En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Plateau

It was the silver, heart-enveloping view
Of the mysterious sea-line far away,
Seen only on a gleaming gold-white day,
That made it dear and beautiful to you.

And Laura loved it for the little hill,
Where the quartz sparkled fire, barren and dun,
Whence in the shadow of the dying sun,
She contemplated Hallow's wooden mill.

While Danny liked the sheltering high grass,
In which he lay upon a clear dry night,
To hear and see, screened skilfully from sight,
The happy lovers of the valley pass.

But oh! I loved it for the big round moon
That swung out of the clouds and swooned aloft,
Burning with passion, gloriously soft,
Lighting the purple flowers of fragrant June.

poem by Claude McKay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Danny Boy (live)

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses are dying
It's you, It's you must go and I must bide
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
For I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so
But when ye come and all the flowers are a dying
And if I am dead, dead I well may be
Just come and find, find the place
Find the place where I lay lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me
And I will hear tho soft you tread above me
And my grave, my grave warmer and sweeter be
For you're gonna kneel and you're gonna tell
God you're gonna tell me how you loved me
And I will sleep in peace until you come to me

song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Danny Boy

The valley is hushed
The flowers are all dying
The meadow is white with the winter snow
Lord as I stand at the place where daddies lying
I say a silent prayer and somehow I know
He hears me there, though soft I tread above him
So now he sleeps in peace
His danny boys come home
................. the pipes the pipe are calling
From glen to glen and down the moutainside
The summers gone and all the leaves are falling
Its you, its you must go and I must bide
O come ye back when the sun shines on the meadow
Or when the valleys hushed and white with snow
For Ill be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh danny boy, oh danny boy I love you so
I close my eyes and still I can see
Him standing there on the hill
Tears filled his eyes as he waved goodbye to me
I cant forget, I guess I never will
He said, the valley is hushed
The flowers are all dying
The meadow is white with the winter snow
Come find the place
Where you know that Ill be lying
Say a silent prayer
So Ill know

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Song

THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!

There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Iris in Her Pride

Not Iris in her pride and bravery
Adorns her arch with such variety;
Nor doth the Milk-white Way in frosty night
Appear so fair and beautiful in sight,
As do these fields and groves and sweetest bowers
Bestrewed and decked with parti-coloured flowers.
Along the bubbling brooks and silver glide,
That at the bottom doth in silence slide,
The water-flowers and lilies on the banks
Like blazing comets burgeon all in ranks;
Under the hawthorn and the poplar tree,
Where sacred Phoebe may delight to be,
The primrose and the purple hyacinth,
The dainty violet and the wholesome minth,
The double-daisy and the cowslip (Queen)
Of summer flowers) do over-peer the green;
And round about the valley as ye pass,
Ye may not see, for peeping flowers, the grass.

poem by George Peele
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hide and Seek

All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still,
All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill;
Through the noonday silence, down the woods of June,
Hark, a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune.
"Hide and seek!
"When I speak,
"You must answer me:
"Call again,
"Merry men,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

Now I hear his footsteps, rustling through the grass:
Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass?
Just a low, soft whistle,--quick the hunter turns,
Leaps upon me laughing, rolls me in the ferns.
"Hold him fast,
"Caught at last!
"Now you're it, you see.
"Hide your eye,
"Till I cry,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

II

Long ago he left me, long and long ago:
Now I wander through the world and seek him high and low;
Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,--
Ah, if I could hear his voice, I soon should find his face.
Far away,
Many a day,
Where can Barney be?
Answer, dear,
Don't you hear?
Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!

Birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heart with joy,
Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy.
Surely he is waiting till my steps come nigh;
Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die.
Heart, be glad,
The little lad
Will call some day to thee:
"Father dear,
"Heaven is here,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"

poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Danny Boy

(Traditionallyrics by Fred E. Weatherly)
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come you back when summer's in the meadow
Or all the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
But when you come, when all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
Then if you bend and tell me that you love me
I'll sleep in peace until you come to me
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or all the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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June

Lightsome, laughter-loving June,
Days that swoon
In beds of flowers;
Twilights dipped in rose perfume,
Nights of gloom
Washed clear by showers.
Suns that softly sink to rest
In the west,
All purple barred;
And a faint night-wind that sighs
Under skies
Still, silver-starred.
Languorous breaths of meadow land
Overspanned
By clouds like snow;
And a shouting from the brooks,
Where in nooks
Late violets grow.
June, ah, June, to lie and dream
By the stream,
And in the maze
Of thy spells never to heed—
How they speed,
Thy witching days;
Watching where the shadows pass.
And the grass
All rustling bends,
While the bees fly east and west,
On a quest
That never ends.
Thus to shun the whirl of life,
Freed from strife
And freed from care—
Hear, as when a lad I heard
How the bird
Sings, high in air.
June, to hear beneath the skies
Lullabies
That night airs blow;
Ah, to find upon thy breast
That pure rest
I used to know!

poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1895)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lass Of The Low Country

Traditional
Oh she was a lass from the low country
And he was a lord of high degree
But she loved him oh so tenderly
Oh sorrow sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod
No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god
One day when the snow was on the mead
She passed him by on a milk white steed
And she spoke to him low nobody paid no need
Oh sorrow sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod
No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god
Now if you be a lass from the low country
Dont love no man of high degree
For he dont got a heart or no sympathy
Oh sorrow sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where wild flowers nod
No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god

song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little White Rose

Little white rose that I loved, I loved,
Roisin ban, Roisin ban!
Fair my bud as the morning's dawn.
I kissed my beautiful flower to bloom,
My heart grew glad for its rich perfume—
Little white rose that I loved!
Little white rose that I loved grew red,
Roisin rua, Roisin rua!
Passionate tears I wept for you.
Love is more sweet than the world's fame—
I dream you back in my heart the same,
Little white rose that I loved!
Little white rose that I loved grew black,
Roisin duv, Roisin duv!
So I knew not the heart of you.
Lost in the world's alluring fire,
I cry in the night for my heart's desire,
Little white rose that I loved!

poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Loved You Once

I loved you once, with all my heart, my spirit, body, soul...
I loved you once, with all not part, with marriage as my goal...
I loved you once, with all my strength, as if I were on fire...
I loved you once, with all at length, as if love meant desire...
I loved you once, with all my dreams, which came by day and night...
I loved you once, with all extremes spent on this one delight...
I loved you once, with all God gave, with passion borne of joy...
I loved you once, with all to save romance and not some ploy...
I loved you once, with love divine, not holding back a thing...
I loved you once, with love benign that caused my heart to sing...
I loved you once, with happiness no other man has known...
I loved you once, with prayers to bless yet now I pray alone...
I loved you once, with each embrace, until the day you died...
I loved you once, with all God's grace yet now what sighs are sighed.

poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The stars in the sky was bright

Last night the stars
in the sky was bright
and the moon,
was in a sickle shape

The five stars
of the southern cross
twinkled at me
and below them,
the two pointers
was sparkling much lower.

The yellow half moon
was grinning
and your eyes glowed
and shined like pieces
of tigereye quartz
and your smile,
sparkled like a string
of the whitest pearls
in the candle light.

Last night every thing
was much better than
just allright,
when I held you tight
and your lips
were sweet and soft
on mine.

I can still hear
the soft wind blowing
and the charms
playing their own song
and it was more than passion,
that joined us together.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Canadian Summer Evening

The rose-tints have faded from out of the West,
From the Mountain’s high peak, from the river’s broad breast.
And, silently shadowing valley and rill,
The twilight steals noiselessly over the hill.
Behold, in the blue depths of ether afar,
Now softly emerging each glittering star;
While, later, the moon, placid, solemn and bright,
Floods earth with her tremulous, silvery light.

Hush! list to the Whip-poor-will’s soft plaintive notes,
As up from the valley the lonely sound floats,
Inhale the sweet breath of yon shadowy wood
And the wild flowers blooming in hushed solitude.
Start not at the whispering, ’tis but the breeze,
Low rustling, ’mid maple and lonely pine trees,
Or willows and alders that fringe the dark tide
Where canoes of the red men oft silently glide.

See, rising from out of that copse, dark and damp,
The fire-flies, each bearing a flickering lamp!
Like meteors, gleaming and streaming, they pass
O’er hillside and meadow, and dew-laden grass,
Contrasting with ripple on river and stream,
Alternately playing in shadow and beam,
Till fullness of beauty fills hearing and sight
Throughout the still hours of a calm summer’s night.

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Gold Sky

Blue gold sky
Your fire is burning
Horizon questions why
Your evening is yearning
For a day that is soon gone
Into oblivion abyss
To carry the night on
In dreamy nocturnal kiss

All the blue gold is bound
Into your drifting clouds
Sunset of silver found
Among the streets and crowds
Love song of dusky distant
Where weaving dreams go
In to the nonexistent
Of ocean’s nightly glow

Blue gold sky
Yesterday is in your sight
When you come in sweet lullaby
In the falling off the eve light
Chariot of fire gold
Blue silver moon beyond
Nothing your dreams can hold
You are to stars whishes bond

poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Moccasins

Come out, O Little Moccasins, and frolic on the snow!
Come out, O tiny beaded feet, and twinkle in the light!
I'll play the old Red River reel, you used to love it so:
Awake, O Little Moccasins, and dance for me to-night!

Your hair was all a gleamy gold, your eyes a corn-flower blue;
Your cheeks were pink as tinted shells, you stepped light as a fawn;
Your mouth was like a coral bud, with seed pearls peeping through;
As gladdening as Spring you were, as radiant as dawn.

Come out, O Little Moccasins! I'll play so soft and low,
The songs you loved, the old heart-songs that in my mem'ry ring;
O child, I want to hear you now beside the campfire glow!
With all your heart a-throbbing in the simple words you sing.

For there was only you and I, and you were all to me;
And round us were the barren lands, but little did we fear;
Of all God's happy, happy folks the happiest were we. . . .
(Oh, call her, poor old fiddle mine, and maybe she will hear!)

Your mother was a half-breed Cree, but you were white all through;
And I, your father was -- but well, that's neither here nor there;
I only know, my little Queen, that all my world was you,
And now that world can end to-night, and I will never care.

For there's a tiny wooden cross that pricks up through the snow:
(Poor Little Moccasins! you're tired, and so you lie at rest.)
And there's a grey-haired, weary man beside the campfire glow:
(O fiddle mine! the tears to-night are drumming on your breast.)

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poplar

Why do you always stand there shivering
Between the white stream and the road?

The people pass through the dust
On bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars;
The waggoners go by at down;
The lovers walk on the grass path at night.

Stir from your roots, walk, poplar!
You are more beautiful than they are.

I know that the white wind loves you,
Is always kissing you and turning up
The white lining of your green petticoat.
The sky darts through you like blue rain,
And the grey rain drips on your flanks
And loves you.
And I have seen the moon
Slip his silver penny into your pocket
As you straightened your hair;
And the white mist curling and hesitating
Like a bashful lover about your knees.

I know you, poplar;
I have watched you since I was ten.
But if you had a little real love,
A little strength,
You would leave your nonchalant idle lovers
And go walking down the white road
Behind the waggoners.

There are beautiful beeches down beyond the hill.
Will you always stand there shivering?

poem by Richard Aldington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lasso The Moon

She carries the water from the well in the morning
While the sand burns her feet the sun only stares
And the loneliness lingers with slow grasping fingers
As the afternoon withers the flowers in her hair
Then night fills the sky as she sits on the hillside
And memories drift by like clouds past the stars
Recalling romances and all the bright chances
But none of them lasted. they passed through her heart
And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon
She falls asleep and her dreams are her blanket
And she shares with the moon the secret she knows
As the dawn leaves its tears to wash the dry valley
The tears of a woman can wash a mans soul
And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon
And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon
And I say -
I am a man who can build a good fire
And my passions as wide as the sky at high noon
Come take my hand, its as strong as your longing
Just say the word and Ill lasso the moon

song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Clouds Of Narcissus

the clouds of narcissus pass by today
along a clear pond by the side of a rice paddy

they stop to get a good glimpse of their faces and bodies
cottony white, shades of blue, pluffy, and soft

they stop and take a longer gaze, admiring every
beauty of its hands and fingers, a longer time

an island of grass some reeds and dry leaves
get curious about what is happening why the clouds

stop and made a longer stare over the clear reflection
of their bodies on the little pond. They talk. They are curious.

and then the clouds finally get done with what is usual.
they left. Slowly sail away from what they are seeing lovingly.

Nothing happens since then. They own no one.No one owns them.
They leave. They do not know how to love. Neither are they loved.

They are gone. The island of grass is silent. The reeds hush.
And the pond has become murky.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Two Spirits: An Allegory

FIRST SPIRIT
O thou, who plum'd with strong desire
Wouldst float above the earth, beware!
A Shadow tracks thy flight of fire--
Night is coming!
Bright are the regions of the air,
And among the winds and beams
It were delight to wander there--
Night is coming!SECOND SPIRIT
The deathless stars are bright above;
If I would cross the shade of night,
Within my heart is the lamp of love,
And that is day!
And the moon will smile with gentle light
On my golden plumes where'er they move;
The meteors will linger round my flight,
And make night day.FIRST SPIRIT

But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken
Hail, and lightning, and stormy rain;
See, the bounds of the air are shaken--
Night is coming!
The red swift clouds of the hurricane
Yon declining sun have overtaken,
The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain--
Night is coming!SECOND SPIRIT

I see the light, and I hear the sound;
I'll sail on the flood of the tempest dark,
With the calm within and the light around
Which makes night day:
And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark,
Look from thy dull earth, slumber-bound,
My moon-like flight thou then mayst mark
On high, far away.----

Some say there is a precipice
Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin
O'er piles of snow and chasms of ice
Mid Alpine mountains;
And that the languid storm pursuing
That winged shape, for ever flies
Round those hoar branches, aye renewing
Its aëry fountains.

Some say when nights are dry and dear,
And the death-dews sleep on the morass,
Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller,
Which make night day:
And a silver shape like his early love doth pass
Upborne by her wild and glittering hair,
And when he awakes on the fragrant grass,
He finds night day.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thou Art a Flower

Thou art a flower, dear heart, a fragrant flower
And I, the wandering, hair-clad, amorous bee.
’Mongst all the regal beauties of the bower,
I seek but thee.

I feel the ivory of thy petals fair
Brush lightly on my belly as I woo
And I would sting thee, if I did but dare,
So sweet are you.

I suck the honey from your dewy bowl
And drunken mad, with wild, delirious bliss,
Within your cup, I yield to you my soul
And drink your kiss.

Oh! petals sweet, close in and crush me dead.
I am consumed in flames of passion’s fire.
What else is left, when this dear hour hath fled.
But dead desire?

The juice of poppy flowers and breath of rose,
Wistaria’s purple, blood-flecked lilies white,
I pilfer and when, soft, your petals close,
When comes the night.

I pour the passions of the world of flowers
Deep in beyond the lips of quivering red.
Your life is mine to craze the trembling hours,
All else is dead.

poem by from The Point of View
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Fade To Purple

As if Im sitting on purple clouds
Covered in purple shrouds
Singing purple kissed melodies loud
The Purple Master himself would be proud

Gifted, these fragrant purple flowers
Soaking wet, drenched from purple showers
Lifted, high high high atop purple towers

Yet as I walk through purple haze rooms
Filled with purple phased fumes
Im enlightened by the purple tazed blooms
Purple vibes that remove crazed glooms

Hungry I appetize on purple wood blunts
To then feast upon a purple smoke lunch
Break bread, along with the purple grape bunch
Fade To Purple To Get Me Through The Crunch

poem by Jamie Ellen Christian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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