Related quotes: TO thy bright beams I...

Sonnet XXIII. By The Same. To The North Star.

TO thy bright beams I turn my swimming eyes,
Fair, favourite planet, which in happier days
Saw my young hopes, ah, faithless hopes!--arise,
And on my passion shed propitious rays.
Now nightly wandering 'mid the tempests drear
That howl the woods and rocky steeps among,
I love to see thy sudden light appear
Through the swift clouds--driven by the wind along:
Or in the turbid water, rude and dark,
O'er whose wild stream the gust of Winter raves,
Thy trembling light with pleasure still I mark,
Gleam in faint radiance on the foaming waves!
So o'er my soul short rays of reason fly,
Then fade:--and leave me to despair and die.

poem by Charlotte Smith
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The Firefly's Fascination

On the flight of the moon to aflame the night,
A firefly's looking up to the light he much adored,
Seem a light of a firefly that he's longing for.

Her brilliant dancing fire,
The endless flashes of light,
Her dazzling face he desire
It was so bright,
so bright.

All he did by night was to look above
He never let his light fade just awhile,
He hopes to be noticed by her love,
Just see his light, then shine and smile.

The luminous rays of the skies,
The beautiful stars at night,
Her shining diamond eyes
It was so bright,
so bright.

Nights and more nights had passed,
All he did by night was to look above
The firefly's light was fading too fast
When he see the truth about his love

The dazzling light did shine no more
The brilliant fire slowly died by night
The luminous sky sings its last roar
The dying light,
fading light.

On the shine of the sun to aflame the day,
A firefly's looking down to shed his tears
when he learned that the one he love
Was nothing but far away star.

poem by Raymond Cabrera
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Sunbeams

The warming rays
streaming on the freshness
of the morning
The slanting rays
trembling between
the green leaves
The guiding rays
sneaking from the arched
roofs of the trees
The shimmering rays
spreading on the curtain panels
of the windows
The scorching rays
flaring on the barren
dry fields
The crimson rays
touching the bare path
like beads of rubies
The outward light fades
while the inward light
gleams to enlighten us.

poem by Rizvana Parveen
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Lines: That time is dead for ever, child!

I.
That time is dead for ever, child!
Drowned, frozen, dead for ever!
We look on the past
And stare aghast
At the spectres wailing, pale and ghast,
Of hopes which thou and I beguiled
To death on life’s dark river.

II.
The stream we gazed on then rolled by;
Its waves are unreturning;
But we yet stand
In a lone land,
Like tombs to mark the memory
Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee
In the light of life’s dim morning.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Ballooning Blue Hopes

Ballooning hopes speed, seed scope's light,
All clouds disperse, false fears take flight,
On future fair grace places dreams
On past despair trace fades, it seems
Ingenuous finds fresh delight.
Black holes prove mirage, out of sight.
Unrestricted, beach born beams
Energize as joy esteems
Horizons boundless, blue and bright,
Pleasure spirit and excite
Enthusiastic promised day
Spirits dark troubles, cares away.

(12 January 2012)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Blistering Mark

delve in the dark and haunt all the nights
tired of the lies of that weak weak light
it goes to show your power has no effect
because your rays are so feeble
feebly glistening, supported by the dark

so the protectors gather around you
stand in the cathedral and see
see them pray for your growth
shielding you from bursting forth

then your turn on them like the traitor you are
it is light which has secrets, truth is far
you turn around and take your flight
burning their eyes and blinding them for life

and to say the truth, you know well how it goes
you call the dark your enemy, your friend and your foe
but now dark has the knowledge of your conspiring nature
it, now, sees light as the demon and it self a betrayed creature

as dark huddles in the shadows, everything is clear
no light to create shadows or to give birth to hopeless despair
so all i have learned is that even though human scorns the dark
it is the light you should fear, it is light that leaves a blistering mark

poem by Cassiel Kaini
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Gust of despair

A gust of despair
far from your sight deep inside me
where the days drown silently
and nights go by slowly
leaves wither in spring
barren valley of stagnant emotions
n the sorrows like snow flakes
sag down the land of my heart
where no wind of pleasure can ever turn
where the sun can cause no blaze but burn
where cavernous woods with no blossoms but fern
where every laughter casts no glee but a regret in turn
genial stances dancing naked rendering servile you
holding ma hands dragging me back
but here I am wandering in the allure of ma ruined woes
in the land of ma heart where the gust of despair forever, blows

poem by Irum Inayat
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To

I will not mourn thee, lovely one,
Though thou art torn away.
'Tis said that if the morning sun
Arise with dazzling ray
And shed a bright and burning beam
Athwart the glittering main,
'Ere noon shall fade that laughing gleam
Engulfed in clouds and rain.

And if thy life as transient proved,
It hath been full as bright,
For thou wert hopeful and beloved;
Thy spirit knew no blight.

If few and short the joys of life
That thou on earth couldst know,
Little thou knew'st of sin and strife
Nor much of pain and woe.

If vain thy earthly hopes did prove,
Thou canst not mourn their flight;
Thy brightest hopes were fixed above
And they shall know no blight.

And yet I cannot check my sighs,
Thou wert so young and fair,
More bright than summer morning skies,
But stern death would not spare;

He would not pass our darling by
Nor grant one hour's delay,
But rudely closed his shining eye
And frowned his smile away,

That angel smile that late so much
Could my fond heart rejoice;
And he has silenced by his touch
The music of thy voice.

I'll weep no more thine early doom,
But O! I still must mourn
The pleasures buried in thy tomb,
For they will not return.

poem by Anne Brontë
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To ------

And if thy life as transient proved,
It hath been full as bright,
For thou wert hopeful and beloved;
Thy spirit knew no blight.

If few and short the joys of life
That thou on earth couldst know,
Little thou knew'st of sin and strife
Nor much of pain and woe.

If vain thy earthly hopes did prove,
Thou canst not mourn their flight;
Thy brightest hopes were fixed above
And they shall know no blight.

And yet I cannot check my sighs,
Thou wert so young and fair,
More bright than summer morning skies,
But stern death would not spare;

He would not pass our darling by
Nor grant one hour's delay,
But rudely closed his shining eye
And frowned his smile away,

That angel smile that late so much
Could my fond heart rejoice;
And he has silenced by his touch
The music of thy voice.

I'll weep no more thine early doom,
But O! I still must mourn
The pleasures buried in thy tomb,
For they will not return.

poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Autumn's Sonnet

The winds blow lightly in the silence,
It's raining with sad leaves in quiet tears,
Lost rays dream of light, hot impatience,
Upper tired branches slowly break their fears.

It's autumn. Hopes are dash in the dark fog,
Colors fade, and the pink flowers die,
The moonlight disappears in choking smog,
I began to roar I began to cry,

I choose to sing together with the wind,
To cry with the golden leaves through the rain,
To embrace a ray of light, to be kind,
To feel the great sadness and flower's pain.

It's autumn, from her wealth of hopes we reap,
A new time to laugh, a new time to weep.

poem by Marius Alexandru
Submitted by anonym
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Little Light

There exists in us a little light
In some, very faint, in some, very bright
My little light now yearns
It pulses with my beat
It makes me write these lines
And it makes me shift my feet
The light burns holes that it will fill
And with my soul, a pulse, a quill
I let my light shine toward your eyes
In hopes that it will show me the way
To your little light

poem by Amit Sharma
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Love's Light: The Philosopher at the Window

The eyes, it's said, are windows of the soul;
and when I see your eyes so sparkling bright,
I see there beauty, truth and goodness; all
as one; the radiance of an inner light.

But I who, standing, gaze though windows here:
what does my own soul see by its own light?
Is what is seen, seen through dark glass, or clear?
Is others' radiance that of my own sight?

Strange fact: the outward play's less bright, less clear
than what I see to shine in others' eyes;
there seems less love in me, from me; less dear
the loving, than the love I see and prize!

These windows teach clear lessons to my soul:
first see my own self's light, to see the whole.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Parting (2)

The lady of Alzerno's hall
Is waiting for her lord;
The blackbird's song, the cuckoo's call
No joy to her afford.
She smiles not at the summer's sun,
Nor at the winter's blast;
She mourns that she is still alone
Though three long years have passed.

I knew her when her eye was bright,
I knew her when her step was light
And blithesome as a mountain doe's,
And when her cheek was like the rose,
And when her voice was full and free,
And when her smile was sweet to see.

But now the lustre of her eye,
So dimmed with many a tear;
Her footstep's elasticity,
Is tamed with grief and fear;
The rose has left her hollow cheeks;
In low and mournful tone she speaks,
And when she smiles 'tis but a gleam
Of sunshine on a winter's day,
That faintly beams through dreary clouds,
And in a moment dies away.
It does not warm, it does not cheer,
It makes us sigh for summer days
When fields are green, and skies are clear,
And when the sun has kinder rays.

For three years she has waited there,
Still hoping for her lord's return,
But vainly she may hope and fear
And vainly watch and weep and mourn;
She may wait him till her hairs are grey,
And she may wear her life away,
But to his lady and his home
Her noble lord will never come.

'I wish I knew the worst,' she said,
'I wish I could despair.
These fruitless hopes, this constant dread,
Are more than I can bear!' --
'Then do not hope and do not weep,
He loved thee faithfully,
And nothing short of death could keep
So true a heart from thee;
Eliza, he would never go,
And leave thee thus to mourn,
He must be dead, for death alone
Could hinder his return.'

'Twas thus I spoke because I felt
As if my heart would break,
To see her thus so slowly pining
For Alzerno's sake.
But more than that I would not tell,
Though all the while I knew so well
The time and nature of his death.
For when he drew his parting breath
His head was pillowed on my knee,
And his dark eyes were turned to me
With and agonised heart-breaking glance,
Until they saw me not --
O, the look of a dying man
Can never be forgot --!

Alexandrina Zenobia
1837

poem by Anne Brontë
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A Hymn for Noon

The sun is swiftly mounted high;
It glitters in the southern sky;
Its beams with force and glory beat,
And fruitful earth is fill'd with heat.
Father, also with Thy fire
Warm the cold, the dead desire,
And make the sacred love of Thee
Within my soul a sun to me.
Let it shine so fairly bright
That nothing else be took for light,
That worldly charms be seen to fade,
And in its lustre find a shade.
Let it strongly shine within
To scatter all the clouds of sin,
That drive when gusts of passion rise
And intercept it from our eyes.
Let its glory more than vie
With the sun that lights the sky;
Let it swiftly mount in air,
Mount with that, and leave it there,
And soar with more aspiring flight
To realms of everlasting light.
Thus, while here I'm forc'd to be,
I daily wish to live with Thee,
And feel that union which Thy love
Will, after death, complete above.
From my soul I send my prayer;
Great creator, bow Thine ear;
Thou for whose propitious sway
The world was taught to see the day,
Who spake the word and earth begun
And show'd its beauties in the sun;
With pleasure I Thy creatures view,
And would with good affection, too,
Good affection sweetly free,
Loose from them and move to Thee;
O teach me due returns to give,
And to Thy glory let me live,
And then my days shall shine the more
Or pass more blessed than before.

poem by Thomas Parnell
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Rays [Raze]

If this time I wanna gather lots of rays to end my grief
It's because the furrowed foreheads, which the sorrow has bent down,
When the crown of rays surrounds them find a holy quick relief
And forget the howl of passion coming from the crazy town.

Now, for me, the distant heavens can no more obscure the light,
I exchange my worldly kingdom for my kingdom in the sky,
To the day that's everlasting with my wings I soar in flight,
So the fate may crush me harshly with its heel and let me die.

I'll get dressed this time in bright rays, so my garb will be refined,
I have played my part in earnest in this world which is so wide
If I leave behind my body I do this to lift my mind
And I'm sure will understand me only those who grieved and sighed.

poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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The New Moon

When, as the garish day is done,
Heaven burns with the descended sun,
'Tis passing sweet to mark,
Amid that flush of crimson light,
The new moon's modest bow grow bright,
As earth and sky grow dark.

Few are the hearts too cold to feel
A thrill of gladness o'er them steal,
When first the wandering eye
Sees faintly, in the evening blaze,
That glimmering curve of tender rays
Just planted in the sky.

The sight of that young crescent brings
Thoughts of all fair and youthful things
The hopes of early years;
And childhood's purity and grace,
And joys that like a rainbow chase
The passing shower of tears.

The captive yields him to the dream
Of freedom, when that virgin beam
Comes out upon the air:
And painfully the sick man tries
To fix his dim and burning eyes
On the soft promise there.

Most welcome to the lover's sight,
Glitters that pure, emerging light;
For prattling poets say,
That sweetest is the lovers' walk,
And tenderest is their murmured talk,
Beneath its gentle ray.

And there do graver men behold
A type of errors, loved of old,
Forsaken and forgiven;
And thoughts and wishes not of earth,
Just opening in their early birth,
Like that new light in heaven.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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The Sunset Thoughts Of A Dying Child

Friends! do you see in yon sunset sky,
That cloud of crimson bright?
Soon will its gorgeous colors die
In coming dim twilight;
E’en now it fadeth ray by ray—
Like it I too shall pass away!

Look on yon fragile summer flower
Yielding its sweet perfume;
Soon shall it have lived out its hour,
Its beauty and its bloom:
Trampled, ’twill perish in the shade—
Alas! as quickly shall I fade.

Mark you yon planet gleaming clear
With steadfast, gentle light,
See, heavy dark clouds hovering near,
Have veiled its radiance bright—
As you vainly search that gloomy spot,
You’ll look for me and find me not!

Turn now to yonder sparkling stream,
Where silver ripples play;
Dancing within the moon’s pale beam—
Ah! short will be their stay,
They break and die upon the shore—
Like them I soon shall be no more!

Yes! emblems meet of my career,
Are ripple, cloud, and flower;
Fated like me to linger here,
But for a brief, bright hour—
And then, alas! to yield my place;
And leave, perchance, on earth no trace!

No trace, my friends, save in your hearts,
That pure and sacred shrine—
Where, ’spite life’s thousand cares and arts,
A place shall yet be mine;
And love as deep as that of yore—
Though on this earth we meet no more!

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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To His Mistress

Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny
The sunshine of the Sun's enlivening eye?

Without thy light what light remains in me?
Thou art my life; my way, my light's in thee;
I live, I move, and by thy beams I see.

Thou art my life-if thou but turn away
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way-
Without.thee, Love, I travel not but stray.

My light thou art-without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darken'd with eternal night.
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.

Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.
Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life; if thou withdraw'st, I die.

My eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see:
To whom or whither should my darkness flee,
But to that light?-and who's that light but thee?

If I have lost my path, dear lover, say,
Shall I still wander in a doubtful way?
Love, shall a lamb of Israel's sheepfold stray?

My path is lost, my wandering steps do stray;
I cannot go, nor can I safely stay;
Whom should I seek but thee, my path, my way?

And yet thou turn'st thy face away and fly'st me!
And yet I sue for grace and thou deny'st me!
Speak, art thou angry, Love, or only try'st me?

Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,
The dead man's life. On thee my hopes rely:
If I but them remove, I surely die.

Dissolve thy sunbeams, close thy wings and stay!
See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray!
-O thou art my life, my light, my way!

Then work thy will! If passion bid me flee,
My reason shall obey, my wings shall be
Stretch'd out no farther than from me to thee!

poem by Lord John Wilmot
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The earth to the sun

Oh Sun! oh glorious Sun!
The spell of winter binds me strong and dread
In the dark sleep, the coldness of the dead;
And song and beauty from thy haunts are gone.

The skies above me lower,
The frozen tempests beat upon my breast,
That wearily by its snow-shroud is prest;
And the wild winds rave o'er me in mad power.

At thine averted gaze,
Benumbed and desolate, I droop and die:
Life of my life! Lord of my destiny!
Shine on me with thy life-imparting rays.

Look from thy radiant throne,
And o'er this waste, drear and unlovely now,
Young summer's gorgeous loveliness shall glow,
And beauty clasp me in her magic zone.

Fair landscapes shall arise,
O'er which a sky of tenderest blue shall bend,
Where forest, hill, and vale, and stream shall blend
In beauty like a dream of Paradise.

And in thy living beams
The flowers shall wake, and every dewy cup
Shall send the homage of its perfume up,
And give thy brightness back in rosy gleams.

A full deep symphony,
The voice of streams, the air's melodious sighs,
Songs from all living things shall mingling rise
In one eternal hymn of love to thee.

* * * * * *

In vain, oh Earth, in vain; --
What heeds the Sun, if light or shadow rest
Upon the bosom in his smile so blest,
Or if thou perish in thine icy chain.

If from the shining host,
Like the lost Pleiad, thou wert stricken down,
He would not miss thee from his starry crown --
He would not mark one ray of brightness lost.

Then for the song and bloom,
The untold wealth of beauty, buried deep
Within thy frozen heart, in death-like sleep,
Oh! mourn thou not within thy conscious tomb.

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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As the Clouds that are so Light

As the clouds that are so light,
Beautiful, swift, and bright,
Cast shadows on field and park
Of the earth that is so dark,

And even so now, light one!
Beautiful, swift and bright one!
You let fall on a heart that was dark,
Unillumined, a deeper mark.

But clouds would have, without earth
To shadow, far less worth:
Away from your shadow on me
Your beauty less would be,

And if it still be treasured
An age hence, it shall be measured
By this small dark spot
Without which it were not.

poem by Edward Thomas
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Reclaiming love, love, love.

Oh, see how sweet shake wave rays through
Two fishermen launched the nets on the lake
Old man stand listening to what comes from afar
The young man with a book in hand was filled with annoyance
Your absence is freezing in every row
Hunting is going well
waves are thus ablaze
All nets are filled with fish like stars
that dance with slopes very...
The recent just gathering, the young man so crying
‘cause He is afraid, He will not ever see you again
but a light pierces the blue sky. From the castle
replies a sweet voice of prompt joy
The boat gained momentum
and voices chanted again Avatar
here comes dawn light
The moon drank pauses of water
and slept quite happily
While playing with the waves rays
and reclaiming
love, love, love.

poem by Vasil Marku
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