Wangaratta
At the meeting of the waters
Where the dark tree shadows play
Wangaratta's sons and daughters
Dream the drowsy hours away;
Placid see the season's greeting
Winter storm and summer sun
Wed, to flow henceforth as one.
Where two northbound rivers meeting,
Long since prone to sudden dangers
When, to dim her dawning pride,
Morgan and his wild bushrangers
Thronged her pleasant countryside,
Now in her quiet graveyard resting
Lies old shame and that rash lad,
Where a mate, on tin attesting,
Pleads that 'he was not all bad.'
Crime and she are almost strangers
Now, since those ill doers died.
Bishops reign where once bushrangers
Slew her peace and shamed her pride.
And content within her waxes
In this pious atmosphere
Where naught now save threat-worn taxes
Wakens echoes of past fear.
At the meeting of the waters
Where tree shadows shift and sway,
Nothing lingers here that slaughters
Her bucolic calm away.
Done at last with Youth's adventure
Quiet lady slow to move,
And wealthier grown she lives down censure
As she drifts in one straight groove.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
Beautiful Nation
Cradle of man, cradle of life
Your waters flow far and beyond
Rivers of life, rivers of peace.
Along the shores, beyoond the planes
Sweet melodious voices and Smiling faces
Childhood inocence, Pride of a people
Pride beyond pride.
Land of beauty, Pearl of the motherland
Beyond the skies, mountains arise
I see the Elgon, I see the Ruwenzori
The dark fertile soils, dark prideful roast.
A city of seven hills
Mother of one hundred tribes
Sons and daughters of many sheds all together as one.
poem by Macwolls Kay
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Straight Back
Words and Music by Stevie Nicks
what can i say this time
which card shall i play
the dream is not over
the dream is just away
and you will fly like some little wing
straight back to the sun
the dream was never over
the dream has just begun
the dream has just begun.........dream....
my fingers find the ivory keys
ans a song begins to begin
like a wolf...on the run
and you will find
while in the wind
something that you lost
the dream was never over...no...
the dream was only lost
(hours and hours of waiting for you, so strong and so fleeting)
the dream has just begun
(and hours of waiting for you...in hopes of meeting)
the dream has just begun
(meeting this way)
well, the dream has just begun!
she remembers how good it can be...
he remembers a melody....
ah...in the shadow of my shadow....in a gleam...
he remembers how good it can be....
she remembersa melody.....
well...in the shadow of my shadow....in a dream...whoa....
(hours and hours of waiting for you...so strong and so fleeting)
the dream has just begun
(hours and hours of waiting this way...meeting me...)
and hours of waiting for you
(so strong and so fleeting)
the dream has just begun
(i'm tired of meeting this way)
straight back now
(hours and hours of waiting...so strong and so fleeting)
hours and hours of waiting this way
hours and hours of waiting this way
straight back
straight back
straight back......yeah!!
he remembers a melody...
he remembers how good it can be...
straight back
straight back
straight back......yeah!!
***********************************************************
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Drowsy Day
THE air is dark, the sky is gray,
The misty shadows come and go,
And here within my dusky room
Each chair looks ghostly in the gloom.
Outside the rain falls cold and slow —
Half-stinging drops, half-blinding spray.
Each slightest sound is magnified,
For drowsy quiet holds her reign;
The burnt stick in the fireplace breaks,
The nodding cat with start awakes,
And then to sleep drops off again,
Unheeding Towser at her side.
I look far out across the lawn,
Where huddled stand the silly sheep;
My work lies idle at my hands,
My thoughts fly out like scattered strands
Of thread, and on the verge of sleep—
Still half awake — I dream and yawn.
What spirits rise before my eyes!
How various of kind and form!
Sweet memories of days long past,
The dreams of youth that could not last,
Each smiling calm, each raging storm,
That swept across my early skies.
Half seen, the bare, gaunt-fingered boughs
Before my window sweep and sway,
And chafe in tortures of unrest.
My chin sinks down upon my breast;
I cannot work on such a day,
But only sit and dream and drowse.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Staight Back
Written by stevie nicks.
What can I say this time
Which card shall I play
The dream is not over,
The dream is just away
And you will fly like some little wing straight back to the sun
The dream was never over
The dream has just begun
The dream has just begun
Fingers find the ivory keys
And a song begins to begin l
Like a wolf on the run
And you will find while in the wind something that you lost
The dream was never over, no
The dream was only lost
(hours and hours of waiting for you,
So strong and so fleeting)
The dream has just begun
(and hours of waiting for you...
In hopes of meeting)
The dream has just begun
(this way)
Well, the dream has just begun
She remembers how good it can be
He remembers a melody
Ah, in the shadow of my shadow in a gleam
He remembers how good it can be
She remembers a melody
Well, in the shadow of my shadow in a gleam
(hours and hours of waiting for you
So strong and so fleeting)
The dream has just begun
(hours and hours of waiting this way...
Meeting, me)
Hours of waiting for you
(so strong and so fleeting)
The dream has just begun...
(meeting this way)
Straight back now
(hours and hours of waiting
So strong and so fleeting)
Hours and hours waiting this way
Hours and hours of waiting this way
Straight back
Straight back
Straight back... yeah!
He remembers a melody
He remembers how good it can be
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Muddy Mississippi
Chorus:
I can hardly see my face in the waters of the muddy mississippi
But I can see the shadows of the cotton wood standing over me
The morning sun would find me
Swinging from the rope thats hanging free
And I drop in to the waters
And go swimming in the muddy mississippi
A boy came to the delta
And we would swing together from that tree
I could see my dreams in his eyes
As he held on to me
Swinging in the sunlight
Loving in the shadows
Wild and free
And I made him promise he would take me
Down to new orleans
Bright lights of the city made my red dress and shoes look brand new
While he worked the night shift
I turned on and I turned loose
I lost my pride I lost my man
I did things a girl like me shouldnt do
Now I cant face this living
With the swelling signs of new life
Showing through
I can hardly see my face in the waters of the muddy mississippi
But I can see the shadows of the cotton wood standing over me
The morning sun would find me
Hanging from the rope thats swinging free
And Ill swing for the last time over the waters
Of the muddy mississippi
Yeah the muddy mississippi
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Omeo
Up and down the roads they go
Vale to hill, and hill to vale
Leading on to Omeo
Over many an olden trail
Dainty lady of the hills,
Rosy-cheecked amid her snows;
Beauty that her landscape fills
Tips the peak and downward spills,
Down to where old Tambo flows.
As Tambo winds, so winds the road;
Cascades sparkly by the way
Where o'er granite, waters flowed
Since some pre-historic day.
Limestone glints and marble gleams,
Beautiful and many-hued,
Bared by ever flowing streams
To recapture long-lost dreams
Of an age-old solitude.
Six grey horses drew the coach.
Climbing up and clattering down,
To the picturesque approach
Of this quaint, old-fashioned town.
While the driver yarned apace,
Six grey horses, coats agleam,
Straining steady at the trace,
Drew up at the stopping place
The Blue Duck Inn where anglers dream.
Dainty lady of the hills.
Rosy-cheeked amid her snows,
Peace her quiet hamlet fills
As full well the angler knows.
Peace and quiet pride inform
All her moods as seasons go.
Summer sun nor winter storm
Naught may change that welcome warm
Of the Lady Omeo.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Let me keep watch
Let me keep watch
Over your body when
You are resting in peace.
Let me sacrifice
My meditation to you
When you are resting in peace
Let me protect your body
From rotting
When you are resting in peace.
Let me protect your memories
And dreamless dreams
When you are resting in peace.
Let me plant a fruit tree
Above you that I may still eat
When you are resting in peace.
Let me storm the gates of heaven
When you are resting in peace.
Let me give you oblation
Of our experience
When you are resting in peace.
Let me breathe for you
When you are resting in peace.
Let me douse the fires of hell
When you are resting in peace.
Let me glorify your name
When you are resting in peace.
Let me be your counterpoint
When you are resting in peace.
Let me overcome the light
When you are resting in peace.
Let me touch your organs
When you are resting in peace.
Let me drink your water
When you are resting in peace.
Let me describe your bones
When you are resting in peace.
Let me dream your dreams
When you are resting in peace.
poem by David E. Patton
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How Will It End For All Of Us?
IN MY OLD AGE/ MY HAPPINESS
In my old age
My happiness
Suddenly
Overwhelms me.
Why?
The light towards twilight?
The quiet?
The thought of my children
Who love and honor their father?
A peace in the cool air?
Just being here all the years
In Yerushalayim?
A quiet gratitude to God
The light and the peace and the calm?
HOW WILL IT END FOR ALL OF US?
How will it end for all of us?
Will we wait until the sun’s expansion
Or will the seas boil us before this?
Perhaps an asteroid?
Volcanic coldness and darkness?
Or by ourselves?
A self- manufactured virus?
Or the indescribable horrors of nuclear war?
How will it end for all of us?
Perhaps in minds we make to improve our own?
Or perhaps in a meeting we sought
With a higher civilization?
Oh God Only You are God
And Only You can save us.
Do You Truly Care?
Are You listening to me now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Night In Late Autumn
The sky is dark the countryside is quiet
But the spur winged plovers cry out in the night
Above their territory they call and fly
Perhaps the hunting fox is prowling by.
The possums hiss on gum tree in the park
And in a yard nearby a terrier bark
At wailing tom cats fighting on the street
For the right to mate with a female in heat.
The night is calm there's scarce a puff of breeze
And boobook owl hunting for small birds in the cypress trees
Repeat the same call over and again
And frogs are croaking in the pond and drain.
The countryside may seem quiet after dark
But in the sky above the nearby park
The spur winged plovers cry out in the night
Perhaps a fox has driven them to flight
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Fountain Of Youth
READ AT THE MEETING OF THE HARVARD ALUMNI
ASSOCIATION, JUNE 25, 1873
THE fount the Spaniard sought in vain
Through all the land of flowers
Leaps glittering from the sandy plain
Our classic grove embowers;
Here youth, unchanging, blooms and smiles,
Here dwells eternal spring,
And warm from Hope's elysian isles
The winds their perfume bring.
Here every leaf is in the bud,
Each singing throat in tune,
And bright o'er evening's silver flood
Shines the young crescent moon.
What wonder Age forgets his staff
And lays his glasses down,
And gray-haired grandsires look and laugh
As when their locks were brown!
With ears grown dull and eyes grown dim
They greet the joyous day
That calls them to the fountain's brim
To wash their years away.
What change has clothed the ancient sire
In sudden youth? For, to!
The Judge, the Doctor, and the Squire
Are Jack and Bill and Joe!
And be his titles what they will,
In spite of manhood's claim
The graybeard is a school-boy still
And loves his school-boy name;
It calms the ruler's stormy breast
Whom hurrying care pursues,
And brings a sense of peace and rest,
Like slippers after shoes.--
And what are all the prizes won
To youth's enchanted view?
And what is all the man has done
To what the boy may do?
O blessed fount, whose waters flow
Alike for sire and son,
That melts our winter's frost and snow
And makes all ages one!
I pledge the sparkling fountain's tide,
That flings its golden shower
With age to fill and youth to guide,
Still fresh in morning flower
Flow on with ever-widening stream,
In ever-brightening morn,--
Our story's pride, our future's dream,
The hope of times unborn!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Autumn
Autumn it was when droop'd the sweetest flow'rs,
And rivers, swoll'n with pride, o'erlook'd the banks;
Poor grew the day of summer's golden hours,
And void of sap stood Ida's cedar-ranks.
The pleasant meadows sadly lay
In chill and cooling sweats
By rising fountains, or as they
Fear'd winter's wastfull threats.
poem by William Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Forest Scene
As I went down a forest place
At the closing of the year
To find me peace, and gather grace
In this green gladness here.
I saw a scene I knew of old,
In many a year gone by
A loveliness to have and hold
Here, with the gully waters cold,
And the bland, blue peeping sky.
And I saw the blue wrens trooping near,
And I heard the thrushes call,
And found surcease from worldly fear
For a peace was over all.
And my mind went back to long ago,
For here was a scene I knew
Where the gums and ancient tree ferns grow,
And the ever-lasting waters flow,
And life yields little new.
And I thought of the world - of the world of men,
Who ever seek them change,
And haste, and hectic, haste again
To a goal beyond their range.
And I heard the thrush and the blue wren there
Fluting their songs of glee
For them this world was passing fair,
And they found content and gladness there.
Why came not peace to me?
Then I saw life, as men see life
I who am but a man;
And I dreamed of a scene devoid of strife,
Built on the good God's plan.
And I came me back from that forest place,
With a dream to have and hold,
Of men with naught but life to face,
Of men grown young in simple grace,
And the birds and the bush grown old!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Our Meeting Place
I met you here sometime ago
How my whole world changed
My heart raced beyond belief
Oh I felt the sudden change
Our Meeting Place
Forbidden I was to see you
Our ages was too far apart
But I knew deep inside of me
That didn't matter too my heart
Our Meeting Place
Things have passed since then
We somehow both drift away
But when I look on back again
It brings me to those very days
Our Meeting Place
poem by Suelynn Walters
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Peace Meal
Not much difference 'tween a cow and you
Flesh, blood, bones
She cries like you do
Cries like you do
Yours is the hippest hypocritical point of view
Wake up and realise the things that you do
You're busy whipping Hitler cos he gassed so many Jews
You're as guilty of murder - look at what you chew
Everybody's worried 'bout a Third World War
Nuclear annihilation, need I say more?
While you're feasting at the peace meeting
Feasting at the peace meeting
Wake up!
Flesh, blood, bones
Peace on earth and goodwill to all men
The lower species we will condemn
While we're feasting at the peace meeting
Feasting at the peace meeting
She cries like you do
Cries like you do
She cries like you do
She cries like you do oo oo oo !!
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peace Meal
Not much difference 'tween a cow and you
Flesh, blood, bones
She cries like you do
Cries like you do
Yours is the hippest hypocritical point of view
Wake up and realise the things that you do
You're busy whipping Hitler cos he gassed so many Jews
You're as guilty of murder - look at what you chew
Everybody's worried 'bout a Third World War
Nuclear annihilation, need I say more?
While you're feasting at the peace meeting
Feasting at the peace meeting
Wake up!
Flesh, blood, bones
Peace on earth and goodwill to all men
The lower species we will condemn
While we're feasting at the peace meeting
Feasting at the peace meeting
She cries like you do
Cries like you do
She cries like you do
She cries like you do oo oo oo !!
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Green Bay Tree
'Where is the place of their first fond meeting,
'Where, oh where, is that green bay tree,
'Under whose cover
'The maid and her lover
'Plighted their troth and their constancy?'
O the winter nights were bleak and dreary,
The storms of summer were fierce and free;
Its trunk is shattered,
Its branches are scattered,
O! withered and dead is that green bay tree!
'Where are the lovers who courted its shadow,
'Where, oh where, may those fond ones be?
'The troth which they plighted,
'How is it requited-
'Say, have they forgotten that green bay tree?'
The lover was fickle, and would not remember;
He met with another more fair than she;
For her-broken-hearted,
Her peace hath departed,
The maiden doth fade like the green bay tree!
poem by Charles Mackay
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The Blue Kingfisher
Where the little river gleaming
Thro' its shadows green and cool
Broadens to the quiet dreaming
Of a little shady pool;
There an azure jewel burning
O'er the waters you may spy,
Never moving never turning:
'Tis the silent fisher,
Head aloft above the river,
With an apathetic air,
Not the smallest quirk nor quiver
Warns you of my presence there.
Mayhap you will thnk me sleeping -
Dreaming summer days away -
Till you mark a keen eye peeping
Where the tell-tale ripples play.
Now a dive, a sudden darting,
Now a flash of gold and blue,
And the placid waters parting
Let my gleaming body thro'.
Then, long ere the ripples, spreading,
Circle to the pool's green lip
Back to safety I am heading;
And the kill is in my grip.
So I haunt the cool, dark places
By the river, from that hour
When the dawn's bright finger traces
Fairy lights about my bower,
Till the western hilltops redden,
Fade, and vanish I am there,
And the far skies, growing leaden,
Bid me seek my secret lair.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Dearest, dearest
Dearest, dearest,
Bother the slow hours
That hold and keep me
From the leafy bowers
You make more lovely than a storm of flowers.
Dearest, dearest,
If they let me go
I'd hasten to you
Where the waters flow
In among the shadows and the dreams we know.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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A Summer Ramble
The quiet August noon has come,
A slumberous silence fills the sky,
The fields are still, the woods are dumb,
In glassy sleep the waters lie.
And mark yon soft white clouds that rest
Above our vale, a moveless throng;
The cattle on the mountain's breast
Enjoy the grateful shadow long.
Oh, how unlike those merry hours
In early June when Earth laughs out,
When the fresh winds make love to flowers,
And woodlands sing and waters shout.
When in the grass sweet voices talk,
And strains of tiny music swell
From every moss-cup of the rock,
From every nameless blossom's bell.
But now a joy too deep for sound,
A peace no other season knows,
Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground,
The blessing of supreme repose.
Away! I will not be, to-day,
The only slave of toil and care.
Away from desk and dust! away!
I'll be as idle as the air.
Beneath the open sky abroad,
Among the plants and breathing things,
The sinless, peaceful works of God,
I'll share the calm the season brings.
Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see
The gentle meanings of thy heart,
One day amid the woods with me,
From men and all their cares apart.
And where, upon the meadow's breast,
The shadow of the thicket lies,
The blue wild flowers thou gatherest
Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes.
Come, and when mid the calm profound,
I turn, those gentle eyes to seek,
They, like the lovely landscape round,
Of innocence and peace shall speak.
Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade,
And on the silent valleys gaze,
Winding and widening, till they fade
In yon soft ring of summer haze.
The village trees their summits rear
Still as its spire, and yonder flock
At rest in those calm fields appear
As chiselled from the lifeless rock.
One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks--
There the hushed winds their sabbath keep
While a near hum from bees and brooks
Comes faintly like the breath of sleep.
Well may the gazer deem that when,
Worn with the struggle and the strife,
And heart-sick at the wrongs of men,
The good forsakes the scene of life;
Like this deep quiet that, awhile,
Lingers the lovely landscape o'er,
Shall be the peace whose holy smile
Welcomes him to a happier shore.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Dusk At Princeton Station
man on the platform
Northward trains
waits pressed against
late summer
still-green
densities
rush as only
shadows can
sun slants/the dark slides easily in
tree clusters red, yellow
tinged, early October, top
limb silver shine leans
downhill over-catches the
man leaning on a rail face
to late sun, worker, dirty,
pants torn, catches it
in the ear (so it appears)
he does not move, think,
fears what might occur
from such a limb
there
at this late hour
sun and shadow slide
away from each as I wait
the train here more mine
to outrun what is left
behind
chase a horizon
toward gold then red to
Magic 10** never old or
worn as am I rush
rocked by track
lilt wheel tilt
toward melting
darkness
a permanent one
hang some where
it is a song once
upon a star all
child's play now
for now
anticipate
sitting here
the jolt
to begin
this
all the
slow coming
to speed
then
the sway at day's end
shall not hold back
these tears for fear
of no press to return
for now
but to sway
**Magic 10 is that name photographers use to describe
a quality of light past sunset but not yet fully dark
which is 'magic' to photograph as there is a visible
dark blue/black shine not seen at any other time.
poem by Warren Falcon
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