Related quotes: I will find out a...

To Sleep

I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep-
A hidden wood among the hill-tops green,
Full of soft streams and little winds that creep
The murmuring boughs between.

A hollow cup above the ocean placed
Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be,
But woodland light and shadow interlaced
And summer sky and sea.

There in the fragrant twilight I will raise
A secret altar of the rich sea sod,
Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise
Unto my lonely god:

Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers,
The deadening poppies in an ocean shell
Round which through all forgotten days and hours
The great seas wove their spell.

So may he send me dreams of dear delight
And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain,
And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night
To hear the falling rain.

And when he meets me at the dusk of day
To call me home for ever, this I ask-
That he may lead me friendly on that way
And wear no frightful mask.

poem by Clive Staples Lewis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hesperus

Through the starry hollow
Of the summer night
I would follow, follow
Hesperus the bright,
To seek beyond the western wave
His garden of delight.

Hesperus the fairest
Of all gods that are,
Peace and dreams thou bearest
In thy shadowy car,
And often in my evening walks
I’ve blessed thee from afar.

Stars without number,
Dust the noon of night,
Thou the early slumber
And the still delight
Of the gentle twilit hours
Rulest in thy right.

When the pale skies shiver,
Seeing night is done,
Past the ocean-river,
Lightly thou dost run,
To look for pleasant, sleepy lands,
That never fear the sun.

Where, beyond the waters
Of the outer sea,
Thy triple crown of daughters
That guards the golden tree
Sing out across the lonely tide
A welcome home to thee.

And while the old, old dragon
For joy lifts up his head,
They bring thee forth a flagon
Of nectar foaming red,
And underneath the drowsy trees
Of poppies strew thy bed.

Ah! that I could follow
In thy footsteps bright,
Through the starry hollow
Of the summer night,
Sloping down the western ways
To find my heart’s delight!

poem by Clive Staples Lewis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Glow-Worm To Her Love

BENEATH cool ferns, in dewy grass,
Among the leaves that fringe the stream,
I hear the feet of lovers pass,
--I hide all day, and dream.

But when the night, with wide soft wings,
Droops on the trembling waiting wood,
And lulls the restless woodland things
Within its solitude,

Ah, then my soft green lamp I light,
That thou may'st find me by its fire--
Come, crown me, O my winged delight
My darling, my desire.

Yet they who praise the lamp I bear
Have never a word of praise for thee,
My love, my life, my King of Air,
Who lightest the lamp in me.

Thine, thine should be the praise they give
My King, who art all praise above,
Since but for thee I dream and live,
And light the lamp of love.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Twilight

I look into his eyes, there are closed
But I see something.
A teacher told me why, I laugh
When old men cry.
My body grows and grows,
It fightens me you know.
The old man tried to walk me home.
I thought he should have known.
Twilight,
Twilight, lost my way.
Twilight, night and day.
Twilight, cant find my way.
(in the shadow boy meets man
In the shadow boy meets man).
Im running in the rain.
Im caught in a late night play.
Its all and everything.
Im soaking through the skin.
Twilight, darkened day.
Twilight, lost my way.
Twilight, cant find my way.
(in the shadow boy meets man
In the shadow boy meets man).

song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Celebes

DEAR islands of the Orient,
Where Nature's first of love was spent;
Sweet hill-tops of the summered land
Where gods and men went hand in hand
In golden days of sinless earth!
Woe rack the womb of time, that bore
The primal evil to its birth!
It came; the gods were seen no more:
The fields made sacred by their feet,
The flowers they loved, grown all too sweet,
The streams their bright forms mirrored,
The fragrant banks that made their bed,
The human hearts round which they wove
Their threads of superhuman love—
These were too dear and desolate
To sink to fallen man's estate;
The gods who loved them loosed the seas,
Struck free the barriers of the deep,
That rolled in one careering sweep
And filled the land, as 'twere a grave,
And left no beauteous remnant, save
Those hill-tops called the Celebes.

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Ballade Of Sleep

The hours are passing slow,
I hear their weary tread
Clang from the tower, and go
Back to their kinsfolk dead.
Sleep! death's twin brother dread!
Why dost thou scorn me so?
The wind's voice overhead
Long wakeful here I know,
And music from the steep
Where waters fall and flow.
Wilt thou not hear sue, Sleep?

All sounds that might bestow
Rest on the fever'd bed,
All slumb'rous sounds and low
Are mingled here and wed,
And bring no drowsihed.
Shy dreams flit to and fro
With shadowy hair dispread;
With wistful eyes that glow,
And silent robes that sweep.
Thou wilt not hear me; no?
Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep?

What cause hast thou to show
Of sacrifice unsped?
Of all thy slaves below
I most have laboured
With service sung and said;
Have cull'd such buds as blow,
Soft poppies white and red,
Where thy still gardens grow,
And Lethe's waters weep.
Why, then, art thou my foe?
Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep?

ENVOY.

Prince, ere the dark be shred
By golden shafts, ere now
And long the shadows creep:
Lord of the wand of lead,
Soft-footed as the snow,
Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep!

poem by Andrew Lang
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The Ocean Strand

O leave the labouring roadways of the town,
The shifting faces and the changeful hue
Of markets, and broad echoing streets that drown
The heart’s own silent music. Though they too
Sing in their proper rhythm, and still delight
The friendly ear that loves warm human kind,
Yet it is good to leave them all behind,
Now when from lily dawn to purple night
Summer is queen,
Summer is queen in all the happy land.
Far, far away among the valleys green
Let us go forth and wander hand in hand
Beyond those solemn hills that we have seen
So often welcome home the falling sun
Into their cloudy peaks when day was done—
Beyond them till we find the ocean strand
And hear the great waves run,
With the waste song whose melodies I’d follow
And weary not for many a summer day,
Born of the vaulted breakers arching hollow
Before they flash and scatter into spray,
On, if we should be weary of their play
Then I would lead you further into land
Where, with their ragged walls, the stately rocks
Shunt in smooth courts and paved with quiet sand
To silence dedicate. The sea-god’s flocks
Have rested here, and mortal eyes have seen
By great adventure at the dead of noon
A lonely nereid drowsing half a-swoon
Buried beneath her dark and dripping locks.

poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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Maud: A Monodrama (Part II, excerpt)

.

O that 'twere possible
.

After long grief and pain
.

To find the arms of my true love
.

Round me once again!2.

When I was wont to meet her
.

In the silent woody places
.

By the home that gave me birth,
.

We stood tranced in long embraces
.

Mixt with kisses sweeter sweeter
.

Than anything on earth.2.

A shadow flits before me,
.

Not thou, but like to thee:
.

Ah Christ, that it were possible
.

For one short hour to see
.

The souls we loved, that they might tell us
.

What and where they be.2.

It leads me forth at evening,
.

It lightly winds and steals
.

In a cold white robe before me,
.

When all my spirit reels
.

At the shouts, the leagues of lights,
.

And the roaring of the wheels.2.

Half the night I waste in sighs,
.

Half in dreams I sorrow after
.

The delight of early skies;
.

In a wakeful doze I sorrow
.

For the hand, the lips, the eyes,
.

For the meeting of the morrow,
.

The delight of happy laughter,
.

The delight of low replies.2.

'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
.

And a dewy splendour falls
.

On the little flower that clings
.

To the turrets and the walls;
.

'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
.

And the light and shadow fleet;
.

She is walking in the meadow,
.

And the woodland echo rings;
.

In a moment we shall meet;
.

She is singing in the meadow,
.

And the rivulet at her feet
.

Ripples on in light and shadow
.

To the ballad that she sings.2.

So I hear her sing as of old,
.

My bird with the shining head,
.

My own dove with the tender eye?
.

But there rings on a sudden a passionate cry,
.

There is some one dying or dead,
.

And a sullen thunder is roll'd;
.

For a tumult shakes the city,
.

And I wake, my dream is fled;
.

In the shuddering dawn, behold,
.

Without knowledge, without pity,
.

By the curtains of my bed
.

That abiding phantom cold.2.

Get thee hence, nor come again,
.

Mix not memory with doubt,
.

Pass, thou deathlike type of pain,
.

Pass and cease to move about!
.

'Tis the blot upon the brain
.

That will show itself without.2.

Then I rise, the eave-drops fall,
.

And the yellow vapours choke
.

The great city sounding wide;
.

The day comes, a dull red ball
.

Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke
.

On the misty river-tide.2.

Thro' the hubbub of the market
.

I steal, a wasted frame;
.

It crosses here, it crosses there,
.

Thro' all that crowd confused and loud,
.

The shadow still the same;
.

And on my heavy eyelids
.

My anguish hangs like shame.2.

Alas for her that met me,
.

That heard me softly call,
.

Came glimmering thro' the laurels
.

At the quiet evenfall,
.

In the garden by the turrets
.

Of the old manorial hall.2.

Would the happy spirit descend
.

From the realms of light and song,
.

In the chamber or the street,
.

As she looks among the blest,
.

Should I fear to greet my friend
.

Or to say "Forgive the wrong,"
.

Or to ask her, "Take me, sweet,
.

To the regions of thy rest"?2.

But the broad light glares and beats,
.

And the shadow flits and fleets
.

And will not let me be;
.

And I loathe the squares and streets,
.

And the faces that one meets,
.

Hearts with no love for me:
.

Always I long to creep
.

Into some still cavern deep,
.

There to weep, and weep, and weep
.

My whole soul out to thee....

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Awaiting Thee

When thou art gone;
I sing my lonely song.

When thou art gone;
My waking hours are filled only with thoughts of thee.
When I sleep,
My dreams are filled with thee-
As I long for thee.

My love;
I await thee-
Lonely day,
After lonely day.
Lonely night,
After lonely night.

When The sun shines bright,
And the songbirds sing their joyous chorus-
It reminds me of this love of ours-
As I long for thee.

I await thee,
My love-
Throughout the lonely day-
Till the setting sun dwindles in dusk’s twilight-
Beyond golden pastures-
Fading in the night.
My love;
I long for thee.

My love;
I await thee-
Throughout the lonely night,
As the crickets chirp their symphony,
And in the darkness,
Like floating candles,
The fireflies glow.

And I remember our love,
As I gaze at the silver moon,
And diamond stars.
Forever embracing this love of ours.

As I sleep at night,
I dream only of being with thee,
My love.

As I awake,
And the sun rises at dawn over the emerald mountain tops,
I await thee,
My love.

Longing for you-
Day through day,
Night through night-
I await thee,
My love.

My love;
When thou art gone;
I sing my lonely song…

poem by Philip Alarie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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April

April, pride of woodland ways,
Of glad days,
April, bringing hope of prime,
To the young flowers that beneath
Their bud sheath
Are guarded in their tender time;

April, pride of fields that be
Green and free,
That in fashion glad and gay,
Stud with flowers red and blue,
Every hue,
Their jewelled spring array;

April, pride of murmuring
Winds of spring,
That beneath the winnowed air,
Trap with subtle nets and sweet
Flora’s feet,
Flora’s feet, the fleet and fair;

April, by thy hand caressed,
From her breast
Nature scatters everywhere
Handfuls of all sweet perfumes,
Buds and blooms,
Making faint the earth and air.

April, joy of the green hours,
Clothes with flowers
Over all her locks of gold
My sweet Lady; and her breast
With the blest
Birds of summer manifold.

April, with thy gracious wiles,
Like the smiles,
Smiles of Venus; and thy breath
Like her breath, the Gods’ delight,
(From their height
They take the happy air beneath)

It is thou that, of thy grace,
From their place
In the far-oft isles dost bring
Swallows over earth and sea,
Glad to be
Messengers of thee, and Spring.

Daffodil and eglantine,
And woodbine,
Lily, violet, and rose
Plentiful in April fair,
To the air,
Their pretty petals do unclose.

Nightingales ye now may hear,
Piercing clear,
Singing in the deepest shade;
Many and many a babbled note
Chime and float,
Woodland music through the glade.

April, all to welcome thee,
Spring sets free
Ancient flames, and with low breath
Wakes the ashes grey and old
That the cold
Chilled within our hearts to death.

Thou beholdest in the warm
Hours, the swarm
Of the thievish bees, that flies
Evermore from bloom to bloom
For perfume,
Hid away in tiny thighs.

Her cool shadows May can boast,
Fruits almost
Ripe, and gifts of fertile dew,
Manna-sweet and honey-sweet,
That complete
Her flower garland fresh and new.

Nay, but I will give my praise,
To these days,
Named with the glad name of Her
That from out the foam o’ the sea
Came to be
Sudden light on earth and air.

poem by Remy Belleau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Await Thee

When thou art gone;
I sing my lonely song.

When thou art gone;
My waking hours are filled only with thoughts of thee.
When I sleep,
My dreams are filled with thee-
As I long for thee.

My love;
I await thee-
Lonely day,
After lonely day.
Lonely night,
After lonely night.

When The sun shines bright,
And the songbirds sing their joyous chorus-
I remember our love-
As I long for thee.

I await thee,
My love-
Throughout the lonely day-
Till the setting sun dwindles in dusk’s twilight-
Beyond golden pastures-
Fading in the night.
My love;
I long for thee.

My love;
I await thee-
Throughout the lonely night,
As the crickets chirp their symphony,
And in the darkness,
Like floating candles,
The fireflies glow.

And I remember our love,
As I gaze at the silver moon,
And diamond stars.
And I Forever embrace this love of ours.

As I sleep at night,
I dream only of being with thee,
My love.

As I awake,
And the sun rises at dawn over the emerald mountain tops,
I await thee,
My love.

Longing for thee-
Day through day,
Night through night-
I await thee,
My love.

My love;
When thou art gone;
I sing my lonely song…

poem by Philip Alarie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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America for Me

'Tis fine to see the Old World and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.

So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing foutains filled;
But, oh, to take your had, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!

I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free--
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

poem by Henry Van Dyke
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An American in Europe

'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings, --
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.

So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;
But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!

I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack:
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free, --
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Autumn Feeling

Feeling of love is everywhere
As the times go on by
I'll remember it here and there
Like sun glow in the sky
Days gone were lonely some
Everything is again calling
Emotions like summer blossom
Day to the autumn falling

Feeling of a dream in heart
Love like tones of deep
Everything goes night will start
Nothing is ours to keep
Garden flowers falling leaves
Songs of summer leaving
Moments in their lonely grieves
Hours in shadows deceiving

Feeling inside of loneliness
As autumn says goodbye
Moments of green and caress
Falling leaves on their fly
Everything had its summer dream
Now it time is done
Yesterdays in the autumn stream
Hours of remembrance on

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Chains Invisible

THE lilies in my garden grow,
Wide meadows ring my garden round,
In that green copse wild violets blow,
And pale, frail cuckoo flowers are found.
For all you see and all you hear,
The city might be miles away,
And yet you feel the city near
Through all the quiet of the day.

Sweet smells the earth--wet with sweet rain--
Sweet lilac waves in moonlight pale,
And from the wood beyond the lane
I hear the hidden nightingale.
Though field and wood about me lie,
Hushed soft in dew and deep delight,
Yet can I hear the city's sigh
Through all the silence of the night.

For me the skylark builds and sings,
For me the vine her garland weaves;
The swallow folds her glossy wings
To build beneath my cottage eaves.
But I can feel the giant near,
Can hear his slaves by daylight weep,
And when at last the night is here,
I hear him moaning in his sleep.

Oh! for a little space of ground,
Though not a flower should make it gay,
Where miles of meadows wrapped me round,
And leagues and leagues of silence lay.
Oh! for a wind-lashed, treeless down,
A black night and a rising sea,
And never a thought of London town,
To steal the world's delight from me.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Song

Oh night and sleep,
Ye are so soft and deep,
I am so weary, come ye soon to me.
Oh hours that creep,
With so much time to weep,
I am so tired, can ye no swifter be?

Come, night, anear;
I'll whisper in thine ear
What makes me so unhappy, full of care;
Dear night, I die
For love that all men buy
With tears, and know not it is dark despair.

Dear night, I pray,
How is it that men say
That love is sweet? It is not sweet to me.
For one boy's sake
A poor girl's heart must break;
So sweet, so true, and yet it could not be!

Oh, I loved well,
Such love as none can tell:
It was so true, it could not make him know:
For he was blind,
All light and all unkind:
Oh, had he known, would he have hurt me so?

Oh night and sleep,
Ye are so soft and deep,
I am so weary, come ye soon to me.
Oh hours that creep,
With so much time to weep,
I am so tired, can ye no swifter be?

poem by Archibald Lampman
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Through Her Eyes

Look through her eyes tell me what do you see?

Do you see the mountain tops glisten
with the delights of her dreams
watch her hopes and her fears
flow down ice water streams

Do you hear the songstress sing sweetly
of her joy & despair
who like Daemon & Pythias
walk an inseparable pair

Did you feel the warmth of the sirocco
in the cool night air blow
carrying the seeds of her redemption
to both friend and foe

Did you hear the pound and roar
of a ocean wild
whose crescendo was crushed
by the cry of her child

I Looked through her eyes and what did I see?

Not mountains, nor streams
Not fears or dreams
Not joy, nor despair
Not the cool night air
Not an Ocean wild
Nor the cry of a child

I look through her eyes and what do I see?
I see my friend...the reflection of me

poem by Ian Burns
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Love's Nocturn

Master of the murmuring courts
Where the shapes of sleep convene!--
Lo! my spirit here exhorts
All the powers of thy demesne
For their aid to woo my queen.
What reports
Yield thy jealous courts unseen?

Vaporous, unaccountable,
Dreamland lies forlorn of light,
Hollow like a breathing shell.
Ah! that from all dreams I might
Choose one dream and guide its flight!
I know well
What her sleep should tell to-night.

There the dreams are multitudes:
Some that will not wait for sleep,
Deep within the August woods;
Some that hum while rest may steep
Weary labour laid a-heap;
Interludes,
Some, of grievous moods that weep.

Poets' fancies all are there:
There the elf-girls flood with wings
Valleys full of plaintive air;
There breathe perfumes; there in rings
Whirl the foam-bewildered springs;
Siren there
Winds her dizzy hair and sings.

Thence the one dream mutually
Dreamed in bridal unison,
Less than waking ecstasy;
Half-formed visions that make moan
In the house of birth alone;
And what we
At death's wicket see, unknown.

But for mine own sleep, it lies
In one gracious form's control,
Fair with honourable eyes,
Lamps of a translucent soul:
O their glance is loftiest dole,
Sweet and wise,
Wherein Love descries his goal.

Reft of her, my dreams are all
Clammy trance that fears the sky:
Changing footpaths shift and fall;
From polluted coverts nigh,
Miserable phantoms sigh;
Quakes the pall,
And the funeral goes by.

Master, is it soothly said
That, as echoes of man's speech
Far in secret clefts are made,
So do all men's bodies reach
Shadows o'er thy sunken beach,--
Shape or shade
In those halls pourtrayed of each?

Ah! might I, by thy good grace
Groping in the windy stair,
(Darkness and the breath of space
Like loud waters everywhere,)
Meeting mine own image there
Face to face,
Send it from that place to her!

Nay, not I; but oh! do thou,
Master, from thy shadowkind
Call my body's phantom now:
Bid it bear its face declin'd
Till its flight her slumbers find,
And her brow
Feel its presence bow like wind.

Where in groves the gracile Spring
Trembles, with mute orison
Confidently strengthening,
Water's voice and wind's as one
Shed an echo in the sun.
Soft as Spring,
Master, bid it sing and moan.

Song shall tell how glad and strong
Is the night she soothes alway;
Moan shall grieve with that parched tongue
Of the brazen hours of day:
Sounds as of the springtide they,
Moan and song,
While the chill months long for May.

Not the prayers which with all leave
The world's fluent woes prefer,--
Not the praise the world doth give,
Dulcet fulsome whisperer;--
Let it yield my love to her,
And achieve
Strength that shall not grieve or err.

Wheresoe'er my dreams befall,
Both at night-watch, (let it say,)
And where round the sundial
The reluctant hours of day,
Heartless, hopeless of their way,
Rest and call;--
There her glance doth fall and stay.

Suddenly her face is there:
So do mounting vapours wreathe
Subtle-scented transports where
The black firwood sets its teeth.
Part the boughs and look beneath,--
Lilies share
Secret waters there, and breathe.

Master, bid my shadow bend
Whispering thus till birth of light,
Lest new shapes that sleep may send
Scatter all its work to flight;--
Master, master of the night,
Bid it spend
Speech, song, prayer, and end aright.

Yet, ah me! if at her head
There another phantom lean
Murmuring o'er the fragrant bed,--
Ah! and if my spirit's queen
Smile those alien prayers between,--
Ah! poor shade!
Shall it strive, or fade unseen?

How should love's own messenger
Strive with love and be love's foe?
Master, nay! If thus, in her,
Sleep a wedded heart should show,--
Silent let mine image go,
Its old share
Of thy spell-bound air to know.

Like a vapour wan and mute,
Like a flame, so let it pass;
One low sigh across her lute,
One dull breath against her glass;
And to my sad soul, alas!
One salute
Cold as when Death's foot shall pass.

Then, too, let all hopes of mine,
All vain hopes by night and day,
Slowly at thy summoning sign
Rise up pallid and obey.
Dreams, if this is thus, were they:--
Be they thine,
And to dreamworld pine away.

Yet from old time, life, not death,
Master, in thy rule is rife:
Lo! through thee, with mingling breath,
Adam woke beside his wife.
O Love bring me so, for strife,
Force and faith,
Bring me so not death but life!

Yea, to Love himself is pour'd
This frail song of hope and fear.
Thou art Love, of one accord
With kind Sleep to bring her near,
Still-eyed, deep-eyed, ah how dear.
Master, Lord,
In her name implor'd, O hear!

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love's Nocturne