En.Citatepedia^®.ro

For “The Wine Of Circle” By Edward Burne Jones

DUSK-HAIRED and gold-robed o'er the golden wine
She stoops, wherein, distilled of death and shame,
Sink the black drops; while, lit with fragrant flame,
Round her spread board the golden sunflowers shine.
Doth Helios here with Hecaté combine
(O Circe, thou their votaress!) to proclaim
For these thy guests all rapture in Love's name,
Till pitiless Night give Day the countersign?
Lords of their hour, they come. And by her knee
Those cowering beasts, their equals heretofore,
Wait; who with them in new equality
To-night shall echo back the sea's dull roar
With a vain wail from passion's tide-strown shore
Where the dishevelled seaweed hates the sea.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of Life: 71. The Choice, I

Eat thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Surely the earth, that's wise being very old,
Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold
Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I
May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high,
Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold.
We'll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll'd,
Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky.

Now kiss, and think that there are really those,
My own high-bosom'd beauty, who increase
Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way!
Through many years they toil; then on a day
They die not,--for their life was death,--but cease;
And round their narrow lips the mould falls close.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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LXXI The Choice, I

Eat thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Surely the earth, that's wise being very old,
Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold
Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I
May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high,
Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold.
We'll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll'd,
Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky.

Now kiss, and think that there are really those,
My own high-bosom'd beauty, who increase
Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way!
Through many years they toil; then on a day
They die not,--for their life was death,--but cease;
And round their narrow lips the mould falls close.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Gold

We rovers bold,
To the land of Gold,
Over the bowling billows are gliding:
Eager to toil,
For the golden spoil,
And every hardship biding.
See! See!
Before our prows' resistless dashes
The gold-fish fly in golden flashes!
'Neath a sun of gold,
We rovers bold,
On the golden land are gaining;
And every night,
We steer aright,
By golden stars unwaning!
All fires burn a golden glare:
No locks so bright as golden hair!
All orange groves have golden gushings;
All mornings dawn with golden flushings!
In a shower of gold, say fables old,
A maiden was won by the god of gold!
In golden goblets wine is beaming:
On golden couches kings are dreaming!
The Golden Rule dries many tears!
The Golden Number rules the spheres!
Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations:
Gold! gold! the center of all rotations!
On golden axles worlds are turning:
With phosphorescence seas are burning!
All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings!
Gold-hunters' hearts with golden dreamings!
With golden arrows kings are slain:
With gold we'll buy a freeman's name!
In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings,
At home we've slaved, with stifled yearnings:
No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe!
When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow.
But joyful now, with eager eye,
Fast to the Promised Land we fly:
Where in deep mines,
The treasure shines;
Or down in beds of golden streams,
The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams!
How we long to sift,
That yellow drift!
Rivers! Rivers! cease your goings!
Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide!
'Till we've gained the golden flowing;
And in the golden haven ride!

poem by Herman Melville
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Sonnets LLXXI:LXXII:LXXIII: The Choice

I
Eat thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Surely the earth, that's wise being very old,
Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold
Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I
May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high,
Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold.
We'll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll'd,
Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky.
Now kiss, and think that there are really those,
My own high-bosomed beauty, who increase
Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way!
Through many years they toil; then on a day
They die not,—for their life was death,—but cease;
And round their narrow lips the mould falls close.

II
Watch thou and fear; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Or art thou sure thou shalt have time for death?
Is not the day which God's word promiseth
To come man knows not when? In yonder sky,
Now while we speak, the sun speeds forth: can I
Or thou assure him of his goal? God's breath
Even at this moment haply quickeneth
The air to a flame; till spirits, always nigh
Though screened and hid, shall walk the daylight here.
And dost thou prate of all that man shall do?
Canst thou, who hast but plagues, presume to be
Glad in his gladness that comes after thee?
Will his strength slay thy worm in Hell? Go to:
Cover thy countenance, and watch, and fear.

III
Think thou and act; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Outstretched in the sun's warmth upon the shore,
Thou say'st: “Man's measured path is all gone o'er:
Up all his years, steeply, with strain and sigh,
Man clomb until he touched the truth; and I,
Even I, am he whom it was destined for.”
How should this be? Art thou then so much more
Than they who sowed, that thou shouldst reap thereby?
Nay, come up hither. From this wave-washed mound
Unto the furthest flood-brim look with me;
Then reach on with thy thought till it be drown'd.
Miles and miles distant though the last line be,
And though thy soul sail leagues and leagues beyond,—
Still, leagues beyond those leagues, there is more sea.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Prologue from Preparatory Meditations Before My Approach to The Lord's Supper

Lord, can a crumb of dust the earth outweigh,
Outmatch all mountains, nay the crystal sky?
Imbosom in't designs that shall display
And trace into the boundless deity?
Yea, hand a pen whose moisture doth gild o'er
Eternal glory with a glorious glore.

If it is pen had of an angel's quill,
And sharpened on a precious stone ground tight,
And dipped in liquid gold, and moved by skill
In crystal leaves should golden letters write,
It would but blot and blur, yea, jag and jar,
Unless Thou mak'st the pen and scribener.

I am this crumb of dust which is designed
To make my pen unto Thy praise alone,
And my dull fancy I would gladly grind
Unto an edge on Zion's precious stone;
And write in liquid gold upon Thy name
My letters till Thy glory forth doth flame.

Let not th' attempts break down my dust I pray,
Nor laugh Thou them to scorn, but pardon give.
Inspire this crumb of dust till it display
Thy glory through't: and then Thy dust shall live.
Its failings then Thou'lt overlook, I trust,
They being slips slipped from Thy crumb of dust.

Thy crumb of dust breathes two words from its breast,
That Thou wilt guide its pen to write aright
To prove Thou art and that Thou art the best
And shew Thy prosperties to shine most bright.
And then Thy works will shine as flowers on stems
Or as in jewelary shops do gems.

poem by Edward Taylor
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The Ringlet

'Your ringlets, your ringlets,
That look so golden-gay,
If you will give me one, but one,
To kiss it night and day,
The never chilling touch of Time
Will turn it silver-gray;
And then shall I know it is all true gold
To flame and sparkle and stream as of old.
Till all the comets in heaven are cold,
And all her stars decay.'
'Then take it, love, and put it by;
This cannot change, nor yet can I.'

'My ringlet, my ringlet,
That art so golden-gay,
Now never chilling touch of Time
Can turn thee silver-gray;
And a lad may wink, and a girl may hint,
And a fool may say his say;
For my doubts and fears were all amiss,
And I swear henceforth by this and this,
That a doubt will only come for a kiss,
And a fear to be kiss'd away.'
'Then kiss it, love, and put it by:
If this can change, why so can I.'

O Ringlet, O Ringlet,
I kiss'd you night and day,
And Ringlet, O Ringlet,
You still are golden-gay,
But Ringlet, O Ringlet,
You should be silver-gray:
For what is this which now I'm told,
I that took you for true gold,
She that gave you 's bought and sold,
Sold, sold.

O Ringlet, O Ringlet,
She blush'd a rosy red,
When Ringlet, O Ringlet
She clipt you from her head,
And Ringlet, O Ringlet,
She gave you me, and said,
'Come, kiss it, love and put it by:
If this can change, why so can I.'
O fie, you golden nothing, fie,
You golden lie.

O Ringlet, O Ringlet,
I count you much to blame,
For Ringlet, O Ringlet,
You put me much to shame,
So Ringlet, O Ringlet,
I doom you to the flame.
For what is this which now I learn,
Has given all my faith a turn?
Burn, you glossy heretic, burn,
Burn, burn.

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Pirate's Bride

Sometimes in the light at the edge of the world
Is the ghost of a ship with it's black sail furled
And night after night she would stand on the shore
And dream of the love that she knew before
The tide rolls out, the tide rolls in
Without a thought for the ways of men
We set sail for the Spanish Main
To rob the ships of the Queen of Spain
And she would be his pirate's bride
She gave him the pistol and the sword at his side
The tide rolls out, the tide rolls in
Without a care for the ways of men
I'd give three ships of Spanish gold
To see my love again
Full fathom five my true love lies
In a fine wooden casket with gold on his eyes
Where is the glory and where is the pride?
Where is the joy for the pirate's bride?
The tide rolls out, the tide rolls in
Without a care for the ways of men
Here in the light at the edge of the world
He'd wait for a ship with it's black sail furled
And day after day he would stand on the shore
And dream of the life that they knew before
The tide rolls out, the tide rolls in
Without a care for the ways of men
I'd give three ships of Spanish gold
To see my love again

song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas treasures

I count my treasures o'er with care.--
The little toy my darling knew,
A little sock of faded hue,
A little lock of golden hair.

Long years ago this holy time,
My little one--my all to me--
Sat robed in white upon my knee
And heard the merry Christmas chime.

"Tell me, my little golden-head,
If Santa Claus should come to-night,
What shall he bring my baby bright,--
What treasure for my boy?" I said.

And then he named this little toy,
While in his round and mournful eyes
There came a look of sweet surprise,
That spake his quiet, trustful joy.

And as he lisped his evening prayer
He asked the boon with childish grace;
Then, toddling to the chimney-place,
He hung this little stocking there.

That night, while lengthening shadows crept,
I saw the white-winged angels come
With singing to our lowly home
And kiss my darling as he slept.

They must have heard his little prayer,
For in the morn, with rapturous face,
He toddled to the chimney-place,
And found this little treasure there.

They came again one Christmas-tide,--
That angel host, so fair and white!
And singing all that glorious night,
They lured my darling from my side.

A little sock, a little toy,
A little lock of golden hair,
The Christmas music on the air,
A watching for my baby boy!

But if again that angel train
And golden-head come back for me,
To bear me to Eternity,
My watching will not be in vain!

1879.

poem by Eugene Field
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The lost lagoon

It is dusk on the Lost Lagoon,
And we two dreaming the dusk away,
Beneath the drift of a twilight grey,
Beneath the drowse of an ending day,
And the curve of a golden moon.

It is dark in the Lost Lagoon,
And gone are the depths of haunting blue,
The grouping gulls, and the old canoe,
The singing firs, and the dusk and--you,
And gone is the golden moon.

O! lure of the Lost Lagoon,--
I dream to-night that my paddle blurs
The purple shade where the seaweed stirs,
I hear the call of the singing firs
In the hush of the golden moon.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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The Golden Wedding Of Sterling And Sarah Lanier, September 27, 1868.

By the Eldest Grandson.

A rainbow span of fifty years,
Painted upon a cloud of tears,
In blue for hopes and red for fears,
Finds end in a golden hour to-day.
Ah, YOU to our childhood the legend told,
'At the end of the rainbow lies the gold,'
And now in our thrilling hearts we hold
The gold that never will pass away.

Gold crushed from the quartz of a crystal life,
Gold hammered with blows of human strife,
Gold burnt in the love of man and wife,
Till it is pure as the very flame:
Gold that the miser will not have,
Gold that is good beyond the grave,
Gold that the patient and the brave
Amass, neglecting praise and blame.

O golden hour that caps the time
Since, heart to heart like rhyme to rhyme,
You stood and listened to the chime
Of inner bells by spirits rung,
That tinkled many a secret sweet
Concerning how two souls should meet,
And whispered of Time's flying feet
With a most piquant silver tongue.

O golden day, -- a golden crown
For the kingly heads that bowed not down
To win a smile or 'scape a frown,
Except the smile and frown of Heaven!
Dear heads, still dark with raven hair;
Dear hearts, still white in spite of care;
Dear eyes, still black and bright and fair
As any eyes to mortals given!

Old parents of a restless race,
You miss full many a bonny face
That would have smiled a filial grace
Around your Golden Wedding wine.
But God is good and God is great.
His will be done, if soon or late.
Your dead stand happy in yon Gate
And call you blessed while they shine.

So, drop the tear and dry the eyes.
Your rainbow glitters in the skies.
Here's golden wine: young, old, arise:
With cups as full as our souls, we say:
'Two Hearts, that wrought with smiles through tears
This rainbow span of fifty years,
Behold how true, true love appears
True gold for your Golden Wedding day!'

poem by Sidney Lanier
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The Guests

One by one, the guests arrive
The guests are coming through
The open-hearted many
The broken-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going
And no one knows why the wine is flowing
Oh love I need you
I need you
I need you
I need you
Oh . . . I need you now
And those who dance, begin to dance
Those who weep begin
And welcome, welcome cries a voice
Let all my guests come in.
And no one knows where the night is going ...
And all go stumbling through that house
In lonely secrecy
Saying do reveal yourself
Or why has thou forsaken me?
And no one knows where the night is going ...
All at once the torches flare
The inner door flies open
One by one they enter there
In every style of passion
And no one knows where the night is going ...
And here they take their sweet repast
While house and grounds dissolve
And one by one the guests are cast
Beyond the garden wall
And no one knows where the night is going ...
Those who dance, begin to dance
Those who weep begin
Those who earnestly are lost
Are lost and lost again
And no one knows where the night is going ...
One by the guests arrive
The guests are coming through
The broken-hearted many
The open-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going ...

song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One More Night

No jacket required, 1985
One more night, one more night
Ive been trying ooh so long to let you know
Let you know how I feel
And if I stumble if I fall, just help me back
So I can make you see
Please give me one more night, give me one more night
One more night cos I cant wait forever
Give me just one more night, oh just one more night
Oh one more night cos I cant wait forever
Ive been sitting here so long
Wasting time, just staring at the phone
And I was wondering should I call you
Then I thought maybe youre not alone
Please give me one more night, give me just one more night
Oh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
Please give me one more night, ooh just one more night
Oh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
Give me one more night, give me just one more night
Ooh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
Like a river to the sea
I will always be with you
And if you sail away
I will follow you
Give me one more night, give me just one more night
Oh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
I know therell never be a time youll ever feel the same
And I know its only words
But if you change your mind you know that Ill be here
And maybe we both can learn
Give me just one more night, give me just one more night
Ooh one more night, cos I cant wait forever
Give me just one more night, give me just one more night
Ooh one more night, cos I cant wait forever

song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Agnes And The Hill-Man

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH.

Agnes went through the meadows a-weeping,
Fowl are a-singing.
There stood the hill-man heed thereof keeping.
Agnes, fair Agnes!
“Come to the hill, fair Agnes, with me,
The reddest of gold will I give unto thee!”

Twice went Agnes the hill round about,
Then wended within, left the fair world without.

In the hillside bode Agnes, three years thrice told o’er,
For the green earth sithence fell she longing full sore.

There she sat, and lullaby sang in her singing,
And she heard how the bells of England were ringing.

Agnes before her true-love did stand:
“May I wend to the church of the English Land?”

“To England’s Church well mayst thou be gone,
So that no hand thou lay the red gold upon.

“So that when thou art come the churchyard anear
Thou cast not abroad thy golden hair.

“So that when thou standest the church within
To thy mother on bench thou never win.

“So that when thou hearest the high God’s name,
No knee unto earth thou bow to the same.”

Hand she laid on all gold that was there,
And cast abroad her golden hair.

And when the church she stood within
To her mother on bench straight did she win.

And when she heard the high God’s name,
Knee unto earth she bowed to the same.

When all the mass was sung to its end
Home with her mother dear did she wend.

“Come, Agnes, into the hillside to me,
For thy seven small sons greet sorely for thee!”

“Let them greet, let them greet, as they have will to do;
For never again will I hearken thereto!”

Weird laid he on her, sore sickness he wrought,
Fowl are a-singing.
That self-same hour to death was she brought.
Agnes, fair Agnes!

poem by William Morris
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When red the wine

When red the wine
fills the glass
to its brim,
with sparkling shine
and taste sublime

and candles flicker
in the dark
and soft hands entwine
around mine,

I see the blush
upon your cheek
and the words you speak
sounds like a murmur
in my ear.

There are stars that shine
in the night
but your golden eyes
are much more bright.

Later as passion
gets a life of its own
rapture fills the body,
mind and soul

and I thank Him
that made you mine
and blessed by planting
the first vine.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Trio

We love but once. The great gold orb of light
From dawn to eventide doth cast his ray;
But the full splendour of his perfect might
Is reached but once throughout the live-long day.

We love but once. The waves, with ceaseless motion,
Do day and night plash on the pebbled shore;
But the strong tide of the resistless ocean
Sweeps in but one hour of the twenty-four.

We love but once. A score of times, perchance,
We may be moved in fancy’s fleeting fashion –
May treasure up a word, a tone, a glance,
But only once we feel the soul’s great passion.

We love but once. Love walks with death and birth
(The saddest, the unkindest of the three):
And only once while we sojourn on earth
Can that strange trio come to you or me.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Two Spirits: An Allegory

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

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

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

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

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

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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After Death

THE FOUR boards of the coffin lid
Heard all the dead man did.

The first curse was in his mouth,
Made of grave’s mould and deadly drouth.

The next curse was in his head,
Made of God’s work discomfited.

The next curse was in his hands,
Made out of two grave-bands.

The next curse was in his feet,
Made out of a grave-sheet.

“I had fair coins red and white,
And my name was as great light;

I had fair clothes green and red,
And strong gold bound round my head.

But no meat comes in my mouth,
Now I fare as the worm doth;

And no gold binds in my hair,
Now I fare as the blind fare.

My live thews were of great strength,
Now am I waxen a span’s length;

My live sides were full of lust,
Now are they dried with dust.”

The first board spake and said:
“Is it best eating flesh or bread?”

The second answered it:
“Is wine or honey the more sweet?”

The third board spake and said:
“Is red gold worth a girl’s gold head?”

The fourth made answer thus:
“All these things are as one with us.”

The dead man asked of them:
“Is the green land stained brown with flame?

Have they hewn my son for beasts to eat,
And my wife’s body for beasts’ meat?

Have they boiled my maid in a brass pan,
And built a gallows to hang my man?”

The boards said to him:
“This is a lewd thing that ye deem.

Your wife has gotten a golden bed,
All the sheets are sewn with red.

Your son has gotten a coat of silk,
The sleeves are soft as curded milk.

Your maid has gotten a kirtle new,
All the skirt has braids of blue.

Your man has gotten both ring and glove,
Wrought well for eyes to love.”

The dead man answered thus:
“What good gift shall God give us?”

The boards answered him anon:
“Flesh to feed hell’s worm upon.”

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Some Sin For Nothing

(A. Young M. Young B. Johnson)
Heroes
Hard to find
Don't make the news till they're doing time
Schemers
Turn the screw
They get the word and they drop on you
Lay down the law
Black up the night
Run up a score
The vice is right
Dealers looking 'round
Wheel is turning round
Coming round on you
Some sin for gold, some sin for shame
Some sin for cash, some sin for gain
Some sin for wine, some sin for pain
But I ain't gonna be the fool who's gonna have to
Sin for nothin'
Nothing at all
Nero
Evil mind
He was born way before his time
Heat on
Down below
You get it right and away you go
You gotta
Lay down the rules
Push up the price
Turn on the heat
Put you on ice
Dealers looking 'round
Wheel is turning round
Coming round for you
Some sin for gold, some sin for shame
Some sin for cash, some sin for gain
Some sin for wine, some sin for pain
But I ain't gonna be the fool who's gonna have to
Sin for nothin'
Some sin for gold, some sin for shame
Some sin for cash, some sin for gain
Some sin for wine, some sin for pain
But I ain't gonna be the fool
Who's gonna have to sin for nothin'
Ain't gonna sin for nothin'
You get nothing for nothing
Ain't gonna sin for nothin'
It don't make no sense

song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Me Thy Heart

Give me thy heart, I leave thee mine;
But oh! till next our pulses meet,
May my fond spirit round thee shine,
Absorb thy soul and guide thy feet,
And then no more my passion pine,
My bosom idly beat.

I have thy pledge, yet take it back
If ever for a moment thou
In sweet resolve shouldst prove less slack
Than I, at parting, leave thee now.
Love's steady light must mark our track,
And not a flickering vow.

But if, when, past this parting ache,
I gaze upon thy face once more,
Thou still Love's burning thirst wouldst slake,
Still to Love's topmost heights wouldst soar;
Oh! then my life's full tide shall break
On thee, as on its shore.

poem by Alfred Austin
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Whitsunday

Listen sweet Dove unto my song,
And spread thy golden wings in me;
Hatching my tender heart so long,
Till it get wing, and fly away with thee.

Where is that fire which once descended
On thy Apostles? thou didst then
Keep open house, richly attended,
Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men.

Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow,
That th'earth did like a heav'n appear;
The stars were coming down to know
If they might mend their wages, and serve here.

The sun which once did shine alone,
Hung down his head, and wisht for night,
When he beheld twelve suns for one
Going about the world, and giving light.

But since those pipes of gold, which brought
That cordial water to our ground,
Were cut and martyr'd by the fault
Of those, who did themselves through their side wound,

Thou shutt'st the door, and keep'st within;
Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink:
And if the braves of conqu'ring sin
Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink.

Lord, though we change, thou art the same;
The same sweet God of love and light:
Restore this day, for thy great name,
Unto his ancient and miraculous right.

poem by George Herbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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