Deep mists of longing blur the land
Deep mists of longing blur the land
as in your late October eve:
almost I think your hand might leave
its old caress upon my hand —
for sure this floating world of dream
hath touch'd that far reality
of memory's heaven; nor would I deem
the chance a strange one, if to thee
my feet should stray ere fall the night,
or, reaching to that lucent shore,
these eyes should wake on tenderer light
to greet the spring and thee once more.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
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Would I Were With Thee!
WOULD I were with thee! every day and hour
Which now I spend so sadly, far from thee--
Would that my form possessed the magic power
To follow where my heavy heart would be!
Whate'er thy lot--by land or sea--
Would I were with thee--eternally!
Would I were with thee! when, the world forgetting,
Thy weary limbs upon the turf are thrown,
While bright and red the evening sun is setting,
And all thy thoughts belong to heaven alone:
While happy dreams thy heart employ--
Would I were with thee--in thy joy!
Would I were with thee! when, no longer feigning
The hurried laugh that stifles back a sigh;
Thy young lip pours unheard its sweet complaining,
And tears have quenched the light within thine eye:
When all seems dark and sad below,
Would I were with thee--in thy woe!
Would I were with thee! when the day is breaking,
And when the moon hath lit the lonely sea--
Or when in crowds some careless note awaking:
Speaks to thy heart in memory of me.
In joy or pain, by sea or shore--
Would I were with thee--evermore!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Meeting In Winter
Winter in the world it is,
Round about the unhoped kiss
Whose dream I long have sorrowed o’er;
Round about the longing sore,
That the touch of thee shall turn
Into joy too deep to burn.
Round thine eyes and round thy mouth
Passeth no murmur of the south,
When my lips a little while
Leave thy quivering tender smile,
As we twain, hand holding hand,
Once again together stand.
Sweet is that, as all is sweet;
For the white drift shalt thou meet,
Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own,
Wrapped about with deep-furred gown
In the broad-wheeled chariot:
Then the north shall spare us not;
The wide-reaching waste of snow
Wilder, lonelier yet shall grow
As the reddened sun falls down.
But the warders of the town,
When they flash the torches out
O’er the snow amid their doubt,
And their eyes at last behold
Thy red-litten hair of gold;
Shall they open, or in fear
Cry, “Alas! What cometh here?
Whence hath come this Heavenly
To tell of all the world undone?”
They shall open, and we shall see
The long street litten scantily
By the long stream of light before
The guest-hall’s half-open door;
And our horses’ bells shall cease
As we reach the place of peace;
Thou shalt tremble, as at last
The worn threshold is o’er-past,
And the fire-light blindeth thee:
Trembling shalt thou cling to me
As the sleepy merchants stare
At thy cold hands slim and fair,
Thy soft eyes and happy lips
Worth all lading of their ships.
O my love, how sweet and sweet
That first kissing of thy feet,
When the fire is sunk alow,
And the hall made empty now
Groweth solemn, dim and vast!
O my love, the night shall last
Longer than men tell thereof
Laden with our lonely love!
poem by William Morris
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An Evening
TO break the stillness of the hour
There is no sound, no voice, no stir;
Only the croak of frogs,—the whirr
Of crickets hidden in leaf and flower.
The clear-cut outlines of a spire
Spring from a mass of eucalypt
Sharply against the sky,—still tipped
With one last gleam of lingering fire.
So solemnly the shadows creep;
On dovelike wings Night flutters down;
Lights twinkle in the little town;
The valley lies in quiet sleep.
So comes the dark, so fades the light,
On all those leagues of tossing sea
That lie between my home and me,
And glimmer to the stars all night.
And so, belovèd, silently
In thine own land the shadows fall
On grassy lawn, and garden-wall,
On shining sand, and troubled sea,—
On paths thy feet shall never tread,—
On fields thine eyes shall never see,—
And on thy new home, strange to me,
That silent City of the Dead!
Yea, stillness rests, O Tried and True,
On hand and heart, on lips and eyes!
On thee eternal silence lies,
On thee is utter darkness too.
We lost too much in losing thee,
Yet we who knew and loved thee best,
Wish thee an everlasting rest,
Night came on thee so quietly.
Peace with the Shadows! Peace to all
Who work and weep, who pray and wait;
Till we and thou are one with Fate,
And on us too, the Night shall fall!
poem by Dora Wilcox
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One by One the Sands are Flowing
One by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall:
Some are coming, some are going;
Do not strive to grasp them all.
One by one thy duties wait thee;
Let thy whole strength go to each;
Let no future dreams elate thee;
Learn thou first what these can teach.
One by one,-bright gifts of heaven,-
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given;
Ready be to let them go.
One by one thy griefs shall meet thee;
Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others greet thee,-
Shadows passing through the land.
Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task to do our bear:
Luminous the crown and holy,
When each gem is set with care.
Hours are golden links, God's token
Reaching heaven; but one by one
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
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The Travelling Companion
Into the silence of the empty night
I went, and took my scorned heart with me,
And all the thousand eyes of heaven were bright;
But Sorrow came and led me back to thee.
I turned my weary eyes towards the sun,
Out of the leaden East like smoke came he.
I laughed and said, ' The night is past and done ' ;
But sorrow came and led me back to thee.
I turned my face towards the rising moon,
Out of the south she came most sweet to see,
She smiled upon my eyes that loathed the noon ;
But sorrow came and led me back to thee.
I bent my eyes upon the summer land,
And all the painted fields were ripe for me,
And every flower nodded to my hand ;
But Sorrow came and led me back to thee.
O Love ! O Sorrow ! O desired Despair !
I turn my feet towards the boundless sea,
Into the dark I go and heed not where,
So that I come again at last to thee,
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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O Thou Breeze of Spring!
O thou breeze of spring!
Gladdening sea and shore,
Wake the woods to sing,
Streams have felt the sighing
Of thy scented wing,
Let each found replying,
Hail thee, breeze of spring,
Once more!
O'er long-buried flowers
Passing, not in vain,
Odours in soft showers
Thou hast brought again,
Let the primrose greet thee,
Incense forth to meet thee -
Wake my heart no more!
No more!
From a funeral urn
Bower'd in leafy gloom,
Ev'n
thy
soft return
Calls not song or bloom.
Leave my spirit sleeping
Like that silent thing;
Stir the founts of weeping
There
, O breeze of spring,
No more!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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In San Lorenzo
Is thine hour come to wake, O slumbering Night?
Hath not the Dawn a message in thine ear?
Though thou be stone and sleep, yet shalt thou hear
When the word falls from heaven--Let there be light.
Thou knowest we would not do thee the despite
To wake thee while the old sorrow and shame were near;
We spake not loud for thy sake, and for fear
Lest thou shouldst lose the rest that was thy right,
The blessing given thee that was thine alone,
The happiness to sleep and to be stone:
Nay, we kept silence of thee for thy sake
Albeit we knew thee alive, and left with thee
The great good gift to feel not nor to see;
But will not yet thine Angel bid thee wake?
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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O God! Thou art my God alone;
O God! Thou art my God alone;
Early to Thee my soul shall cry;
A pilgrim in a land unknown,
A thirsty land whose springs are dry.
O that it were as it hath been,
When praying in the holy place,
Thy power and glory I have seen,
And marked the footsteps of thy grace.
Yet through this rough and thorny maze,
I follow hard on Thee, my God:
Thy hand unseen upholds my ways:
I safely tread where Thou hast trod.
Thee, in the watches of the night,
When I remember on my bed,
Thy presence makes the darkness light;
Thy guardian wings are round my head.
Better than life itself thy love,
Dearer than all beside to me;
For whom have I in heaven above,
Or what on earth, compared with Thee?
Praise with my heart, my mind, my voice,
For all thy mercy I will give:
My soul shall still in God rejoice,
My tongue shall bless Thee while I live.
poem by James Montgomery
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Wake Me Gently
I was scared to death
Afraid to close my eyes
And find that I was gone
Like every other one
Who left before the dawn
I vanished in the air
Am I still there
Wake me gently
If you can Wake me gently
Just touch my hand
Wake me gently
Pull my sleeve
'Cuz where I'm at
Is where I want to leave
And in my sleep
I look so lifeless on this bed
Laid out on satin sheets
This dream's a novel
That I don't dare complete
No happy ending read
I think the hero's dead
Wake me gently
If you can
Wake me gently
Just touch my hand
Wake me gently
Pull my sleeve
'Cuz where I'm at
Is where I want to leave
Me to my slumber
And I'll never come home
Please help me, I'm frightened
Of what's going on
What's going on
And if I can't wake up Will I be all alone
A stranded orphan here
Or will I bump into
Some other wandering soul
And will they talk to me
Somebody, somebody please rescue me
Wake me gently
If you can
Wake me gently
Just touch my hand
Wake me gently
Pull my sleeve
'Cuz where I'm at
Is where I want to leave
I wanna leave
I wanna leave
I wanna wake up
I wanna leave
I don't wanna stay
I wanna leave
I wanna go
I wanna go home
I wanna go home
Just wake me up
I wanna go home
Wake me up please
'Cuz I wanna go home
I wanna go home
Wake me
Wake me
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet
Oh! in that better land to which I go,
Say, shall I know thee as I know thee here;
And will thy presence dim that glorious sphere,
As it hath darkened all the earth below?
Oh! will that voice enchain my listening ear,
Whose "frozen music" stops my pulses now;
And shall I meet in that fair land of bliss
Those calm, cold eyes that chill me so in this?
Shall I bear hence e'en memory of thee?
Unheeded then will pass the Angel throngs;
I shall not hear the Seraph's burning songs,
And heaven itself will be all dark to me.
Oh give me rather that drear, hopeless faith,
That sees no morn beyond the night of death!
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I see thee better—in the Dark
I see thee better—in the Dark—
I do not need a Light—
The Love of Thee—a Prism be—
Excelling Violet—
I see thee better for the Years
That hunch themselves between—
The Miner's Lamp—sufficient be—
To nullify the Mine—
And in the Grave—I see Thee best—
Its little Panels be
Aglow—All ruddy—with the Light
I held so high, for Thee—
What need of Day—
To Those whose Dark—hath so—surpassing Sun—
It deem it be—Continually—
At the Meridian?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Last Time
If you want it
Dont look at my face
Its the last time
Its not forever
The dust in the wind
Its the last time
One world, one dream
The stars in your hand
No light, no life
The scars are made by man
Heaven cant help you now
In this madness
Take it while you can
Its the last time
This holy water
Running away
For the last time
One world, one dream
The stars in your hand
No light, no life
So heal the scars of man
One chance, this night
To shine on this land
This time, with pride
Give back now while you can
All these fields, that once were green
Have turned to smoke and steel
The sun will fall, and the last moon rise
Dont turn this tide away
If you want it
So start it again
Its the last time
(the scars were made by man)
Its not forever
The dust is the wind
For the last time
One world, one dream
The stars in your hand
No light, no life
So heal the scars of man
One chance, this night
To shine on this land
This time, with pride
Give back now while you can
Music & lyrics by: geoff downes & john payne
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And What of Me, If I should Fall.
And What of Me, If I Should Fall
What more can I say to thee, on wounded heart and bended knee,
October winds caress my hall, and what of me, if I should fall.
The yellow photo that cannot talk, the cup of wine now turned to chalk, summers touch the king of Saul, and what of me, if I should fall.
Distant echo from the past, love so true on blood stained glass, that frozen kiss at the midnight ball, and what of me, if I should fall.
House of paper and cotton buds, beating heart and mental thud,
My name on red and cindered walls, and what of me, if I should fall.
The old church on that windswept hill, Heathcliff shivers with frowning chill, swallows song and sky so tall, and what of me, if I should fall.
My blue sea with its whitewash foam, October streets and home alone,
Unto the breach with yelling call, and what of me, if I should fall.
Cloudless forest on barren land, self destruct by noble hand, my sword is sharp and steely raw, and what of me, if I should fall.
poem by Fergus Michael Condron
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Fairest! Put on a While
Fairest! put on a while
These pinions of light I bring thee,
And o'er thy own green isle
In fancy let me wing thee.
Never did Ariel's plume,
At golden sunset, hover
O'er scenes so full of bloom
As I shall waft thee over.
Fields, where the Spring delays
And fearlessly meets the ardour
Of the warm Summer's gaze,
With only her tears to guard her;
Rocks, through myrtle boughs
In grace majestic frowning,
Like some bold warrior's brows
That Love hath just been crowning.
Islets, so freshly fair,
That never hath bird come nigh them,
But, from his course through air,
He hath been won down by them; --
Types, sweet maid, of thee,
Whose look, whose blush inviting,
Never did Love yet see
From heaven, without alighting.
Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,
And caves, where the gem is sleeping,
Bright as the tears thy lid
Lets fall in lonely weepin.
Glens, where Ocean comes,
To 'scape the wild wind's rancour;
And harbours, worthiest homes
Where Freedom's fleet can anchor.
Then, if, while scenes so grand,
So beautiful, shine before thee,
Pride for thy own dear land
Should haply be stealing o'er thee,
Oh, let grief come first,
O'er pride itself victorious --
Thinking how man hath curst
What Heaven hath made so glorious.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Fall of the Night
Fall of the Night
By: Adam M. Snow
Fare thee well, my heart's contempt,
I gave thee my dying breath.
I've soared the world from dark to day,
Longing for that which darkness grieves.
I travel o'er the ageless night,
Bound by that of solstice light.
My voice cannot break through
A silence that now binds me.
I see a vision of only thee,
a vision not I but thee.
Ev'ry night, It be thee not I,
A reflection shown to cast aside.
A mirror vision of I,
A mirror image of infanticide.
Forget me not I say,
I give thee my final hour,
Fare thee well, my dearest flower.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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St. Johns Day
"Lord, and what shall this man do?"
Ask'st thou, Christian, for thy friend?
If his love for Christ be true,
Christ hath told thee of his end:
This is he whom God approves,
This is he whom Jesus loves.
Ask not of him more than this,
Leave it in his Saviour's breast,
Whether, early called to bliss,
He in youth shall find his rest,
Or armed in his station wait
Till his Lord be at the gate:
Whether in his lonely course
(Lonely, not forlorn) he stay,
Or with Love's supporting force
Cheat the toil, and cheer the way:
Leave it all in His high hand,
Who doth hearts as streams command.
Gales from Heaven, if so He will,
Sweeter melodies can wake
On the lonely mountain rill
Than the meeting waters make.
Who hath the Father and the Son,
May be left, but not alone.
Sick or healthful, slave or free,
Wealthy, or despised and poor -
What is that to him or thee,
So his love to Christ endure?
When the shore is won at last,
Who will count the billows past?
Only, since our souls will shrink
At the touch of natural grief,
When our earthly loved ones sink,
Lend us, Lord, Thy sure relief;
Patient hearts, their pain to see,
And Thy grace, to follow Thee.
poem by John Keble
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Song
I saw thee on thy bridal day-
When a burning blush came o'er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay,
The world all love before thee:
And in thine eye a kindling light
(Whatever it might be)
Was all on Earth my aching sight
Of Loveliness could see.
That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame-
As such it well may pass-
Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame
In the breast of him, alas!
Who saw thee on that bridal day,
When that deep blush would come o'er thee,
Though happiness around thee lay;
The world all love before thee.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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The Night Piece, To Julia
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mis-light thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there's none to affright thee.
Let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear without number.
Then Julia let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silv'ry feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee.
poem by Robert Herrick
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To France
What is the gift we have given thee, Sister?
What is the trust we have laid in thy hand?
Hearts of our bravest, our best, and our dearest,
Blood of our blood we have sown in thy land.
What for all time will the harvest be, Sister?
What will spring up from the seed that is sown?
Freedom and peace and goodwill among Nations,
Love that will bind us with love all our own.
Bright is the path that is opening before us,
Upward and onward it mounts through the night:
Sword shall not sever the bonds that unite us
Leading the world to the fullness of light.
Sorrow hath made thee more beautiful, Sister,
Nobler and purer than ever before;
We who are chastened by sorrow and anguish
Hail thee as sister and queen evermore.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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The Promise
NOT charity we ask,
Nor yet thy gift refuse;
Please thy light fancy with the easy task
Only to look and choose.
The little-heeded toy
That wins thy treasured gold
May be the dearest memory, holiest joy,
Of coming years untold.
Heaven rains on every heart,
But there its showers divide,
The drops of mercy choosing, as they part,
The dark or glowing side.
One kindly deed may turn
The fountain of thy soul
To love’s sweet day-star, that shall o’er thee burn
Long as its currents roll.
The pleasures thou hast planned,—Â
Where shall their memory be
When the white angel with the freezing hand
Shall sit and watch by thee?
Living, thou dost not live,
If mercy’s spring run dry;
What Heaven has lent thee wilt thou freely give,
Dying, thou shalt not die.
HE promised even so!
To thee his lips repeat,—Â
Behold, the tears that soothed thy sister’s woe
Have washed thy Master’s feet!
March 20, 1859.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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