En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Fragment II

The light of day was fading in the west,
The smoke no more from village chimneys curled,
Nor voice of man, nor bark of dog was heard;

When she, obedient to Love's rendezvous,
Had reached the middle of a plain, than which
No other more bewitching could be found.

The moon on every side her lustre shed,
And all in robes of silver light arrayed
The trees with which the place was garlanded.

The rustling boughs were murmuring to the wind,
And, blending with the plaintive nightingale,
A rivulet poured forth its sweet lament.

The sea shone in the distance, and the fields
And groves; and slowly rising, one by one,
The summits of the mountains were revealed.

In quiet shade the sombre valley lay,
While all the little hills around were clothed
With the soft lustre of the dewy moon.

The maiden kept the silent, lonely path,
And gently passing o'er her face, she felt
The motion of the perfume-laden breeze.

If she were happy, it were vain to ask;
The scene delighted her, and the delight
Her heart was promising, was greater still.

How swift your flight, O lovely hours serene!
No other pleasure here below endures,
Or lingers with us long, save hope alone.

The night began to change, and dark became
The face of heaven, that was so beautiful,
And all her pleasure now was turned to fear.

An angry cloud, precursor of the storm,
Behind the mountains rose, and still increased,
Till moon or star no longer could be seen.

She saw it spreading upon every side,
And by degrees ascending through the air,
And now with its black mantle covering all.

The scanty light more faint and faint became;
The wind, meanwhile, was rising in the grove,
That on the farther side the spot enclosed;

And, every moment, was more boisterous;
Till every bird, awaking in its fright,
Amidst the trembling leaves was fluttering.

The cloud, increasing still, unto the coast
Descended, so that one extremity
The mountains touched, the other touched the sea.

And now from out its black and hollow womb,
The pattering rain-drops, falling fast, were heard,
The sound increasing as the cloud drew near.

And round her now the glancing lightning flashed
In fearful mood, and made her shut her eyes;
The ground was black, the air a mass of flame.

Her trembling knees could scarce her weight sustain;
The thunder roared with a continuous sound,
Like torrent, plunging headlong from the cliff.

At times she paused, the dismal scene to view,
In blank dismay; then on she ran again,
Her hair and clothes all streaming in the wind.

The cruel wind beat hard against her breast,
And rushing fiercely, with its angry breath,
The cold drops dashed, remorseless, in her face.

The thunder, like a beast, assaulted her,
With terrible, unintermitting roar;
And more and more the rain and tempest raged.

And from all sides in wild confusion flew
The dust and leaves, the branches and the stones,
With hideous tumult, inconceivable.

Her weary, blinded eyes now covering,
And folding close her clothes against her breast,
She through the storm her fearful path pursued.

But now the lightning glared so in her face,
That, overcome by fright at last, she went
No farther, and her heart within her sank;

And back she turned. And, even as she turned,
The lightning ceased to flash, the air was dark,
The thunder's voice was hushed, the wind stood still,
And all was silent round, and she,--at rest!

poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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The Storm

The clouds turned to gray
The air turned to cold
And I knew by that day
Some evil would unfold.
It arrived without a warning
Along with the pounding rain
And it was gone by the morning
As violently as it came.
But for that night I lived in terror
That night I lived in fright
With every sound I heard
With every flash of light.
Violently came the wind
Terrorizing with no form
Then came the thunder and lightning,
Arriving, was the storm.
Many trees I saw bent
Then God clapped his mighty hand
While many trees were refusing to fall,
But then, a tree didn't stand.
Rushing came the wind
Pounding came the rain
Crashing came the thunder
Quickly, came my pain.
Underneath my bed I hid
From the terror of the storm
And in pain and terror I cried
In horror and pain I moaned.
That night I lived in terror
That night I lived in fright
With every sound I heard
With every flash of light.
And the rain just kept falling
More tears I began to weep
For the wind just kept calling,
Then that night; I fell asleep.
Then morning she finally came
I awoke to the sound of peace and birds
The sound of thunder and rain was gone
Which had awoke my sleeping world.
Then outside towards the sky I stared,
To the clouds God he did call
I saw Gods hand moving the wind
Commanding the rain not to fall.
Then the sun began to shine
So on my knees I fell to pray
Then again, I began to cry
Thanking God; the storm had went away.

poem by Randy McClave
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The Legend of Cooee Gully

The night came down thro’ Deadman’s Gap,
Where the ghostly saplings bent
Before a wind that tore the fly
From many a digger’s tent.
Dark as pitch, and the rain rushed past
On a wind that howled again;
And we crowded into the only but
That stood on the hillside then.

The strong pine rafters creaked and strained,
’Til we thought that the roof would go;
And we felt the box-bark walls bend in
And bulge like calico.

A flood had come from the gorges round:
Thro’ the gully’s bed it poured.
Down many a deep, deserted shaft
The yellow waters roared.

The scene leapt out when the lightning flashed
And shone with a ghastly grey;
And the night sprang back to the distant range
’Neath a sky as bright as day.

Then the darkness closed like a trap that was sprung,
And the night grew black as coals,
And we heard the ceaseless thunder
Of the water down the holes.

And now and then like a cannon’s note
That sounds in the battle din,
We heard the louder thunder spring
From a shaft, when the sides fell in.

We had gathered close to the broad but fire
To yarn of the by-gone years,
When a coo-ee that came from the flooded grounds
Fell sharp on our startled ears.

We sprang to our feet, for well we knew
That in speed lay the only hope;
One caught and over his shoulder threw
A coil of yellow rope.

Then, blinded oft by the lightning’s flash,
Down the steep hillside we sped,
And at times we slipped on the sodden path
That ran to the gully’s bed.

And on past many a broken shaft
All reckless of risk we ran,
For the wind still brought in spiteful gusts
The cry of the drowning man.

But the cooeying ceased when we reached the place;
And then, ere a man could think,
We heard the treacherous earth give way
And fall from a shaft’s black brink.

And deep and wide the rotten side
Slipped into the hungry hole,
And the phosphorus leapt and vanished
Like the flight of the stranger’s soul.

And still in the sound of the rushing rain,
When the night comes dark and drear,
From the pitch-black side of that gully wide
The coo-ee you’ll hear and hear.

Coo-ee — coo-e-e-e, low and eerily,
It whispers afar and drear —
And then to the heart like an icy dart
It strikes thro’ the startled ear!

Dreader than wrung from the human tongue
It shrieks o’er the sound of the rain,
And back on the hill when the wind is still
It whispers and dies again.

And on thro’ the night like the voice of a sprite
That tells of a dire mishap
It echoes around in the gully’s bound
And out thro’ Deadman’s Gap.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Cloud In The Fog

The cold wind cuts through my face like glass,
Along two lines on my cheeks it was exceptionally sharp.

The moon shone down on me covering me with a silver hue,
The icy ground like indigo stained my feet frosted and blue.

My fingers crackled as I tried to move them
My toes refused to move however much I told them.

My clothes threadbare, hung along my body with no other choice,
My hair scattered all over my shoulder holds the raining ice.

There is no sign of life in this isolated venue
I’ve left all hope of any possible rescue.

As the streaks of pink show up on the horizon,
The fog sets into play as appears the sun.

The sun is nothing but a show of nature,
Even it is cold with no warmth in its features.

As the fog robs me of my partial vision
I see a little cloud appearing like an illusion.

The little cloud was made up of the vast fog
Yet they felt as different as a desert and a bog.

The cloud seemed to grow as it neared me,
It held me gently and cut me free:

Of my cold bondages. It tried to melt my heart
That had frozen in the long icy past.

It defeated all the fog and protected me fruitlessly from the cold
As the fog cleared the sun shone on my face bold.

The cloud wrapped me in a beautiful gown
It swung me on itself and flew me north along.

I flew like the wind over mountains and molehills
Still frozen as ice, the wind giving me chills.

The sun drew closer, closer every second,
After rising for seven days there began my descent.

Below me loomed a warm tropical village,
I landed square on my feet before a tiny cottage.

The cloud gave me a message that it had done all this for me,
But it didn’t for once know my history.

I look south with my fog blinded eyes new to the vision
The warmth after cold is like handcuffs when out of prison.

I still stand as frozen as an idol
Even after saving me, it left me alone, the cloud.

The tropics now cut through my face like a knife
Exceptionally cold on two lines of my cheeks like ice.

poem by Isabella Francis
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Musician's Tale; The Ballad of Carmilhan - IV.

And now along the horizon's edge
Mountains of cloud uprose,
Black as with forests underneath,
Above their sharp and jagged teeth
Were white as drifted snows.

Unseen behind them sank the sun,
But flushed each snowy peak
A little while with rosy light
That faded slowly from the sight
As blushes from the cheek.

Black grew the sky,--all black, all black;
The clouds were everywhere;
There was a feeling of suspense
In nature, a mysterious sense
Of terror in the air.

And all on board the Valdemar
Was still as still could be;
Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled,
As ever and anon she rolled,
And lurched into the sea.

The captain up and down the deck
Went striding to and fro;
Now watched the compass at the wheel,
Now lifted up his hand to feel
Which way the wind might blow.

And now he looked up at the sails,
And now upon the deep;
In every fibre of his frame
He felt the storm before it came,
He had no thought of sleep.

Eight bells! and suddenly abaft,
With a great rush of rain,
Making the ocean white with spume,
In darkness like the day of doom,
On came the hurricane.

The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud,
And rent the sky in two;
A jagged flame, a single jet
Of white fire, like a bayonet_
That pierced the eyeballs through.

Then all around was dark again,
And blacker than before;
But in that single flash of light
He had beheld a fearful sight,
And thought of the oath he swore.

For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead,
The ghostly Carmilhan!
Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare,
And on her bowsprit, poised in air,
Sat the Klaboterman.

Her crew of ghosts was all on deck
Or clambering up the shrouds;
The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail,
Were like the piping of the gale,
And thunder in the clouds.

And close behind the Carmilhan
There rose up from the sea,
As from a foundered ship of stone,
Three bare and splintered masts alone:
They were the Chimneys Three.

And onward dashed the Valdemar
And leaped into the dark;
A denser mist, a colder blast,
A little shudder, and she had passed
Right through the Phantom Bark.

She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk,
But cleft it unaware;
As when, careering to her nest,
The sea-gull severs with her breast
The unresisting air.

Again the lightning flashed; again
They saw the Carmilhan,
Whole as before in hull and spar;
But now on board of the Valdemar
Stood the Klaboterman.

And they all knew their doom was sealed;
They knew that death was near;
Some prayed who never prayed before,
And some they wept, and some they swore,
And some were mute with fear.

Then suddenly there came a shock,
And louder than wind or sea
A cry burst from the crew on deck,
As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck,
Upon the Chimneys Three.

The storm and night were passed, the light
To streak the east began;
The cabin-boy, picked up at sea,
Survived the wreck, and only he,
To tell of the Carmilhan.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Shag

"What is that great bird, sister, tell me,
Perched high on the top of the crag?"
"'T is the cormorant, dear little brother;
The fishermen call it the shag."

"But what does it there, sister, tell me,
Sitting lonely against the black sky?"
"It has settled to rest, little brother;
It hears the wild gale wailing high."

"But I am afraid of it, sister,
For over the sea and the land
It gazes, so black and so silent!"
"Little brother, hold fast to my hand."

"Oh, what was that, sister? The thunder?
Did the shag bring the storm and the cloud,
The wind and the rain and the lightning?"
"Little brother, the thunder roars loud.

"Run fast, for the rain sweeps the ocean;
Look! over the light-house it streams;
And the lightning leaps red, and above us
The gulls fill the air with their screams."

O'er the beach, o'er the rocks, running swiftly,
The little white cottage they gain;
And safely they watch from the window
The dance and the rush of the rain.

But the shag kept his place on the headland,
And when the brief storm had gone by,
He shook his loose plumes, and they saw him
Rise splendid and strong in the sky.

Clinging fast to the gown of his sister,
The little boy laughed as he flew;
"He is gone with the wind and the lightning!
And -- I am not frightened, -- are you?"

poem by Celia Thaxter
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Repining

She sat alway thro' the long day
Spinning the weary thread away;
And ever said in undertone:
'Come, that I be no more alone.'

From early dawn to set of sun
Working, her task was still undone;
And the long thread seemed to increase
Even while she spun and did not cease.
She heard the gentle turtle-dove
Tell to its mate a tale of love;
She saw the glancing swallows fly,
Ever a social company;
She knew each bird upon its nest
Had cheering songs to bring it rest;
None lived alone save only she;—
The wheel went round more wearily;
She wept and said in undertone:
'Come, that I be no more alone.'

Day followed day, and still she sighed
For love, and was not satisfied;
Until one night, when the moonlight
Turned all the trees to silver white,
She heard, what ne'er she heard before,
A steady hand undo the door.
The nightingale since set of sun
Her throbbing music had not done,
And she had listened silently;
But now the wind had changed, and she
Heard the sweet song no more, but heard
Beside her bed a whispered word:
'Damsel, rise up; be not afraid;
For I am come at last,' it said.

She trembled, tho' the voice was mild;
She trembled like a frightened child;—
Till she looked up, and then she saw
The unknown speaker without awe.
He seemed a fair young man, his eyes
Beaming with serious charities;
His cheek was white but hardly pale;
And a dim glory like a veil
Hovered about his head, and shone
Thro' the whole room till night was gone.

So her fear fled; and then she said,
Leaning upon her quiet bed:
'Now thou art come, I prithee stay,
That I may see thee in the day,
And learn to know thy voice, and hear
It evermore calling me near.'

He answered: 'Rise, and follow me.'
But she looked upwards wonderingly:
'And whither would'st thou go, friend? stay
Until the dawning of the day.'
But he said: 'The wind ceaseth, Maid;
Of chill nor damp be thou afraid.'

She bound her hair up from the floor,
And passed in silence from the door.

So they went forth together, he
Helping her forward tenderly.
The hedges bowed beneath his hand;
Forth from the streams came the dry land
As they passed over; evermore
The pallid moonbeams shone before;
And the wind hushed, and nothing stirred;
Not even a solitary bird,
Scared by their footsteps, fluttered by
Where aspen-trees stood steadily.

As they went on, at length a sound
Came trembling on the air around;
The undistinguishable hum
Of life, voices that go and come
Of busy men, and the child's sweet
High laugh, and noise of trampling feet.

Then he said: 'Wilt thou go and see?'
And she made answer joyfully:
'The noise of life, of human life,
Of dear communion without strife,
Of converse held 'twixt friend and friend;
Is it not here our path shall end?'
He led her on a little way
Until they reached a hillock: 'Stay.'

It was a village in a plain.
High mountains screened it from the rain
And stormy wind; and nigh at hand
A bubbling streamlet flowed, o'er sand
Pebbly and fine, and sent life up
Green succous stalk and flower-cup.

Gradually, day's harbinger,
A chilly wind began to stir.
It seemed a gentle powerless breeze
That scarcely rustled thro' the trees;
And yet it touched the mountain's head
And the paths man might never tread.
But hearken: in the quiet weather
Do all the streams flow down together?—

No, 'tis a sound more terrible
Than tho' a thousand rivers fell.
The everlasting ice and snow
Were loosened then, but not to flow;—
With a loud crash like solid thunder
The avalanche came, burying under
The village; turning life and breath
And rest and joy and plans to death.

'Oh! let us fly, for pity fly;
Let us go hence, friend, thou and I.
There must be many regions yet
Where these things make not desolate.'
He looked upon her seriously;
Then said: 'Arise and follow me.'
The path that lay before them was
Nigh covered over with long grass;
And many slimy things and slow
Trailed on between the roots below.
The moon looked dimmer than before;
And shadowy cloudlets floating o'er
Its face sometimes quite hid its light,
And filled the skies with deeper night.

At last, as they went on, the noise
Was heard of the sea's mighty voice;
And soon the ocean could be seen
In its long restlessness serene.
Upon its breast a vessel rode
That drowsily appeared to nod
As the great billows rose and fell,
And swelled to sink, and sank to swell.

Meanwhile the strong wind had come forth
From the chill regions of the North,
The mighty wind invisible.
And the low waves began to swell;
And the sky darkened overhead;
And the moon once looked forth, then fled
Behind dark clouds; while here and there
The lightning shone out in the air;
And the approaching thunder rolled
With angry pealings manifold.
How many vows were made, and prayers
That in safe times were cold and scarce.
Still all availed not; and at length
The waves arose in all their strength,
And fought against the ship, and filled
The ship. Then were the clouds unsealed,
And the rain hurried forth, and beat
On every side and over it.

Some clung together, and some kept
A long stern silence, and some wept.
Many half-crazed looked on in wonder
As the strong timbers rent asunder;
Friends forgot friends, foes fled to foes;—
And still the water rose and rose.

'Ah woe is me! Whom I have seen
Are now as tho' they had not been.
In the earth there is room for birth,
And there are graves enough in earth;
Why should the cold sea, tempest-torn,
Bury those whom it hath not borne?'

He answered not, and they went on.
The glory of the heavens was gone;
The moon gleamed not nor any star;
Cold winds were rustling near and far,
And from the trees the dry leaves fell
With a sad sound unspeakable.
The air was cold; till from the South
A gust blew hot, like sudden drouth,
Into their faces; and a light
Glowing and red, shone thro' the night.

A mighty city full of flame
And death and sounds without a name.
Amid the black and blinding smoke,
The people, as one man, awoke.
Oh! happy they who yesterday
On the long journey went away;
Whose pallid lips, smiling and chill,
While the flames scorch them smile on still;
Who murmur not; who tremble not
When the bier crackles fiery hot;
Who, dying, said in love's increase:
'Lord, let thy servant part in peace.'

Those in the town could see and hear
A shaded river flowing near;
The broad deep bed could hardly hold
Its plenteous waters calm and cold.
Was flame-wrapped all the city wall,
The city gates were flame-wrapped all.

What was man's strength, what puissance then?
Women were mighty as strong men.
Some knelt in prayer, believing still,
Resigned unto a righteous will,
Bowing beneath the chastening rod,
Lost to the world, but found of God.
Some prayed for friend, for child, for wife;
Some prayed for faith; some prayed for life;
While some, proud even in death, hope gone,
Steadfast and still, stood looking on.

'Death—death—oh! let us fly from death;
Where'er we go it followeth;
All these are dead; and we alone
Remain to weep for what is gone.
What is this thing? thus hurriedly
To pass into eternity;
To leave the earth so full of mirth;
To lose the profit of our birth;
To die and be no more; to cease,
Having numbness that is not peace.
Let us go hence; and, even if thus
Death everywhere must go with us,
Let us not see the change, but see
Those who have been or still shall be.'

He sighed and they went on together;
Beneath their feet did the grass wither;
Across the heaven high overhead
Dark misty clouds floated and fled;
And in their bosom was the thunder,
And angry lightnings flashed out under,
Forked and red and menacing;
Far off the wind was muttering;
It seemed to tell, not understood,
Strange secrets to the listening wood.

Upon its wings it bore the scent
Of blood of a great armament:
Then saw they how on either side
Fields were down-trodden far and wide.
That morning at the break of day
Two nations had gone forth to slay.

As a man soweth so he reaps.
The field was full of bleeding heaps;
Ghastly corpses of men and horses
That met death at a thousand sources;
Cold limbs and putrifying flesh;
Long love-locks clotted to a mesh
That stifled; stiffened mouths beneath
Staring eyes that had looked on death.

But these were dead: these felt no more
The anguish of the wounds they bore.
Behold, they shall not sigh again,
Nor justly fear, nor hope in vain.
What if none wept above them?—is
The sleeper less at rest for this?
Is not the young child's slumber sweet
When no man watcheth over it?
These had deep calm; but all around
There was a deadly smothered sound,
The choking cry of agony
From wounded men who could not die;
Who watched the black wing of the raven
Rise like a cloud 'twixt them and heaven,
And in the distance flying fast
Beheld the eagle come at last.

She knelt down in her agony:
'O Lord, it is enough,' said she:
'My heart's prayer putteth me to shame;
Let me return to whence I came.
Thou for who love's sake didst reprove,
Forgive me for the sake of love.'

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Lightning Strikes Twice

(murray, harris)
I feel the breeze on my face in expectance
Not very long before the storm reaches here
Off in the distance the lightning is flashing again
Feel something strong as the power draws near
Is it the rolling of thunder that scares you
Is it the crashing of clouds that hold fear
But all I know as I sit in a corner alone
It takes me back to my childhood again
And as I wait and I look for an answer
To all the things going round in my head
I ask myself could it be a disaster and when
Its maybe threatening to happen again
As the ominous light draws near
Theres a lone dog howls in the park
All the people hurry inside
As a lightning flash lights dark
The storm is nearly here
Only God will know
Youre sitting alone you watch
As the wind is blowing treetops
And the swaying rustling leaves
Plenty of time to perceive
As you wait for rain to fall
Only God knows
The whole sky glows
Maybe lightning strikes twice
Maybe lightning strikes twice

song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night

Earth! thou art lovely, when the sinking sun
Hath bathed the clouds in his departing flush,
And, with the moon-lit evening, hath begun
The voiceless, and yet spirit-calming hush,
That thrills around the heart, till tear-drops rush,
Unbidden and uncall'd for, to the eye;
When, save the music of the fountain's gush,
Or the far wailing of the night-bird's cry,
Unbroken silence hangs o'er earth, and wave, and sky.

But now the majesty of midnight storm
Is gathering, in its grandeur, o'er the sky;
The deep black clouds in mustering squadrons form,
And the low, fitful blast, that passes by,
Hath a strange fearful thrilling—like the sigh
Of a sick slumberer; even that hath died,
And in their quiet sleep the waters lie,
As though the winds ne'er curl'd them in its pride,
Or shook the still bent leaves that hang above the tide.

How steadily that ebon mass moves on!
Stretching across the sky in one dark line,
Like a huge wall of blackness; there do none
Of the thin silvery vapours hang supine,
Or those bright clouds that sometimes seem to twine
A coronal to grace the brow of night;
Stars in Orion's studded baldric shine,
In all their wonted brightness; and the light
Of an unclouded moon half dims the dazzled sight.

The tempest hurries onward—how the flash
Of the red lightning leaps from cloud to cloud!
The gathering thunder bursts in one wild crash,
And sinks a moment—then, returning loud,
Seems bounding o'er the sky, as if 't were proud
Of its own potency. We need not now,
A sharer in the thoughts that round us crowd;
The soul is its own world, and the deep glow
Of the rapt spirit seeks no fellowship below.

The wildness of the storm hath pass'd; the rain
Drips from the wet leaves only, and the sky,
With its deep azure beauty, gleams again
Through the rent clouds; the sunken wind swells by,
With a low sobbing; and the clouds, heap'd high,
With the rich moonbeams’ streaming flood of light
Pour'd full upon them, swell before the eye
Like distant snow-clad mountains. Night! O night!
Thou art most glorious! most beautifully bright!

poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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After a Tempest

The day had been a day of wind and storm;--
The wind was laid, the storm was overpast,--
And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last.
I stood upon the upland slope and cast
My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene,
Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,
And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green,
With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between.

The rain-drops glistened on the trees around,
Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred,
Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground,
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird;
For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard
About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung
And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward;
To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding clung,
And chirping from the ground the grasshopper upsprung.

And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry
Flew many a glittering insect here and there,
And darted up and down the butterfly,
That seemed a living blossom of the air.
The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where
The violent rain had pent them; in the way
Strolled groups of damsels frolicksome and fair;
The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay,
And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play.

It was a scene of peace--and, like a spell,
Did that serene and golden sunlight fall
Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell,
And precipice upspringing like a wall,
And glassy river and white waterfall,
And happy living things that trod the bright
And beauteous scene; while far beyond them all,
On many a lovely valley, out of sight,
Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light.

I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be,
When, o'er earth's continents and isles between,
The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea,
And married nations dwell in harmony;
When millions, crouching in the dust to one,
No more shall beg their lives on bended knee,
Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun
The o'erlabored captive toil, and wish his life were done.

Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers
And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast,
The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers
And ruddy fruits; but not for aye can last
The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past.
Lo, the clouds roll away--they break--they fly,
And, like the glorious light of summer, cast
O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky,
On all the peaceful world the smile of heaven shall lie.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In The Grass.

'Tis as if I saw it all — sat now in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat now in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
The two of them in the wood, below me there by the rill;
He with the light on his brow, she in the shadow still;
And a cloud so white goes over the blue on the gleaming hill.
My nest in the grass was good: they deemed that none might see —
Ah God in heaven! my eyes looked out of the hell in me,
As his arm went round her waist, and his lips where mine might be —
Touched hers, as her face drew up like a flower in the light to his —
Touched hers, as I felt her soul shine out in a dream of bliss;
While mine with the pangs of hell was alive in a world like this!
I dared not move, nor could I shut my eyes to it all;
And still they clung and kissed: I heard the waterfall,
I heard the warm wind sing till the day began to pall.
And then they rose, the twain who had taken my life from me;
I did not rise, but lay where none might hear or see,
In the grass in the dark and sobbed, 'Would God that the end might be!'
The years have come since then, and the years have gone but I,
Though the fever of death was strong upon me, did not die;
And though I am old and weak as upon my couch I lie,
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat still in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat still in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.

poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer Storm

We lay together in the sultry night.
A feeble light
From some invisible street-lamp crept
Into the corner where you slept;
Fingered your cheeks, flew softly round your hair,
Then dipped in the sweet valley of your breasts
And fluttered, like a bird between two nests,
Till it lay quiet there.
My eyes were closing and I may have dreamed--
At least it seemed
That you and I
Had ceased to be but were somehow
As earth and sky....

The night grew closer still, and now
Heat-lightnings played between us and warm thrills
Ran through the cool sides of the trembling hills.
Then darkness and a tension in the black
Hush like a breath held back;
A rippling through the ground, a windless breeze
That reached down to the sensitive roots of trees;
A tremor like the pulse of muffled knocks,
Or like the silent opening of locks ...
There was a rising of unfettered seas
With great tides pulling at the stars and rocks
As though to draw them all together.
Then in a burst of blinding weather,
The lightnings flung
Long, passionate arms about the earth that clung
To her wild lover.
Suddenly above her
The whole sky tumbled in a sweeping blaze,
Gathering earth in one tight-locked embrace,
Drenching her in a flood of silver flame.
Hot thunders came;
And still the storm kept plunging, seeking ever
The furthest cranny, till the faraway
Streams felt each penetrating quiver
And the most hidden river
Rose and became released....

At last the stabbings ceased,
The thunders died.
But still they lay
Side by side,
While the moonbeams crept
Into the heavenly corner where earth slept;
Dipping among her rosy hills, lighting above
Her curved and sloping hollows, till
She too was still.
Beloved and blest,
His cloudy head lay, seeking rest
In the sweet-smelling valley of her breast,
And each was huddled in each other's love;
Or so it seemed....
My eyes were closing and I may have dreamed.

poem by Louis Untermeyer
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Renascence

All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked the other way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I’d started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
Over these things I could not see:
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I’ll lie
And look my fill into the sky.
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And—sure enough!—I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I ’most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity
Came down and settled over me;
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence
But could not,—nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,—
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each,—then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.

Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more,—there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.

Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who’s six feet under ground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face:
A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me,
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you!
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free,
Washing my grave away from me!

I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string
Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!
Before the wild wind’s whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things;
A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealèd sight,
And all at once the heavy night
Fell from my eyes and I could see,—
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—
I know not how such things can be!—
I breathed my soul back into me.
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e’er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day;
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,—
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.

poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mask of My Heart

As the cloud went to black
We lost our way back
As the sun set to night
No smiles of something bright

Lonely the moon bounced the starlight
When blood became cold as frostbite
Bleeding inside till black from red
Let the honesty fainted bed

They broke words of silent voices
Without harm with many chances
Never to see the truth
Nor then to face the truth

All remained invisible sight
Black blocked the white to face to light
Broken the heart of smiling face
When sense was gone no eyes to gaze

It turned into the silent noise
Black without smile and cheer but voice
Whispering tears dropped inside heart
It hurt it broke Mask of my heart

poem by Vidi Pudinkz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rising Of The Storm

THE lake's dark breast
Is all unrest,
It heaves with a sob and a sigh.
Like a tremulous bird,
From its slumber stirred,
The moon is a-tilt in the sky.
From the silent deep
The waters sweep,
But faint on the cold white stones,
And the wavelets fly
With a plaintive cry
O'er the old earth's bare, bleak bones.
And the spray upsprings
On its ghost-white wings,
And tosses a kiss at the stars;
While a water-sprite,
In sea-pearls dight,
Hums a sea-hymn's solemn bars.
Far out in the night,
On the wavering sight
I see a dark hull loom;
And its light on high,
Like a Cyclops' eye,
Shines out through the mist and gloom.
Now the winds well up
From the earth's deep cup,
And fall on the sea and shore,
And against the pier
The waters rear
And break with a sullen roar.
Up comes the gale,
And the mist-wrought veil
Gives way to the lightning's glare,
And the cloud-drifts fall,
A sombre pall,
O'er water, earth, and air.
The storm-king flies,
His whip he plies,
And bellows down the wind.
The lightning rash
With blinding flash
Comes pricking on behind.
Rise, waters, rise,
And taunt the skies
With your swift-flitting form.
Sweep, wild winds, sweep,
And tear the deep
To atoms in the storm.
And the waters leapt,
And the wild winds swept,
And blew out the moon in the sky,
And I laughed with glee,
It was joy to me
As the storm went raging by!

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rain To Remember!

Rain lashed out with lightning and thunder!
For every lightning phone also rang without fail!
It continued till I switched off light and went to bed!

Next day morning some death news due to lightning came!
Storm has dissipated but rain lashed now and then;
It's raining time nothing can stop it from falling!

Today there is complete silence prevailing!
Night is cold and wind has stopped after evening
Yet rain warning is given and is expected for 24 hours!

The summer drought without rain is causing so heavy rain now!
Farming fields without rain crops are waiting for rain
A week's rain at least will make it okay now!

When there is no rain we cry for it and when it is there we don't want
Whether we say this or that rain will do the best it can when it comes!

poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stillness Of The Night

Midnight on the hill I heard the thunder fill
The stillness of the night
It hit me like a slap, youre never comin back
From the stillness of the night
It was never black or white, neither wrong or right
Like the shadow of a full moons light
I knew wed lost the track, when I heard the lightning crack
The stillness of the night
Chorus
In the stillness of the night
Thats when well make it right
We can stop the thunder till the light
In the stillness of the night
I know you think you hear, those voices in your ear
In the stillness of the night
But Ive tried to make it clear theres nothing left to fear
Just the stillness of the night
And if you listen hard you might find the reason for your fright
Just the wind is high tonight
And the danger we must face is the anger of this race
In the stillness of the night
Chorus

song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Storm In Summer

Nature that day a woman was in weakness,
A woman in her impotent high wrath.
At the dawn we watched it, a low cloud half seen
Under the sun; an innocent child's face
It seemed to us rose--red and fringed with light
Boding no hurt, a pure translucent cloud,
Deep in the East where the Sun's disk began.
We did not guess what strengths in it were pent,
What terrors of rebellion. An hour more,
And it had gathered volume and the form
Of a dark mask, the she--wolf's of old Rome,
The ears, the brow, the cold unpitying eyes,
Through which gleams flashed. And, as we watched, the roll
Of thunder from a red throat muttering
Gave menace of the wild beast close at hand.
Anon a wall of darkness in the South
Black to the Zenith, and a far--off wail,
The wind among the trees.--And then, behold,
Flying before it a mad clamorous rout
Of peewits, starlings, hawks, crows, dishwashers,
Blackbirds and jays, by hundreds, scattering,
While the Earth trembled holding as it were its breath;
Till suddenly an answer from the ground,
And the fields shook and a new mighty roar
Crashed through the oaks, and in a pent--up flow
The storm's rage broke in thunder overhead,
And all the anger of the passionate heaven
Burst into tears.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rainy Day

On the summit the sun was shining,
And whosoever dared to get outside,
The sun burnt one and fainted by scorching,
And his impact stretched to the world wide,
From the sun, everyone was seeking leisure,
And wished to get in the cloudy pleasure.

In haste the wind came to the cloud,
And against the sun, they conspired,
And were keen to cow down his proud,
To all the vapours, the wind conspired,
Bewildered I turned my head up and ken,
The weather changed at all of sudden.

All the clouds made a ceiling before the blue surface,
And the puzzled sun went behind,
And till the dark night showed not his face,
Then the sky seemed really blind,
The lovely, lovely sweet wind blew,
And it began drizzling like dew.

With lightening and thunder it began to rain,
A moment passed, it became like a curtain,
And was alive every dead creature on the land,
Enjoyed all in the ocean and on the sand,
All of them thanked to their kind God,
And began singing hymn of their Lord.

poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Follow (I Am The Flute)

i follow...
the hoot of the owl,
the smoke that leads
to the fire.
the hollow of the hand,
to the hard and the soft.
the salt of the sea
to the dark and murky unknown.
the erection and the breast,
to the womb that creates.
lightning to the thunder,
and thunder to lightning.
the hammer to the nail,
the bullet through the barrel.
the spirit through the book,
back to the tree in the forest.
the body to the grave,
the universe back to dust.
i follow...
the sound of the flute,
till i come to see...
that i follow nothing,
and no one at all!
for i am the path,
and the feet that walk.
i am the flute,
the sound and the lips.
i am the breath,
the desire, and the vision...
for i am no one,
and nothing at all!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Serenade At The Villa

I.

That was I, you heard last night,
When there rose no moon at all,
Nor, to pierce the strained and tight
Tent of heaven, a planet small:
Life was dead and so was light.

II.

Not a twinkle from the fly,
Not a glimmer from the worm;
When the crickets stopped their cry,
When the owls forbore a term,
You heard music; that was I.

III.

Earth turned in her sleep with pain,
Sultrily suspired for proof:
In at heaven and out again,
Lightning!---where it broke the roof,
Bloodlike, some few drops of rain.

IV.

What they could my words expressed,
O my love, my all, my one!
Singing helped the verses best,
And when singing's best was done,
To my lute I left the rest.

V.

So wore night; the East was gray,
White the broad-faced hemlock-flowers:
There would be another day;
Ere its first of heavy hours
Found me, I had passed away.

VI.

What became of all the hopes,
Words and song and lute as well?
Say, this struck you---``When life gropes
``Feebly for the path where fell
``Light last on the evening slopes,

VII.

``One friend in that path shall be,
``To secure my step from wrong;
``One to count night day for me,
``Patient through the watches long,
``Serving most with none to see.''

VIII.

Never say---as something bodes---
``So, the worst has yet a worse!
``When life halts 'neath double loads,
``Better the taskmaster's curse
``Than such music on the roads!

IX.

``When no moon succeeds the sun,
``Nor can pierce the midnight's tent
``Any star, the smallest one,
``While some drops, where lightning rent,
``Show the final storm begun---

X.

``When the fire-fly hides its spot,
``When the garden-voices fail
``In the darkness thick and hot,---
``Shall another voice avail,
``That shape be where these are not?

XI.

``Has some plague a longer lease,
``Proffering its help uncouth?
``Can't one even die in peace?
``As one shuts one's eyes on youth,
``Is that face the last one sees?''

XII.

Oh how dark your villa was,
Windows fast and obdurate!
How the garden grudged me grass
Where I stood---the iron gate
Ground its teeth to let me pass!

poem by Robert Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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