that loved of yore, O those that loved of yore!
Hark through the stillness, O darling, hark!
Through it all the ear of the mind
Knows the boat of love. Hark!
Chimes the falling oar.
O half in vain they grew old.
Now the halcyon days are over,
Age and winter close us slowly round,
And these sounds at fall of even
Dim the sight and muffle all the sound.
And at the married fireside, sleep of soul and sleep of fancy,
Joan and Darby.
Silence of the world without a sound;
And beside the winter faggot
Joan and Darby sit and dose and dream and wake -
Dream they hear the flowing, singing river,
See the berries in the island brake;
Dream they hear the weir,
See the gliding shallop mar the stream.
Hark! in your dreams do you hear?
Snow has filled the drifted forest;
Ice has bound the . . . stream.
Frost has bound our flowing river;
Snow has whitened all our island brake.
Berried brake and reedy island,
Heaven below and only heaven above azure
Through the sky's inverted image
Safely swam the boat that bore our love.
Dear were your eyes as the day,
Bright ran the stream, bright hung the sky above.
Days of April, airs of Eden.
How the glory died through golden hours,
And the shining moon arising,
How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers.
Bright were your eyes in the night:
We have lived, my love;
O, we have loved, my love.
Now the . . . days are over,
Age and winter close us slowly round.
Vainly time departs, and vainly
Age and winter come and close us round.
Hark the river's long continuous sound.
Hear the river ripples in the reeds.
Lo, in dreams they see their shallop
Run the lilies down and drown the weeds
Mid the sound of crackling faggots.
So in dreams the new created
Happy past returns, to-day recedes,
And they hear once more,
From the old years,
Yesterday returns, to-day recedes,
And they hear with aged hearing warbles
Love's own river ripple in the weeds.
And again the lover's shallop;
Lo, the shallop sheds the streaming weeds;
And afar in foreign countries
In the ears of aged lovers.
And again in winter evens
Starred with lilies . . . with stirring weeds.
In these ears of aged lovers
Love's own river ripples in the reeds.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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