Desires
Like beautiful bodies of the dead, who had not grown old
and they shut them with tears, in a magnificent mausoleum,
with roses at the head and jasmine at the feet --
that is how desires look that have passed
without fultillment; without one of them having achieved
a night of sensual delight, or a moonlit morn.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Longings
Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before growing old,
sadly shut away in sumptuous mausoleum,
roses by the head, jasmine at the feet -
so appear the longings that have passed
without being satisfied, not one of the granted
a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Boy Who Rides By The Sea
The boy from the sea
rides bareback along the shore
His magnificent stallion and he
In the early morn and the eve of night
riding each day by the sea
Every day at dawn
I rush to the shore
just to catch a glimpse of he
In the moonbeams of night
I race to the land...
to watch them gallantly ride by the sea
So beautiful in majesty
I quietly watch them ride
Moving together as if they were one
like a beautiful melody
Riding quietly together in perfect harmony
This magnificent horse and he
By the sea…
By the sea
poem by ANNE P LadeeAnne MURRAY
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Wind, One Brilliant Day
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
'In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses.'
'I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.'
'Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.'
the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
'What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?'
poem by Antonio Machado
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Telling the Bees: (For Edward Tennant)
Tell it to the bees, lest they
Umbrage take and fly away,
That the dearest boy is dead,
Who went singing, blithe and dear,
By the golden hives last year.
Curly-head, ah, curly-head!
Tell them that the summer's over,
Over mignonette and clover;
Oh, speak low and very low!
Say that he was blithe and bonny,
Good as gold and sweet as honey,
All too late the roses blow!
Say he will not come again,
Not in any sun or rain,
Heart's delight, ah, heart's delight!
Tell them that the boy they knew
Sleeps out under rain and dew
In the night, ah, in the night!
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On The First Of Seven's Night
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
for the world, ag'n christmas sight
on the first of seven's night
when the light of heaven is light
it's the world of two thousand seven bright
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
see, she is smiling in alone
ah! in love she is gone
'n' now she has got the tone
to say! to wish a new morn..ing
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
oh! it's the hit of 12'o clock
but who are they in morning flock
look it's you 'n' that is me
in between it's bond of thee
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
hey! who is playing these notes so cute
it must be octaves from lord krishnas flute
no! on the first of seven with the rythm inherent
a boy to a girl with the happys of heaven
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
and you! what are you doing over here
go to the fields and harvest your share
my blackberrys ripen with the dawn of the sun
hares and birds may already be having there fun
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
sown for you blackberry's delight
on the first of seven's night
poem by Amit Ranjan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Remembrance
I.
Swifter far than summer's flight--
Swifter far than youth’s delight--
Swifter far than happy night,
Art thou come and gone--
As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.
II.
The swallow summer comes again--
The owlet night resumes her reign--
But the wild-swan youth is fain
To fly with thee, false as thou.--
My heart each day desires the morrow;
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;
Vainly would my winter borrow
Sunny leaves from any bough.
III.
Lilies for a bridal bed--
Roses for a matron’s head--
Violets for a maiden dead--
Pansies let MY flowers be:
On the living grave I bear
Scatter them without a tear--
Let no friend, however dear,
Waste one hope, one fear for me.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Feeling
It is a moonlit midnight.
I am with my bare feet.
I have no fright but a little bit delight.
The view is so polite
that It seems the world becoming bright (though in midnight)
I am walking with my shabby brush as to sweep
for a dusty field.
a new cleared ground would appear after the cleansing,
but do you know what is my actual thinking?
I am tempered for your sorrow
because this night may become painful for the coming morrow
for losing something or someone……..
only a prayer is needed if you can.
it may save from the waste.
So, I do request.
Divinity sometimes provokes me, and
I want to say, I am not single-handed in this singleness stand.
Well, wish be happy everyone in this world.
Now, this charming night is very short .
I shall have to do a lot……….
I will release myself from the duty I got.
I will again see a night
like such wonderful night.
Such bright night, really a beautiful night!
poem by Bibhakar Dutta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night Coming Into A Garden
Roses red and white,
Every rose is hanging her head,
Silently comes the lady Night,
Only the flowers can hear her tread.
All day long the birds have been calling,
Calling shrill and sweet,
They are still when she comes with her long robe falling
Falling down to her feet.
The thrush has sung to his mate,
' She is coming ! hush ! she is coming ! '
She is lifting the latch at the gate,
And the bees have ceased from their humming.
I cannot see her face as she passes
Through my garden of white and red ;
But I know she has walked where the daisies and grasses
Are curtseying after her tread.
She has passed me by with a rustle and sweep
Of her robe (as she passed I heard it sweeping),
And all my red roses have fallen asleep,
And all my white roses are sleeping.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sweet Dream
I weave sweet dreams
of twinkling light
in moonlit night
I entwine a garland of stars
in moonlit night
I do all so
to embellish you to look
like a fairy queen
and cherish you in moonlit night
I do so all
to see you like second moon
for graceful moment in moonlit night
I weave sweet dreams
of my thoughts and
make a garland
to vesture you to look
like a fairy queen
The rapacity of moon
will increase to see your beauty
then I will cover you
like the cloud
in moonlit night
I will ask the moonlit night
not to leave us alone
and be with us
throughout life.
poem by Ramesh Rai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jasmine & Rose
The air tastes just like you, its the smell of june
A sensory shock that jolts my spirit, I slowly swallow you
A spray of little droplets, a fragrance so refined
The spirit of nostalgia is passing me by
Opium and poison, jasmine and rose
Dream of ambrosia, all flavours glow, its sensual,its sensual, sensual
It all began so easy, with you on the floor
Against your willing flanks and knocking down your door
Until the day it crumbled, no game of win and lose
You told me nothing, you left me confused
Expelled like poison, a trim of the dose,
A limb disposed of, in a whim she chose,so rigorous,shes vigorous
Shes vigorous,
Heart of the hardest world, its just the thought of you
All those variations, the air is full of you
The smell of summer rain, once more the scent of june
This sweet concentration ,brings me back to you
Opium and poison
My taste of june, my taste of you
Inhale, inhale your trail
Opium and poison, jasmine and rose, dream of escape with me, all flavours go,
Its sensual, its sensual, its sensual
What was ours will drift away, a simple breeze on a humid day
Oh, nothing lasts, nothing lasts, forever
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Your Beautiful
Your beautiful
and not because of your sparkling brown eyes.
Your beautiful
and not because of your flawless hair
Your beautiful
and not because of the clothes you wear
Your beautiful
and not because of how you perfect your make-up
Your beautiful
and not because of what I tell you
Your beautiful
and not because of the image you've achieved
Your beautiful
and not because of where you rest at night
Your beautiful because of whats on the inside
poem by Ryan Whyte
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beautiful Night
i slipped away last night
came to see you under a moonlit sky
the way the stars glistened in your eyes
oh, what a beautiful sight
this night we share, it'll never end
the way the moonlight brightens your face
oh, what a beautiful sight
on this faithful night,
the way you held me
oh, what a beautiful feeling
the way we loved each other
oh, what a beautiful feeling
being with you, in heaven
oh, what a beautiful night
poem by Andy Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Mouth!
Everything that goes mouth is sensual!
the toffee run up and down,
the noise to blow up a tasty gum,
the mouth open in surprise!
Oh! ! ! !
Everything in your mouth is sensual!
the cleaning of its corners with the napkin,
the clicking of his tongue before you saying yes,
the soft against your lips when they meet one another!
Ah! ! ! !
Everything in ours mouth is sensual!
the dropp we exchanged wet through
Ours lips moving slightly,
Our kisses!
Hummm!
Everything in ours bodies is sensual!
what gonna in yours mouth!
What remains in it and
All that comes an goes!
Ui! ! ! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Garden Of Roses
My garden of roses is dead
All the most beautiful flowers have wilted
And now the winter is here
My garden of roses is dead
Like my love and my nurturing was nothing
And now the winter is here
My garden of roses is dead
Nothing but dust in the wind is left
And now the winter is here
My garden of roses is dead
Everything's gone and I feel so empty
And now the winter is here
poem by Triin Kann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Point Of View: II
I
In the wood of lost causes, the valley of tears,
Old hopes, like dead leaves, choke the difficult way;
Dark pinions fold dank round the soul, and it hears:
'It is night, it is night, it has never been day;
Thou hast dreamed of the day, of the rose of delight;
It was always dead leaves and the heart of the night.
Drink deep then, and rest, O thou foolish wayfarer,
For night, like a chalice, holds sleep in her hands.'
II
Then you drain the dark cup, and, half-drugged as you lie
In the arms of despair that is masked as delight,
You thrill to the rush of white wings, and you hear:
'It is day, it is day, it has never been night!
Thou hast dreamed of the night and the wood of lost leaves;
It was always noon, June, and red roses in sheaves,
Unlock the blind lids, and behold the light-bearer
Who holds, like a monstrance, the sun in his hands.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mad Girl's Love Song
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade.
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
poem by Sylvia Plath (1951)
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
My Loss
IN the world was one green nook I knew,
Full of roses, roses red and white,
Reddest roses summer ever grew,
Whitest roses ever pearled with dew;
And their sweetness was beyond delight,
Was all love's delight.
Wheresoever in the world I went,
Roses were; for in my heart I took
Blow and blossom and bewildering scent;
Roses never with the summer spent,
Roses always ripening in that nook,
Love's far summer nook.
In the world a soddened plot I know
Blackening in this chill and misty air,
Set with shivering bushes in a row,
One by one the last leaves letting go:
Wheresoe'er I turn I shall be there,
Always sighing there.
Ah, my folly! Ah, my loss, my pain!
Dead, my roses that can blow no more!
Wherefore looked I on our nook again?
Wherefore went I after autumn's rain,
Where the summer roses bloomed before,
Bloomed so sweet before?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Rainbow
Watch the white dawn gleam,
To the thunder of hidden guns.
I hear the hot shells scream
Through skies as sweet as a dream
Where the silver dawn-break runs.
And stabbing of light
Scorches the virginal white.
But I feel in my being the old, high, sanctified thrill,
And I thank the gods that the dawn is beautiful still.
From death that hurtles by
I crouch in the trench day-long,
But up to a cloudless sky
From the ground where our dead men lie
A brown lark soars in song.
Through the tortured air,
Rent by the shrapnel's flare,
Over the troubleless dead he carols his fill,
And I thank the gods that the birds are beautiful still.
Where the parapet is low
And level with the eye
Poppies and cornflowers glow
And the corn sways to and fro
In a pattern against the sky.
The gold stalks hide
Bodies of men who died
Charging at dawn through the dew to be killed or to kill.
I thank the gods that the flowers are beautiful still.
When night falls dark we creep
In silence to our dead.
We dig a few feet deep
And leave them there to sleep -
But blood at night is red,
Yea, even at night,
And a dead man's face is white.
And I dry my hands, that are also trained to kill,
And I look at the stars - for the stars are beautiful still.
poem by Leslie Coulson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Angel
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne’er beguiled!
And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart’s delight.
So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Footsteps in the Street
Oh, will the footsteps never be done?
The insolent feet
Thronging the street,
Forsaken now of the only one.
The only one out of all the throng,
Whose footfall I knew,
And could tell it so true,
That I leapt to see as she passed along,
As she passed along with her beautiful face,
Which knew full well
Though it did not tell,
That I was there in the window-space.
Now my sense is never so clear.
It cheats my heart,
Making me start
A thousand times, when she is not near.
When she is not near, but so far away,
I could not come
To the place of her home,
Though I travelled and sought for a month and a day.
Do you wonder then if I wish the street
Were grown with grass,
And no foot might pass
Till she treads it again with her sacred feet?
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!