Hic Vir, Hic Est
Often, when o'er tree and turret,
Eve a dying radiance flings,
By that ancient pile I linger
Known familiarly as 'King's.'
And the ghosts of days departed
Rise, and in my burning breast
All the undergraduate wakens,
And my spirit is at rest.
What, but a revolting fiction,
Seems the actual result
Of the Census's enquiries
Made upon the 15th ult.?
Still my soul is in its boyhood;
Nor of year or changes recks.
Though my scalp is almost hairless,
And my figure grows convex.
Backward moves the kindly dial;
And I'm numbered once again
With those noblest of their species
Called emphatically 'Men':
Loaf, as I have loafed aforetime,
Through the streets, with tranquil mind,
And a long-backed fancy-mongrel
Trailing casually behind:
Past the Senate-house I saunter,
Whistling with an easy grace;
Past the cabbage-stalks that carpet
Still the beefy market-place;
Poising evermore the eye-glass
In the light sarcastic eye,
Lest, by chance, some breezy nursemaid
Pass, without a tribute, by.
Once, an unassuming Freshman,
Through these wilds I wandered on,
Seeing in each house a College,
Under every cap a Don:
Each perambulating infant
Had a magic in its squall,
For my eager eye detected
Senior Wranglers in them all.
By degrees my education
Grew, and I became as others;
Learned to court delirium tremens
By the aid of Bacon Brothers;
Bought me tiny boots of Mortlock,
And colossal prints of Roe;
And ignored the proposition
That both time and money go.
Learned to work the wary dogcart
Artfully through King's Parade;
Dress, and steer a boat, and sport with
Amaryllis in the shade:
Struck, at Brown's, the dashing hazard;
Or (more curious sport than that)
Dropped, at Callaby's, the terrier
Down upon the prisoned rat.
I have stood serene on Fenner's
Ground, indifferent to blisters,
While the Buttress of the period
Bowled me his peculiar twisters:
Sung 'We won't go home till morning';
Striven to part my backhair straight;
Drunk (not lavishly) of Miller's
Old dry wines at 78:-
When within my veins the blood ran,
And the curls were on my brow,
I did, oh ye undergraduates,
Much as ye are doing now.
Wherefore bless ye, O beloved ones:-
Now unto mine inn must I,
Your 'poor moralist,' {51a} betake me,
In my 'solitary fly.'
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song of the Little White Girl
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, what is the matter?
Why are you shaking so? Why do you chatter?
Because it is just a white baby you see,
And it's the black ones you like, cabbage tree?
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, you're a strange fellow
With your green hair and your legs browny-yellow.
Wouldn't you like to have curls, dear, like me?
What! No one to make them? O poor cabbage tree!
Never mind, cabbage tree, when I am taller,
And if you grow, please, a little bit smaller,
I shall be able by that time, bay be,
To make you the loveliest curls, cabbage tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Education
In a deep dark jungle long time ago
Lived a lonesome caveman
He was a solitary soul
And he spent his playtime
Chewing meat from bones.
He didnt know how to talk much
He only knew how to groan
Then he lifted up his hands and reached to the sky
Let out a yell and no one replied.
Frustration and torment tore him inside
Then he fell to the ground and he cried and he cried.
But then education saved the day.
He learned to speak and communicate
Education saved the day.
He thanked God for the friends he made.
cos everybody needs an education
Everybody needs an education.
Black skin, red skin, yellow or white,
Everybody needs to read and write
Everybody needs an education.
Thank the day when that primitive man
Learned to talk with his brothers
And live off the land.
He left his cave and he moved far away
And he lived with his friends in a house that theyd made
He learned to think and to work with his brain
And he astounded his friends with all the knowledge he gained
He wrote it down on a rock that he found
And he showed all his friends and they passed it around
And then education came that day.
The day it came was a sacred day.
Education came that day
He thanked God for the friends hed made.
Well man built a boat and he learned how to sail
And he travelled far and wide
Then he looked up above saw the stars in the sky
So he learned how to fly.
Thanks to all the mathematicians
And the inventors with their high i.q.s
And the professors in their colleges
Trying to feed me knowledge
That I know Ill never use.
Thank you sir for the millions of words
That youve handed me down and youve told me to learn
But Ive got words in my ears and my eyes
Ive got so many facts that I must memorize
Because educations doing me in
I want to stop but my heads in a swim
Education drives me insane
I cant recall all the facts on my brain.
Education came that day
The day it came was a sacred day
Education saved the day
He thanked God for all the friends he made.
Teacher, teach me how to read and write,
You can teach me about biology,
But you cant tell me what I am living for
cos thats still a mystery.
Teacher, teach me about nuclear physics
And teach me about the structure of man,
But all your endless calculations
Cant tell me why I am.
No you cant tell me why I am,
No you cant tell me why I am.
Everybody needs education,
Open universities, education.
Every race every creed, education.
And every little half-breed, education.
Every nationality, education.
All the little people need education.
Eskimos and pygmies need
And even aborigines, education.
Well physics and geography, education.
Philosophy and history, education.
Science and biology, education,
Geometry and poetry, education.
Well, education, education, education, education
(repeat education till end)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood Brothers
Maurice white, jon lind, nicky brown & brock walsh
So my friend
Voices from the past reunite at last
Back when we grew up on the streets
The world was at our feet
Do you recall the two of us
How we used th sing when everything
Was new to us
From the time that we were old
Enough to stand
It was you and I together to the end
Oh, what our souls believe we will
Always be
Blood brothers time cant divide
What our hearts have said with a
Drop of red
Blood brothers till the end
Through these years
Time has not been kind to others left behind
These streets where you and I once played
Nothings left today
What happened to the dreams we shared
Do we just go on like it was
Never there
Do I tell you that theres hope beyond
These walls
That to help you Id do anything at all
What our souls believe we will
Always be
Blood brothers time cant divide
What our hearts have said with a
Drop of red
Blood brothers, the bond we made never
Will break
Blood brothers to the end
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Friends For Tea
Friends For Tea
This morning by the river I saw an enormous snail shell,
and no one was at home as far as I could tell.
Anyway, I knocked three times and then twice more,
and then a sleepy lob eared rabbit came to the door.
“What do you want, ” said rabbit, “Snail has moved on.”
“Oh, I was just curious to know where he had gone.”
“The snail had grown too large for this humble abode,
so now I live here, with my friend King Toad.
I believe Snail has moved much closer to the wood,
he said a tree house would be better, in fact twice as good.
To be honest I think he’s made a terrible mistake,
if he should fall his shell would surely break.
My good friend King Toad and I most certainly agree
that life shouldn’t be spent on the branch of a tree.
You weren’t by the way thinking of moving in here
because there’s not enough room for three to share? ”
“Oh dear no, not I, I have my own cosy little place,
which I share with my friends, Freddie and Grace.
Would you and King Toad like to come to my house for tea?
We’re having scones with cream, and the freshest honey? ”
“I hope you won’t be offended, but I really must decline,
King Toad is a direct descendent of a most royal line.
He’s obnoxious, rude and arrogant, with his cutting jar,
and I can’t take him anywhere with his okay yah.”
A loud deep voice from within the shell echoed out the door,
“We’ll accept your invitation sir, of that I am most sure.”
King Toad came to the entrance with a crown upon his head,
“I hope you’ll go to plenty of trouble, ” he impudently said.
What a surprise; I didn’t know whether to bow or curtsy.
“Shall we say tea time, around about four thirty? ”
Rabbit and King Toad agreed with a smile on their face,
so off I went to tell Freddie the spider and mouse Grace.
As teatime approached everything was prepared,
the table was set with five different sized chairs.
King Toad and rabbit arrived precisely on time
dressed in fancy hats, they didn’t half look fine.
“Welcome to our home, ” said the mouse and spider.
Toad rudely barged in and said, “Have you got any cider? ”
“I’m terribly sorry your highness, but we’ve only got tea,
and that’s usually enough for Freddie, Grace, and me.”
“Oh very well, I suppose tea will have to do,
but it must have ten spoons of sugar, and lemon too.”
“Would you prefer jam or honey, with your buttered scone? ”
“Both if you don’t mind, that’s what I normally have at home.”
“Now then friend rabbit what would you like to eat? ”
“A watercress sandwich would be very hard to beat.”
King Toad extended his tongue and gulped down poor spider,
and in an instant Grace had Toad swallowed up inside her.
Rabbit leaped across the table towards Grace the mouse
and the ensuing chase nearly wrecked the house.
With Grace now gone, friend rabbit and I sat down to tea,
and by supper, rabbit had also gone, ‘burp’ pardon me!
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song For The Life
(rodney crowell)
Well I dont drink as much as I used to
Lately, it just aint my style
And the hard times dont hurt like they ought to
They pass quicker, like when I was a child
And somehow Ive learned how to listen
For a sound like the sun going down
In the magic the morning is bringing
Theres a song for the life I have found
It keeps my feet on the ground
And the midsummer days sit so heavy
But dont they flow like the breeze through your mind
When nothing appears in a hurry
To make up for someones lost time
And somehow Ive learned how to listen
For a sound like the sun going down
In the magic the morning is bringing
Theres a song for the life I have found
It keeps my feet on the ground
And somehow Ive learned how to listen
For a sound like the breeze dying down
In the magic the morning is bringing
Theres a song for the friend I have found
She keeps my feet on the ground
She keeps my feet on the ground
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House-warming
Our house anew is built at last,
Despite the struggles of the past!
A happy family now resides,
With Almighty God us besides!
Gone are the days of lack of space;
The new house wears a painted face;
Born is a harmony and peace
That God-willingly shouldn’t ever cease!
The house looks cozy and gorgeous;
The cost is anybody’s guess;
God bless our house and its in-mates,
As we journey to Heaven’s gates!
Our house must turn a happy home!
All brethren are always welcome;
Let love and prayer fill the air,
And faces wear smiles and laughter!
God bless this family and house;
Let Jesus Christ be King and spouse;
Let forgiving hearts show the world
That wounds will heal, however old!
Let brothers live and serve the Lord,
As per the teachings of God’s Word!
Let common blood and flesh stay strong,
And emanate a happy song!
Let parents feel proud of their sons!
‘Let parley work better than guns! ’
Let neighbors sense Christ’s own presence,
Within the house and o’er the fence!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-22-2009
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Beloved Sister
Today, while I sit in my rocking chair to rest
Reminiscing the time that I loved the best,
In my vision I can once more see,
My beloved sister and brothers and even me.
The time of happiness that only our family knows,
Before the impending moment that maturity grows.
I am just reminiscing - they have gone their own way now.
Since then - my black hair has turned gray above the brow.
The house is still there - no noise anymore,
No one to pick on, no wrestling on the floor,
No heavy footsteps, no laughter or glee,
My beloved sister's voice no longer calling me.
Many years of our life were spent apart,
My sister and brothers to new nests did part.
Something went amiss one sad day
When my beloved sister left to go far away.
I may have some pleasures and leisure from care,
But willingly, some of my possessions I'd gladly share
If only my beloved sister I could hold near,
For one cherishing moment of that long ago year.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Penitent's Return
My father's house once more,
In its own moonlight beauty! yet around,
Something, amidst the dewy calm profound,
Broods, never marked before!
Is it the brooding night?
Is it the shivery creeping on the air,
That makes the home, so tranquil and so fair,
O'erwhelming to my sight?
All solemnised it seems,
And still'd, and darkness in each time-worn hue,
Since the rich clustering roses met my view,
As now, by starry gleams.
And this high elm, where last
I stood and linger'd - where my sisters made
Our mother's bower, - I deem'd not that it cast
So far and dark a shade!
How spirit-like a tone
Sighs through yon tree! my father's place was there
At evening hours, while soft winds waved his hair!
Now those gray locks are gone!
My soul grows faint with fear!
E'en as if angel-steps had mark'd the sod,
I tremble where I move,-the voice of God
Is in the foliage here!
Is it indeed the night
That makes my home so awful! faithless hearted,
'Tis that from thine own bosom hath departed
The in-born gladdening light!
No outward thing is changed;
Only the joy of purity is fled,
And, long from nature's melodious estranged,
Thou hear'st their tones with dread.
Therefore, the calm abode
By the dark spirit is o'erhung with shade,-
And therefore, in the leaves, the voice of God
Makes thy sick heart afraid!
The night-flowers round that door,
Still breathe pure fragrance on th' untainted air,
Thou, thou alone, art worthy now no more
To pass and rest thee there!
And must I turn away?
Hark, hark! it is my mother's voice I hear,
Sadder than once it seem'd, yet soft and clear -
Doth she not seem to pray?
My name!-I caught the sound!
Oh! blessed tone of love - the deep, the mild,-
Mother, my mother! now receive thy child;
Take back the lost and found.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Year Of The Tiger
It's 2010
Here I am
It's the year of the tiger
the year of the writer
I have total control
for in my soul, I'm a fighter
I learned in 2009
that I was King with a cigar
and a glass of wine
I am the tiger
this year is mine
and I'll continue to be King
one step at a time.
01.01.2010
poem by White Tiger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song For The Life
I dont drink as much as I used to
Lately it just aint my style
And the hard times dont hurt like they used to
They pass quicker like when is a child
Somehow Ive learned to listen
For a sound like the sun goin down
In the magic the morning is bringing
It keeps my feet on the ground
Dont the midsummer days sit so heavy
But dont they flow like a breeze through your mind
And nothin occurs in a hurry
To make up for someones lost time
Somehow Ive learned to listen
For a sound like the sun goin down
In the magic the morning is bringing
It keeps my feet on the ground
Somehow Ive learned to listen
For a sound like the breeze dyin down
In the magic the morning is bringing
It keeps my feet on the ground
Words and music by rodney crowell
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For My Foster Sister (about growing up with mom drunk)
We used to run through the sprinkler
we double jumped & skipped rope
we danced along to the radio
our lives were filled with hope
then something made her dad leave
and soon her mom was always drunk
she didn't have clean clothes to wear
she often felt like a dirty punk
she didn't have anyone to talk to
and the shades were always pulled tight
her mom didn't want any noise
and hated when she turned on the light
she no longer made her lunch
and asleep when she came home
she wore a ratty bathrobe
and never used a comb
it's a good thing the house was paid for
so she never had to sleep in the street
but if she didn't cash in coke bottles
she would never have anything to eat
nobody ever called the cops
they lived out towards the woods
she learned how to steal real well
and that's how she brought home goods
Mom used her welfare money
to buy her favorite drink
she ate all her leftovers
and put dishes in the sink
She didn't want a foster family
but was too scared not to tell
the day she found her on the floor
she told me her mom wasn't well
But instead of speaking out
She left home that day
she slept under the railway pass
got to school, ran all the way
We don't know who called the cops
but they cornered her in the hall
took her to the counselors office
where she stood against the wall
They told her - she had to move
in with a foster family
She didn't want to leave her mom
but is how it was to be
She cried at the funeral
for a mom who wasn't there
and moved around a lot after that
her mom's death too much to bear
She graduated college
just the other day
that foster family that took her in
we helped her make her own way
She never thought she'd love again
after her mom was gone
but we've learned a lot since then
and we know her mom was wrong
When her dad left he took her pride
and she lost all control
she couldn't raise her by herself
with booze she drowned her soul
We've been to her grave
and planted a flower cover
cause even though she was a drunk
she still her mother
poem by Linda Racaniello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heavenly Father
My father is in heaven just waiting for me,
Preparing a unique place of rest for tomorrow,
And when I get there how happy I will be,
In my flight of joy there will be no more sorrow.
When I take a heavenly star to go through the air,
In paradise on streets of gold other people will walk,
And I will know the change in the atmosphere,
Just been there without street lamps for it is not dark.
Pull up in my dream the sheets of celestial lights,
Eternity riding high on the firmament of stain glass,
New life erase the guilt that own the quibbling past,
No moon ice or winter spring hanging over the cities.
My father is in heaven away from this besotted time,
His anxious blood runs deep through my veins,
I can feel him in my body; see him in my mind,
Gauge the cosmic realm to define the species.
In time, in memory, we return to the cradle of love,
The father we worship, the king we strongly adore,
Alpha and Omega, the exceptional being from above,
A father's love is the key that opens every door.
Mine inescapable failure made into a testimony,
Onwards and upwards made a way to meet his wave,
I am almost going home soon no reason to worry,
Outliving the impact the one for my life he gave.
poem by Gerry Legister
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Till We Get The Healing Done
Down those old ancient streets
Down those old ancient roads
Baby there together we must go
Till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Till youre satisfied with your life
Till youre satisfied with your life
Till youre satisfied with your life
And its running right, and its running right
Till you deal with the poison inside
Sometimes youve got to sit down and cry
When you deal with the poison inside
Till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Till you feel the tingle up your spine
Till youre satisfied and youre mine
Till you feel a tingle up your spine
Till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Till you live in the glory of the one
Till you live in the land of the sun
Till you feel like your life has just begun
Till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Till we dwell in the house of the lord
Till you dont have to worry no more
Till you open a brand new world
Till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Till it makes you feel alright
Till youre satisfied with your life
Till you know you live in the light
Till we get the healing done
Oh till we get the healing done
Till you look at the mountains every day
Till you wash all your troubles away
And you live right here in the day
Till we get the healing done
Oh till we get the healing done
Oh till its truth and its beauty and its grace
Till youve finally found your true place
Till you know your original face
Till we get the healing done
Oh child, till we get the healing done
Oh when everythings going right
Till youre satisfied with your life
Till youre living in the light
Till we get the healing done
Oh till we get the healing done
Oh when you feel it, when you feel it in your soul
Baby, and you really know
That you reap just what you sow
When we get the healing done
Oh till we get the healing done
Till you know that its working every time
Till you work it out in your mind
And you know it straight down the line
Till you get the healing done
Oh make no worry till we get the healing done
Oh we gonna go back, back to our favourite place
Oh look at it again
See it all through different eyes
When we get the healing done
Oh when we get the healing done
Oh were living for the grace of the lord
Baby feel so good about it all
Oh give thanks every day
Till we get the healing done
Oh till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Oh baby, baby till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Baby you got to stay
Till we get the healing done
If it takes to the break of day
Till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
Till we get the healing done
You got to stay all night long
Till we get the healing done
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ancient Warrior
Theres no end - theres no beginning -
To the old mans story
Does he still remember me -
From lives gone by
Oh I see his spirit rising
Upon the back of time
Ive got nowhere to hide
Will he keep a place for me
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
In his eyes an oceans burning
Swollen seat of tears
Troubled mind the beating
War drums in his ears
No one ever hears his warning
Am I the one he calls
When they tell me theyre afraid
Some say Ill be put away
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
My blood will spill my blood
My blood will spill my blood
In the wisdom of the prophets
Never ending tale
Open up the eyes
Within your mind, he says
Crowned in his ancient glory
Theres a king within us all
Some will say its all in vain
That he doesnt have a name
He is the king of all kings
The keeper of light
He holds eternitys wings
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passage
In a great hall
flag draped a coffin stands.
Now at final rest
the great warrior lay.
With rising to setting sun
all through the day.
From every walk of life
his beloved public filed past.
The youngest to the most senior.
Dearest friend to complete stranger
Dignitary to the least known.
All came to bid this one adieu.
Stifled sob an abrupt cough
Sounds of mourning echo.
Shuffling feet passing
A whispered good bye prayer.
Now the hall is silent.
Deserted
save his honor guard.
Standing a faithful watch.
Deserted?
Only by the living.
Replaced by spirit throng
to escort this warrior home.
Defiant Viking King
stately armored knight.
Somber desert Sultan
mysterious far east Emperor.
Unseen but their presence sensed.
Leagues of warriors past.
Leaving their places in history
parade from misty shadows.
Legions line an avenue
that leads to eternal grace.
The one who sleeps now forever.
Soul and spirit have traveled on.
Mortals who remain behind.
Commit but a symbol
to a place of honor.
In remembrance for all time.
poem by Kurt Hearth
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The Independent Woman....
we are in this house
that from our sweat built
there are only two of us
in this house
which we have not really
called as home,
something's missing
you give me a hint
not the glass window or
the ceiling fan,
i know it but how can i
tell you?
i won't tell, it will hurt you,
we continue living
somehow
just the two of us in this house
we have our own careers
and every morning we rush to go on our different ways
the night is the only place
of our tryst
we manage to spend time for love
we sleep together and share
what we can
there will be a time when this house shall fall
because it is not a home for us all
there will be one morning when you will finally leave
and take away everything from me
and then i will write it on the wall
this house is never a home,
she never wanted a child to bear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Recollections of a Dreamland
Rouse ye! torpid daylight-dreamers, cast your carking cares away!
As calm air to troubled water, so my night is to your day;
All the dreary day you labour, groping after common sense,
And your eyes ye will not open on the night's magnificence.
Ye would scow were I to tell you how a guiding radiance gleams
On the outer world of action from my inner world of dreams.
When, with mind released from study, late I lay note down to sleep,
From the midst of facts and figures, into boundless space I leap;
For the inner world grows wider as the outer disappears,
And the soul, retiring inward, finds itself beyond the spheres.
Then, to this unbroken sameness, some fantastic dream succeeds,
Vague emotions rise and ripen into thoughts and words and deeds.
Old impressions, long forgotten, range themselves in Time and Space,
Till I recollect the features of some once familiar place.
Then from valley into valley in my dreaming course I roam,
Till the wanderings of my fancy end, where they began, at home.
Calm it lies in morning twilight, while each streamlet far and wide
Still retains its hazy mantle, borrowed from the mountain's side;
Every knoll is now an island every wooded bank a shore,
To the lake of quiet vapour that has spread the valley o’er.
Sheep are couched on every hillock, waiting till the morning dawns,
Hares are on their early rambles, limping o’er the dewy lawns.
All within the house is silent, darkened all the chambers seem,
As with noiseless step I enter, gliding onwards in my dream.
What! has Time run out his cycle, do the years return again?
Are there treasure-caves in Dreamland where departed days remain?
I have leapt the bars of distance—left the life that late I led—
I remember years and labours as a tale that I have read;
Yet my heart is hot within me, for I feel the gentle power
Of the spirits that still love me, waiting for this sacred hour.
Yes,—I know the forms that meet me are but phantoms of the brain,
For they walk in mortal bodies, and they have not ceased from pain.
Oh! those signs of human weakness, left behind for ever now,
Dearer far to me than glories round a fancied seraph's brow.
Oh! the old familiar voices ! Oh! the patient waiting eyes!
Let me live with them in dreamland, while the world in slumber lies!
For by bonds of sacred honour will they guard my soul in sleep
From the spells of aimless fancies, that around my senses creep.
They will link the past and present into one continuous life,
While I feel their hope, their patience, nerve me for the daily strife.
For it is not all a fancy that our lives and theirs are one,
And we know that all we see is but an endless work begun.
Part is left in Nature's keeping, part is entered into rest,
Part remains to grow and ripen, hidden in some living breast.
What is ours we know not, either when we wake or when we sleep,
But we know that Love and Honour, day and night, are ours to keep.
What though Dreams be wandering fancies, by some lawless force entwined,
Empty bubbles, floating upwards through the current of the mind?
There are powers and thoughts within us, that we know not, till they rise
Through the stream of conscious action from where Self in secret lies.
But when Will and Sense are silent, by the thoughts that come and go,
We may trace the rocks and eddies in the hidden depths below.
Let me dream my dream till morning; let my mind run slow and clear,
Free from all the world's distraction, feeling that the Dead are near,
Let me wake, and see my duty lie before me straight and plain.
Let me rise refreshed, and ready to begin my work again.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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The ghost Bereft
THE poor ghost came through the wind and rain
And passed down the old dear road again.
Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed
Like little children that shrank afraid.
The wind was wild and the night was late
When the poor ghost came to the garden gate;
Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet,
The weeds stood up where the rose was set.
The wind was angry, the rain beat sore
When the poor ghost came to its own house-door.
'And shall I find her a-weeping still
To think how alone I lie and chill?
'Or shall I find her happy and warm
With her dear head laid on a new love's arm?
'Or shall I find she has learned to pine
For another's love, and not for mine?
'Whatever chance, I have this to my store,
She is mine, my own, for evermore!'
So the poor ghost came through the wind and rain
Till it reached the square bright window pane.
'Oh! what is here in the room so bright?
Roses and love, and a hid delight?
'What lurks in the silence that fills the room?
A cypress wreath from a dead man's tomb?
'What sleeps? What wakes? And oh! can it be
Her heart that is breaking--and not for me?'
Then the poor ghost looked through the window pane,
Though all the glass was wrinkled with rain.
'Oh, there is light, at the feet and head
Twelve tall tapers about the bed.
'Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare,
But not the garland a bride may wear.
'Jasmine white and a white white rose,
But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes.
'Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier--
But the room is empty--she is not here!
'Her body lies here, deserted, cold;
And the body that loved it creeps in the mould.
'Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free,
Would not have hastened and come to me?
'Can the soul that loved mine long ago
Be hence and away, and I not know?
'Oh, then God's judgment is on me sore,
For I have lost her for evermore!'
And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain
To its own appointed place again.
But up in Heaven, where memories cease
Because the blessed have won to peace,
One pale saint shivered, and closer wound
The shining raiment that wrapped her round.
'Oh, fair is Heaven, and glad am I,
Yet I fain would remember the days gone by.
'The past is veiled, and I may not know,
But I think there was sorrow, long ago;
'The sun of Heaven is warm and bright,
But I think there is rain on the earth to-night.
'O Christ, because of Thine own sore pain
Help all poor souls in the wind and rain.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Foolish Fir-Tree
A tale that the poet Rückert told
To German children, in days of old;
Disguised in a random, rollicking rhyme
Like a merry mummer of ancient time,
And sent, in its English dress, to please
The little folk of the Christmas trees.
A little fir grew in the midst of the wood
Contented and happy, as young trees should.
His body was straight and his boughs were clean;
And summer and winter the bountiful sheen
Of his needles bedecked him, from top to root,
In a beautiful, all-the-year, evergreen suit.
But a trouble came into his heart one day,
When he saw that the other trees were gay
In the wonderful raiment that summer weaves
Of manifold shapes and kinds of leaves:
He looked at his needles so stiff and small,
And thought that his dress was the poorest of all.
Then jealousy clouded the little tree's mind,
And he said to himself, "It was not very kind
"To give such an ugly old dress to a tree!
"If the fays of the forest would only ask me,
"I'd tell them how I should like to be dressed,—
"In a garment of gold, to bedazzle the rest!"
So he fell asleep, but his dreams were bad.
When he woke in the morning, his heart was glad;
For every leaf that his boughs could hold
Was made of the brightest beaten gold.
I tell you, children, the tree was proud;
He was something above the common crowd;
And he tinkled his leaves, as if he would say
To a pedlar who happened to pass that way,
"Just look at me! don't you think I am fine?
"And wouldn't you like such a dress as mine?"
"Oh, yes!" said the man, "and I really guess
I must fill my pack with your beautiful dress."
So he picked the golden leaves with care,
And left the little tree shivering there.
"Oh, why did I wish for golden leaves?"
The fir-tree said, "I forgot that thieves
"Would be sure to rob me in passing by.
"If the fairies would give me another try,
"I'd wish for something that cost much less,
"And be satisfied with glass for my dress!"
Then he fell asleep; and, just as before,
The fairies granted his wish once more.
When the night was gone, and the sun rose clear,
The tree was a crystal chandelier;
And it seemed, as he stood in the morning light,
That his branches were covered with jewels bright.
"Aha!" said the tree. "This is something great!"
And he held himself up, very proud and straight;
But a rude young wind through the forest dashed,
In a reckless temper, and quickly smashed
The delicate leaves. With a clashing sound
They broke into pieces and fell on the ground,
Like a silvery, shimmering shower of hail,
And the tree stood naked and bare to the gale.
Then his heart was sad; and he cried, "Alas
"For my beautiful leaves of shining glass!
"Perhaps I have made another mistake
"In choosing a dress so easy to break.
"If the fairies only would hear me again
"I'd ask them for something both pretty and plain:
"It wouldn't cost much to grant my request,—
"In leaves of green lettuce I'd like to be dressed!"
By this time the fairies were laughing, I know;
But they gave him his wish in a second; and so
With leaves of green lettuce, all tender and sweet,
The tree was arrayed, from his head to his feet.
"I knew it!" he cried, "I was sure I could find
"The sort of a suit that would be to my mind.
"There's none of the trees has a prettier dress,
"And none as attractive as I am, I guess."
But a goat, who was taking an afternoon walk,
By chance overheard the fir-tree's talk.
So he came up close for a nearer view;—
"My salad!" he bleated, "I think so too!
"You're the most attractive kind of a tree,
"And I want your leaves for my five-o'clock tea."
So he ate them all without saying grace,
And walked away with a grin on his face;
While the little tree stood in the twilight dim,
With never a leaf on a single limb.
Then he sighed and groaned; but his voice was weak—
He was so ashamed that he could not speak.
He knew at last that he had been a fool,
To think of breaking the forest rule,
And choosing a dress himself to please,
Because he envied the other trees.
But it couldn't be helped, it was now too late,
He must make up his mind to a leafless fate!
So he let himself sink in a slumber deep,
But he moaned and he tossed in his troubled sleep,
Till the morning touched him with joyful beam,
And he woke to find it was all a dream.
For there in his evergreen dress he stood,
A pointed fir in the midst of the wood!
His branches were sweet with the balsam smell,
His needles were green when the white snow fell.
And always contented and happy was he,—
The very best kind of a Christmas tree.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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