Sonnet XCVI: Life the Beloved
As thy friend's face, with shadow of soul o'erspread,
Somewhile unto thy sight perchance hath been
Ghastly and strange, yet never so is seen
In thought, but to all fortunate favour wed;
As thy love's death-bound features never dead
To memory's glass return, but contravene
Frail fugitive days, and alway keep, I ween,
Than all new life a livelier lovelihead:—
So Life herself, thy spirit's friend and love,
Even still as Spring's authentic harbinger
Glows with fresh hours for hope to glorify;
Though pale she lay when in the winter grove
Her funeral flowers were snow-flakes shed on her
And the red wings of frost-fire rent the sky.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Forever
THOSE we love truly never die,
Though year by year the sad memorial wreath,
A ring and flowers, types of life and death,
Are laid upon their graves.
For death the pure life saves,
And life all pure is love; and love can reach
From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach
Than those by mortals read.
Well blest is he who has a dear one dead:
A friend he has whose face will never change—
A dear communion that will not grow strange;
The anchor of a love is death.
The blessed sweetness of a loving breath
Will reach our cheek all fresh through weary years.
For her who died long since, ah! waste not tears,
She's thine unto the end.
Thank God for one dead friend,
With face still radiant with the light of truth,
Whose love comes laden with the scent of youth,
Through twenty years of death.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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On Receiving News of the War
Snow is a strange white word.
No ice or frost
Has asked of bud or bird
For Winter's cost.
Yet ice and frost and snow
From earth to sky
This Summer land doth know.
No man knows why.
In all men's hearts it is.
Some spirit old
Hath turned with malign kiss
Our lives to mould.
Red fangs have torn His face.
God's blood is shed.
He mourns from His lone place
His children dead.
O! ancient crimson curse!
Corrode, consume.
Give back this universe
Its pristine bloom.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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November
Old November, sere and brown,
Clothes the country, haunts the town,
Sheds its cloak of withered leaves,
Brings its sighing, soughing breeze.
Prophet of the dying year,
Builder of its funeral bier,
Bring your message here to men;
Sound it forth that they may ken
What of Life and what of Death
Linger on your frosty breath.
Let men know to you are given
Days of thanks to God in heaven;
Thanks for things which we deem best,
Thanks, O God, for all the rest
That have taught us--(trouble, strife,
Bring thru Death a larger life)--
Death of our base self and fear--
(Even as the dying year,
Though through cold and frost, shall bring
Forth a new and glorious spring)--
Shall shed over us the sway
Of a new and brighter day,
With Hope, Faith and Love alway.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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Your Uniqueness Meets My Need
Only I…find less comfort in just me
The likes of me ends former me
Because I desire a brand-new-me
Dissimilar…there's none like you
Strange [er] I know not you, you know not me
yet we behave as two do
Unique…others before I didn't get
But when we meet, so did our eyes
then conspired to equalize
Now, I'm placing my bet
Unknown …oh how mysterious
But if you're love, then both know
Your uniqueness meet my needs
Poet-ess has needs as well
Allow me to dip into that well,
and draw from my muse
My friend [s] ride the tides of love,
Abide the rising snow crest and
Be an emblem of love and dove
Brush your brunt hair waving
and blowing back.
Seem like this is the time.
Shhh, free wave over wave
rise and fall into future's arm…
Dedicated to Patricia Dick-Arnell, my friend and confidant,
My first poem was inspired by you: "The Game Of Love"
Happy springtime to you…the dark days of winter gives way to a new
Beginning For a fresh and pleasant time in life [so too dark days
Are necessary for us to know the light]
Congratulation! I hope love flourishes
And grow like beautiful flowers in spring.
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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The Winter Nosegay
What Nature, alas! has denied
To the delicate growth of our isle,
Art has in a measure supplied,
And winter is deck’d with a smile.
See, Mary, what beauties I bring
From the shelter of that sunny shed,
Where the flowers have the charms of the spring,
Though abroad they are frozen and dead.
'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets,
Where Flora is still in her prime,
A fortress to which she retreats
From the cruel assaults of the clime.
While earth wears a mantle of snow,
These pinks are as fresh and as gay
As the fairest and sweetest that blow
On the beautiful bosom of May.
See how they have safely survived
The frowns of a sky so severe;
Such Mary’s true love, that has lived
Through many a turbulent year.
The charms of the late-blowing rose
Seem graced with a livelier hue;
And the winter of sorrow best shows
The truth of a friend such as you.
poem by William Cowper
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The Winter's Spring
The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
poem by John Clare
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A Friend LikeYou
A friend like you is like no other friend
A friend like you is a friend I don't regret meeting
A friend like you is like a friend I can't scream at or fight with
A friend like you is like having no worries in my life
A friend like you is a friend that I don't want to lose
A friend like you is like being in comfort all day
A friend like you is a friend I always wanted
A friend like you is awesomely awesome
A friend like you is random and funny
A friend like you is a friend that I love to death and I will never let go
A friend like you is a friend I can tell all my secrets to
A friend like you..
A friend like you is like the little sister I've always wanted
A friend that I can go to tell them what's wrong
A friend like you is like having no dark days because you brighten them up
A friend like you is a friend that opens up my eyes and helps me avoid bad things
A friend like you is a type of friend that laughs at dumb things I say or do
A friend like you is a friend I am proud to call my best friend...
poem by Shubham Kumar
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Cora
Of Cora, once so dearly ours,
Would mournful memory sing;
Of how she came when came the flowers,
To leave us with the spring.
That day (returned) which gave her breath
Was that whereon she died,
And o’er the pangs of birth and death
Passed blooming as a bride.
The spring it came, with never a storm,
And nine times came and went,
Till its whole spirit with her form
In budding beauty blent.
Yea, till its sentiment was wreathed
About her eye it came,
And all its foregone influence breathed
At mention of her name.
And aye her soul, her inward worth,
Flushed out in subtle glows,
As from its heart come mantling forth
The ardours of a rose.
It was a glory from within
That made her face so fair,
A radiant spirit void of sin
Was working outward there.
Her locks as they were burnished shone
In many a massy fold,
Or fell in their profusion down
Like bursting sheaves of gold.
Bright garments of a spirit bright,
That even in the shroud
Were like the sunset’s aureate light
Within a lifeless cloud.
When she, our angel of the sun,
Had spread her wings in flight,
Ah, still would mournful memory sing
Of her, our lost delight!
Child with full orbs of heaven-deep blue
Illumined violet,
So richly gentle—touched with dew,
Befringed with glossy jet.
When with the spring we saw depart
Those eyes, those tresses curled,
Then summer dying in love’s heart,
To winger left the world.
Ah, soul that wore the snowy brow,
And gentle shining eyes,
Our song hath aye this burden now
Beneath the vernal skies.
In vain the dews of heaven are shed
Where blight hath been before;
So vainly weep we o’er the dead,
But only weep the more.
Yet from the bright time of her birth
And death, does faith construe
How, like the spring, though not on earth,
Our joy shall bloom anew.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Friends Departed
They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling'ring here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's remove.
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days:
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have show'd them me,
To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the Just,
Shining nowhere, but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.
And yet as Angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
If a star were confin'd into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that lock'd her up gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under Thee!
Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass:
Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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Beyond The Veil
They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling'ring here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's remove.
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days:
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have show'd them me,
To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the Just,
Shining nowhere, but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.
And yet as Angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
If a star were confin'd into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that lock'd her up gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under Thee!
Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass:
Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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They are all Gone into the World of Light
1 They are all gone into the world of light!
2 And I alone sit ling'ring here;
3 Their very memory is fair and bright,
4 And my sad thoughts doth clear.
5 It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
6 Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
7 Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest,
8 After the sun's remove.
9 I see them walking in an air of glory,
10 Whose light doth trample on my days:
11 My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
12 Mere glimmering and decays.
13 O holy Hope! and high Humility,
14 High as the heavens above!
15 These are your walks, and you have show'd them me
16 To kindle my cold love.
17 Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just,
18 Shining nowhere, but in the dark;
19 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust
20 Could man outlook that mark!
21 He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest, may know
22 At first sight, if the bird be flown;
23 But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
24 That is to him unknown.
25 And yet as angels in some brighter dreams
26 Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
27 So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes
28 And into glory peep.
29 If a star were confin'd into a tomb,
30 Her captive flames must needs burn there;
31 But when the hand that lock'd her up, gives room,
32 She'll shine through all the sphere.
33 O Father of eternal life, and all
34 Created glories under thee!
35 Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
36 Into true liberty.
37 Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
38 My perspective still as they pass,
39 Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
40 Where I shall need no glass.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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A New-Year’s Burden
ALONG the grass sweet airs are blown
Our way this day in Spring.
Of all the songs that we have known
Now which one shall we sing?
Not that, my love, ah no!—
Not this, my love? why, so!—
Yet both were ours, but hours will come and go.
The grove is all a pale frail mist,
The new year sucks the sun.
Of all the kisses that we kissed
Now which shall be the one?
Not that my love, ah no!—
Not this, my love?—heigh-ho
For all the sweets that all the winds can blow!
The branches cross above our eyes,
The skies are in a net:
And what's the thing beneath the skies
We two would most forget?
Not birth, my love, no, no,—
Not death, my love, no, no,—
The love once ours, but ours long hours ago.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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A Dead Friend
I.
Gone, O gentle heart and true,
Friend of hopes foregone,
Hopes and hopeful days with you
Gone?
Days of old that shone
Saw what none shall see anew,
When we gazed thereon.
Soul as clear as sunlit dew,
Why so soon pass on,
Forth from all we loved and knew
Gone?
II.
Friend of many a season fled,
What may sorrow send
Toward thee now from lips that said
'Friend'?
Sighs and songs to blend
Praise with pain uncomforted
Though the praise ascend?
Darkness hides no dearer head:
Why should darkness end
Day so soon, O dear and dead
Friend?
III.
Dear in death, thou hast thy part
Yet in life, to cheer
Hearts that held thy gentle heart
Dear.
Time and chance may sear
Hope with grief, and death may part
Hand from hand's clasp here:
Memory, blind with tears that start,
Sees through every tear
All that made thee, as thou art,
Dear.
IV.
True and tender, single-souled,
What should memory do
Weeping o'er the trust we hold
True?
Known and loved of few,
But of these, though small their fold,
Loved how well were you!
Change, that makes of new things old,
Leaves one old thing new;
Love which promised truth, and told
True.
V.
Kind as heaven, while earth's control
Still had leave to bind
Thee, thy heart was toward man's whole
Kind.
Thee no shadows blind
Now: the change of hours that roll
Leaves thy sleep behind.
Love, that hears thy death-bell toll
Yet, may call to mind
Scarce a soul as thy sweet soul
Kind.
VI.
How should life, O friend, forget
Death, whose guest art thou?
Faith responds to love's regret,
How?
Still, for us that bow
Sorrowing, still, though life be set,
Shines thy bright mild brow.
Yea, though death and thou be met,
Love may find thee now
Still, albeit we know not yet
How.
VII.
Past as music fades, that shone
While its life might last;
As a song-bird's shadow flown
Past!
Death's reverberate blast
Now for music's lord has blown
Whom thy love held fast.
Dead thy king, and void his throne:
Yet for grief at last
Love makes music of his own
Past.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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You will love, the dead.
A friend I loved
a friend I wanted
a friend I needed
a friend I adored
but she never believed
a friend I respected most
a friend I cared most
a friend I believed most
a friend I trusted most
a friend I wrote to most
she is now the one I ignore most.
a friend I most thought about
a friend I wished for the best.
I will always never know the best
a friend whio turned to be the beast
in all my love like a predator in forest
I was harmless to her like a dove
I wish I could live as brave as a lion
the girl I gave a valentine day to run.
See she is furious on me like eagle.
She is as crue as death, to my life
she is fierce to me as a grave
all I know, if you come back
you hate me, only you will love me
when Iam dead,
poem by Samweli Butobi
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A Friend Like You
A friend like you is like no other friend
A friend like you is a friend i dont regret meeting
A friend like you is like a friend i cant scream at or fight with
A friend like you is like having no worries in my life
A friend like you is a friend that i dont want to lose
A friend like you is like being in comfort all day
A friend like you is a friend i always wanted
A friend like you is awesomly awesome
A friend like you is random and funny
A friend like you is a friend that i love to death and i will never let go
A friend like you is a friend i can tell all my secrets to
A friend like you..
A friend like you is like the little sister ive always wanted
A friend that i can go to to tell them whats wrong
A friend like you is like having no dark days because you brighten them up
A friend like you is a friend that opens up my eyes and helps me avoid bad things
A friend like you is a type of friend that laughs at dumb things i say or do
A friend like you is a friend i am proud to call my best friend...
poem by Jenni Cortes
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Winter Friend
Once a friend told me of his experience,
That he had loved somebody and in pain,
He had slit his arm and sent the blood to her
And that he was glad that it was over.
He had talked and made love like an expert,
But I had never seen his soul.
And his eyes had a sort of dead smile
As if he wanted me to believe
That he was still alive.
He was a winter friend to me,
We walked in the snow to chinatown for noodles.
That was many years ago, in another life,
Why do I remember it now?
When Id heard his story, Id heard it like a car accident
That I would never be in myself
He was a winter friend to me,
We walked in the snow to chinatown to noodle.
La la la la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la dee la dee la da
Dee la la la
Now that I see my car slipping down the cliff
And Im desperately looking for the brake...
Dont let it happen to me,
Please, dont let it happen to me,
Im not ready to die or live a living death,
Im not ready to die or live a living death,
Im not ready to die...
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harbinger
let i be the frost to tell you that winter
in a moment shall be here
let i be the omen about something
bad that may happen
so you may say all your prayers
and convince the gods to
change their minds
and bring you fortune instead
let me herald, Candice
your coming
i am your harbinger
let then the writing begin
let yourself pour all your feelings
then the winter may not be that cold
as you take the whiteness that the snow leaves
when it finally melts
let me be your friend
still in the coming spring.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autumn Thoughts
Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
And gone the Summer's pomp and show,
And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,
Is waiting for the Winter's snow.
I said to Earth, so cold and gray,
'An emblem of myself thou art.'
'Not so,' the Earth did seem to say,
'For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.'
I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams
Of warmer sun and softer rain,
And wait to hear the sound of streams
And songs of merry birds again.
But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone,
For whom the flowers no longer blow,
Who standest blighted and forlorn,
Like Autumn waiting for the snow;
No hope is thine of sunnier hours,
Thy Winter shall no more depart;
No Spring revive thy wasted flowers,
Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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To An Old Friend In England
WAS it for nothing in the years gone by,
O my love, O my friend,
You thrilled me with your noble words of faith? —
Hope beyond life, and love, love beyond death!
Yet now I shudder, and yet you did not die,
O my friend, O my love!
Was it for nothing in the dear dead years,
O my love, O my friend,
I kissed you when you wrung my heart from me,
And gave my stubborn hand where trust might be?
Yet then I smiled, and see, these bitter tears,
O my friend, O my love!
No bitter words to say to you have I,
O my love, O my friend!
That faith, that hope, that love was mine, not yours!
And yet that kiss, that clasp endures, endures.
I have no bitter words to say. Good-bye,
O my friend, O my love!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Once More
I had not thought again to be
A dreamer of such dreams as these.
The springtime is no more for me;
My summer died beyond the seas.
From what untimely source begin
These stirrings of the life within?
I had not thought again to taste
The bitter sweet, the joyous pain.
I dreamed that I had trodden waste,
Beyond the power of sun or rain,
The soil that grew the passion fruit;—
Then, whence this blossom underfoot?
I had not thought again to see
Beyond the homely pale of truth;—
The lights and shapes of witchery,
That glorify the skies of youth,
I only know as perished things;—
Whence, then, this flash of angel wings?
How spend the day, yet save the hours?
I had my day; the hours are fled.
How eat the fruit, yet hold the flowers?
I ate the fruit; the flowers are dead.
Oh, what divine or fiendish art
Hath twined fresh tendrils round my heart?
I said, 'tis good to be alone,
No alien hand to urge or check.
I said, my spirit is my own,
To loose or bind, to save or wreck.
I trod on Love, called Reason lord;—
Lo, whence this subtle silken cord?
Oh, who shall tell if this be strength
Re-risen, or ghost of old defect?
The truth of manhood come at length,
Or weakness born of purpose wrecked?
I only know it is the whole
Arch-craving of a hungry soul.
I only know that all the hordes
Of buried hopes and jealousies
Are risen again and crossing swords,
And that 'twas but an armistice,
A breathing time 'twixt strife and strife,
Which I had deemed a peace for life.
Oh! who can tell where duty lies—
To urge, repress, advance, or stay?
To grasp at Good in Beauty's guise,
Or brush the pretty lure away,
Ere doubtful war of hopes and fears
Consume the hoarded strength of years?
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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