A Flower Of A Day
OLD friend, that with a pale and pensile grace
Climbest the lush hedgerows, art thou back again,
Marking the slow round of the wond'rous years?
Didst beckon me a moment, silent flower?
Silent? As silent is the archangel's pen
That day by day writes our life chronicle,
And turns the page,--the half-forgotten page,
Which all eternity will never blot.
Forgotten? No, we never do forget:
We let the years go: eash then clean with tears,
Leave them to bleach, out in the open day,
Or lock them careful by, like dead friends' clothes,
Till we shall dare unfold them without pain,--
But we forget not, never can forget.
Flower, thou and I a moment face to face--
My face as clear as thine, this July noon
Shining on both, on bee and butterfly
And golden geetle creeping in the sun--
Will pause, and,lifting up, page after page,
The many-colored history of life,
Look backwards, backwards.
So, the volume close!
This July day, with the sun high in heaven,
And the whole earth rejoicing,--let it close.
I think we need not sigh, complain, nor rave;
Nor blush,--our doings and misdoing all
Being more 'gainst heaven than man, heaven them does keep
With all its doings and undoings strange
Concerning us.--Ah, let the volume close:
I would not alter in it one poor line.
My dainty flower, my innocent white flower
With such a pure smile looking up to heaven,
With such a bright smile looking down on me--
(Nothing but smiles,--as if in all the world
Were no such things as thunder-storms or frosts,
Or broken petals trampled on the ground,
Or shivering leaveswhirled in the wintry air
Like ghosts of last years joys--my pretty flower,
I'll pluck thee--smiling too. Not one salt drop
Shall stain thee:--if these foolish eyes are dim,
That they behold such beauty and such peace,
Such wisdom and such sweetness, in God's world.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
To Mary in Heaven
I.
I met thee first in May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May;
But now thou art away, Mary!
Away from me—away!
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
II.
Ah! then thine eyes were mild, Mary!
Thy deep blue eyes were mild;
For thou wert then a child, Mary!
And I another child.
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
III.
Thy face was then so meek, Mary!
So saintly mild, so meek,
Thy lily-form seemed weak, Mary!
And mine for thine grew weak
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
IV.
You led me through the meads, Mary!
The flower-enameled meads,
By brooks of rustling reeds, Mary!
By brooks of rustling reeds—
Where thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
V.
Wherever you then went, Mary!
No matter where you went—
I followed with content, Mary!
Because you were content.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VI.
I recollect the morn, Mary!
The beautiful May-Morn,
Beside the Field of Corn, Mary!
The rustling reeds of Corn—
That thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VII.
Ah! then I took thy hand, Mary!
Thy lily snow-white hand;
And walked along the sand, Mary!
The milk-white road of sand.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VIII.
I caught thee round the waist, Mary!
The slender Sylph-like waist,
And felt my heart beat fast, Mary!
Because thine own beat fast.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
IX.
Such words fell from thy tongue, Mary!
Such sweet words from thy tongue,
That when you talked you sung, Mary!
You never talked but sung.
Then thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
X.
Thus through the month of May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May,
We, courting, went to play, Mary!
And courted in our play.
The years were then to me, Mary!
As hours are now to me;
As time is now to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XI.
For Love knows nought of years, Mary!
Love nothing knows of years;
And sheds no bitter tears, Mary!
Time measured is by tears.
Thus thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XII.
What thou art now above, Mary!
I was, as if above;
For Heaven is made of love, Mary!
And I was full of love.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XIII.
But now these days are gone, Mary!
These halcyon days are gone!
And I am left alone, Mary!
Alone on earth-- alone!
What would I give to see, Mary!
Thy precious form to see?
All thou wouldst give to be, Mary!
In this dark world with me.
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from Eonchs of Ruby (1851)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Belladonna
The ballet's of dancing feet
Are not as delicate, not as sweet
Nimble or soft
As they soul dancing in front of me
My mind aloft
Thine soul deftly
Step in me as thy walk in me
Like my souls the sun
And thy soles burn
No flowers bloom,
No angel's wings spread
No butterflies flower
No baby is conceived
As thou conceive to me
Thine true beauty blooms
Thy wings spread
Thy butterflies flower
As my souls breadth
Grows free with thee
Thy book opens
Its heart to me
For love to read
Thine voice is paradise found
Through you paradise speak
Through you heaven's tears weep
Through you heaven's perfume seep
Through you heaven's love meek
Through you heaven's flower blush
Through heaven's tender cheek
This is grace
This the face
Of love's turning dial
Of my love's smile
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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A Flower with years
Like a seed
I began in the open firmaments of the heavens
battered by the very elements of nature
to make me strong
in a milieu that
oppresses, dictates, and abuses
but I’ll rise'
like a flower, I bloomed with light’s rays
like a flower, I was groomed by years
like a flower, I unfolded with grace
like a flower, I am the living years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years
I see me with years -
a cistern that absorbs the days
then
replace them with experiences
a price not paid with a few years
so I murmur not
because of these years
yes
I am these years
but I’ll rise'
like a flower, I bloomed with light’s rays
like a flower, I was groomed by years
like a flower, I unfold with grace
like a flower, I live in years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years
I’m
crafted in hurt, misery and pain
A price I paid for younger to listen and fear
yet they see this not
yet I’m not perturbed because of these years
but I’ll rise'
like a flower I bloom with light’s rays,
like a flower I groomed by years
like a flower I unfold with grace
like a flower I live in years
but watch and see'
I’ll be your treasure because of these years
poem by Paul Andrew Bourne
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Frida
Frida, I knew that thy life-years were counted.
If but before thee a lifting thought mounted,
Upward thy gaze turned all wistful to view it,
As wouldst thou pursue it.
Eyes that so clear saw the wonderful vision
Looked far away beyond earth's indecision.
Snow-white unfolded the pinions that later
Bore thee to the greater.
Speaking or asking thou broughtest me sorrow;
Eyes thine and words thine seemed wanting to borrow
Clearness more pure and thoughts, victory gaining
Beyond my attaining.
When thou wert dancing in all a child's lightness,
Shaking thy locks like a fountain in brightness,
Laughing till heaven was opened in gladness
Over thy gladness,-
Or when affliction in sternness had spoken,
So that thy heart in that moment seemed broken,
Far from thy thoughts in thy suffering riven
Were both earth and heaven,-
Then, oh, I saw then: thy joy and thy grieving
Ever the bounds of the mortal were cleaving.
All seems so little where silent we ponder,-
But room they have yonder.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Pretty Flower
Truly thou lovest pretty flowers,
For pretty flower, thyself, thou art.
May I, if tenderly I pluck thee,
Make fast thy tendrils to my heart—
Pretty Flower?
And should Fate deem thee answer, pluck me!
Would one of meager courage dare
To place the hand he feels unworthy
Upon a spotless lily, fair,
Pretty Flower?
poem by Raymond Garfield Dandridge
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They Know Not My Heart
They know not my heart, who believe there can be
One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee;
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour,
As pure as the morning's first dew on the flower,
I could harm what I love, -- as the sun's wanton ray
But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away.
No -- beaming with light as those young features are,
There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier far:
It is not that cheek -- 'tis the soul dawning clear
Through its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear:
As the sky we look up to, though glorious and fair,
Is look'd up to the more, because Heaven lies there!
poem by Thomas Moore
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May-Day, 1837
I.
MAY-DAY is come!--While yet the unwillng Spring
Checks with capricious frown the opening year,
Onward, where bleak winds have been whispering,
The punctual Hours their ancient playmate bear;
But those who long have look'd for thee, stand by,
Like men who welcome back a friend bereaved,
And camnot smile, because his sadden'd eye
Doth mutely tell them how his soul is grieved.
Even thus too greet thine alter'd face to-day,
Thou friend in mourning garb!--chill, melancholy May!
II.
To thee the first and readiest smiles of Earth,
Lovely with life renew'd, were always given,--
To thee belong'd the sunshine and the mirth
Which bathed all Nature with a glow from Heaven,--
To thee the joy of Childhood's earnest heart,
His shouting song, and light elastic tread,
His brows high arch'd, and laughing lips apart,
Bright as the wreath that bound his rosy head.--
Thou wert of Innocence the holiday,
Thou garlanded and glad!--thou ever-blooming May!
III.
Yet will I not reproach thee for thy change:
Closed be the flower, and leafless be the tree!
Smile not as thou wert wont; but sad, and strange,
And joyless, let thy tardy coming be!
So shall I miss those infant voices less,
Calling each other through the garden bowers,
Meeting and parting in wild happiness,
Leading a light dance thro' the sunny hours;
Those little mirthful hearts, who, far away,
Breathe, amid cloud-capp'd hills, a yet more wintry May!
IV.
Ah, boys! your play-ground is a desert spot,
Revisited alone, and bathed with tears;
And where ye pass your May-day, knoweth not
The mother who hath watch'd your dawning years.
Mine is no more the joy to see ye come,
And deem each step hath some peculiar grace!
Yours is no more the mother's welcome home,
Smiling at each beloved, familiar face!
And I an thankfiul that this dreary May
Recals not, save by name, that brighter, happier day!
V.
I should have felt more mock'd, if there had been
More peace and sunshine round me,--had the grove,
Clad in transparent leaves of tender green,
Been full of murm'ring sounds of Nature's love;
I should have wept more bitterly beneath
The frail laburnum trees, so faint and fair,--
I should have sicken'd at the lilac's breath,
Thrown by the warm sun on the silent air;
But now, with stern regret I wend my way--
I know thee not,--thou cold, and unfamiliar May!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Come Back As A Flower
The starngest thought came to me on this morning
As I awake to greet the coming dawn
The sun was hardly peaking through the garden
It felt that with everything I was one
Then I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
The dew had finished making love to many
A rainbow smelling sweet was in the air
I envied all the silence I saw growing
So unmoved by things outside themselves
Then how I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
Oh as a flower
As a flower
How I wished that I could come back as a flower
As a flower
As a flower
To spread the sweetness of love
To spread the sweetness of love
(background)
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
Wished that I could come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Flower
How I come back as a flower
Flower
Sweetness of love
Sweetness of love
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Spirit Present
IF, coming from that unknown sphere
Where I believe thou art,--
The world unseen which girds our world
So close, yet so apart,--
Thy soul's soft call unto my soul
Electrical could reach,
And mortal and immortal blend
In one familiar speech,--
What wouldst thou say to me? wouldst ask
What, since did me befall?
Or close this chasm of cruel years
Between us--knowing all?
Wouldst love me--thy pure eyes seeing that
God only saw beside?
O, love me! 'T was so hard to live,
So easy to have died.
If, while this dizzy whirl of life
A moment pausing stayed,
I face to face with thee could stand,
I would not be afraid:
Not though from heaven to heaven thy feet
In glad ascent have trod,
While mine took through earth's miry ways
Their solitary road.
We could not lose each other. World
On world piled ever higher
Would part like banked clouds, lightning-cleft
By our two souls' desire.
Life ne'er divided us; death tried,
But could not; Love's voice fine
Called luring through the dark--then ceased,
And I am wholly thine.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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A Bird and flower upon the tree
A bird and flower upon the tree,
Sweet peony and oriole,
Each of them a perfect soul,
Song and sweetness manifest
The bird and flower we love the best
Side by side on the tall tree.
'Flower who art sunlight and fire, flower who art perfume and joy,
Sweetest of sweet,
Ah for the gift withheld!
Ah for the given gift's alloy!
Why must thy spirit exhale only in beauty and breath?
Ah for the voice thou hast not! I by thy side on the tree,
Telling the world of love, pain, and all raptures that be,
Raptures of laughter and life, raptures of tears and death,
Singing my heart to heaven, singing to earth at my feet;
Silence in thee.'
'Bird who art dew-drops and flame, bird who art rapture and song,
Sweetest of sweet,
Lo there's a voice part mine, songs that to me too belong,
Songs that grew of my growth, voice that has breathed my breath.
Bird that while I sit mute singest beside on the tree,
Hast thou ever a song taking no perfume of me?
Give forth my sweetness in song; bird, thou art singing for both,
Singing our hearts to heaven, singing to earth at our feet;
My voice in thee.'
On the tree-top side by side,
Sweet oriole and peony;
Music rings through earth and sky,
Sweet and sweet in sweetness lost
The flower and bird we love the most,
On the tree-top side by side.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Star's Song
Flower! Flower, why repine?
God knows each creature's place;
He hides within me when I shine,
And your leaves hide His face.
And you are near as I to Him,
And you reveal as much
Of that eternal soundless hymn
Man's words may never touch.
God sings to man through all my rays
That wreathe the brow of night,
And walks with me thro' all my ways --
The everlasting light.
Flower! Flower, why repine?
He chose on lowly earth,
And not in heaven where I shine,
His Bethlehem and birth.
Flower! Flower, I see Him pass
Each hour of night and day,
Down to an altar and a Mass
Go thou! and fade away.
Fade away upon His shrine!
Thy light is brighter far
Than all the light wherewith I shine
In heaven, as a star.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken
Jesus, I my cross have taken, all to leave and follow Thee.
Destitute, despised, forsaken, Thou from hence my all shall be.
Perish every fond ambition, all I’ve sought or hoped or known.
Yet how rich is my condition! God and heaven are still mine own.
Let the world despise and leave me, they have left my Savior, too.
Human hearts and looks deceive me; Thou art not, like them, untrue.
And while Thou shalt smile upon me, God of wisdom, love and might,
Foes may hate and friends disown me, show Thy face and all is bright.
Go, then, earthly fame and treasure! Come, disaster, scorn and pain!
In Thy service, pain is pleasure; with Thy favor, loss is gain.
I have called Thee, “Abba, Father”; I have set my heart on Thee:
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather, all must work for good to me.
Man may trouble and distress me, ’twill but drive me to Thy breast.
Life with trials hard may press me; heaven will bring me sweeter rest.
Oh, ’tis not in grief to harm me while Thy love is left to me;
Oh, ’twere not in joy to charm me, were that joy unmixed with Thee.
Take, my soul, thy full salvation; rise o’er sin, and fear, and care;
Joy to find in every station something still to do or bear:
Think what Spirit dwells within thee; what a Father’s smile is thine;
What a Savior died to win thee, child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?
Haste then on from grace to glory, armed by faith, and winged by prayer,
Heaven’s eternal day’s before thee, God’s own hand shall guide thee there.
Soon shall close thy earthly mission, swift shall pass thy pilgrim days;
Hope soon change to glad fruition, faith to sight, and prayer to praise.
poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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Flower - Flower Love
flower - flower love
flower - flower love
I come with flower and love
into your life that's full of hope
flower - flower love
I bring you flower and love
as a truth of my heart that never drop
I am a butterfly for you
with blackish orange in colours on me
I will never fly away from you
and never stop watching over you
for
flower - flower love
you are my flower
and you are my love
poem by Juahta Sitepu
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Severed and Gone
Severed and gone, so many years!
And art thou still so dear to me,
That throbbing heart and burning tears
Can witness how I cling to thee?
I know that in the narrow tomb
The form I loved was buried deep,
And left, in silence and in gloom,
To slumber out its dreamless sleep.
I know the corner where it lies,
Is but a dreary place of rest:
The charnel moisture never dries
From the dark flagstones o'er its breast,
For there the sunbeams never shine,
Nor ever breathes the freshening air,
- But not for this do I repine;
For my beloved is not there.
O, no! I do not think of thee
As festering there in slow decay:
'Tis this sole thought oppresses me,
That thou art gone so far away.
For ever gone; for I, by night,
Have prayed, within my silent room,
That Heaven would grant a burst of light
Its cheerless darkness to illume;
And give thee to my longing eyes,
A moment, as thou shinest now,
Fresh from thy mansion in the skies,
With all its glories on thy brow.
Wild was the wish, intense the gaze
I fixed upon the murky air,
Expecting, half, a kindling blaze
Would strike my raptured vision there,
A shape these human nerves would thrill,
A majesty that might appal,
Did not thy earthly likeness, still,
Gleam softly, gladly, through it all.
False hope! vain prayer! it might not be
That thou shouldst visit earth again.
I called on Heaven - I called on thee,
And watched, and waited - all in vain.
Had I one shining tress of thine,
How it would bless these longing eyes!
Or if thy pictured form were mine,
What gold should rob me of the prize?
A few cold words on yonder stone,
A corpse as cold as they can be -
Vain words, and mouldering dust, alone -
Can this be all that's left of thee?
O, no! thy spirit lingers still
Where'er thy sunny smile was seen:
There's less of darkness, less of chill
On earth, than if thou hadst not been.
Thou breathest in my bosom yet,
And dwellest in my beating heart;
And, while I cannot quite forget,
Thou, darling, canst not quite depart.
Though, freed from sin, and grief, and pain
Thou drinkest now the bliss of Heaven,
Thou didst not visit earth in vain;
And from us, yet, thou art not riven.
Life seems more sweet that thou didst live,
And men more true that thou wert one:
Nothing is lost that thou didst give,
Nothing destroyed that thou hast done.
Earth hath received thine earthly part;
Thine heavenly flame has heavenward flown;
But both still linger in my heart,
Still live, and not in mine alone.
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Clumsy Hands
Life blossoms, from only a tiny rosebud,
A beautiful flower that is God's perfect design;
I tried to be gentle, to unfold the dainty petals
With these clumsy careless hands of mine.'
'The secret of unfolding the delicate flower
Is not known to numerous people such as I.
I opened this flower with love as power,
in my hands they tattered and emotionally did die.'
'So I couldn’t unfold God’s elegant flower,
As The aweosme design collapsed, within hours
Sadly, shocked, I realized, I lost all my wisdom
To enjoy the happiness of the earthly kingdom
Now the rugged path that lies before me
To unfold the moments of peace within me
Which is Covered with unseen pain around
God blessed me with many a friends so sound.
Uneasily the flower will blossom, with time again
God will not retire, let it be sun or pouring rain
Now each moment of my dawning day
God's Stars, silvery don’t fail to shine my way......
poem by Shirani Ibrahim
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The Flaw
I remembered last night.
I told the child
that that was not blood
on our friend's body,
only red flower petals
all wet from the rains,
and to be quiet,
or we would wake him up
and ruin the special dreams
that come from sleeping
under red flower petals.
There is a flaw in the face of man
called war
that begs the question:
does the memory of the dead
hold up the living?
Perhaps sleeping
under red flower petals
will cause me to forget about it.
poem by Rebekah Gamble
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Wilted Flower
I can't forget a face
The face which made my flower grow
Blooming without the need of rain
Or the warm light of the sun
I can't forget those spoken words to me
Words I tried to ignore
Making my flower react to the way I do
With me, I was shedding tears, my flower, falling apart
I can't erase the words from my mind
My tears pour more, making it hard to breathe
The flower you gave me is withering slowly
Not long from now, it will wilt and never bloom again
poem by Sarah Bruun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love’s Likenings
He.
To what, love, shall I liken thee?
Thou, methinks, shalt firstly be
A blue flower with nodding bells
In the hollow of a tree.
When the wind blows wantonly,
Thou shalt ever shake thy head
At the idle tale he tells.
But at evening from the clover,
When the world is all abed,
And the noisy day is over,
And the birds have gone to rest,
In the darkness will I hover
Till thou bid me come to thee,
Till I creep into thy nest,
I thy long--expected lover,
I thy sweet, thy honey bee.
To what, love, shall I liken thee?
Tell me, love, what wouldst thou be?
She.
I would be a white cloud lying
In the bosom of the sky,
And at noon, when Earth is sighing
For the sun my fleeces hide,
I would bask in his bright eye,
Till he drew me up on high,
Till be took me for his bride.
Thou shalt be my sun to me.
Love, but I would be a well
In the sands of Araby,
So thyself wert a gazelle
Which must either drink or die.
Bend above me, love, and lo!
In my waters thou shalt spy
All that my heart cares to show,
Thy own face against the sky.
He.
To what more shall I liken thee?
Thou, my love, shalt lastly be
A clear silver--tonguèd brook
Running downwards to the Sea,
And the reeds shall seek to stay thee
Under every shaded nook,
And the pebbles shall waylay thee,
With their bald heads to dismay thee,
Till thy pretty face grows white,
Half in anger, half in fright.
See, thy troubles are forgot
In the still pool suddenly,
And a smile has found thee out,
Taking shape of thy delight,
Laughing, weeping, onward ever
Till thou join thyself to me,
For my love shall be the river.
Thou and I shall run together
Ever till we meet the Sea.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Old Dispensation
O THOU, who, high in heaven,
To man hast given
This clouded earthly life
All storm and strife,
Blasted with ice and fire,
Love and desire,
Filled with dead faith, and love
That change is master of--
O Thou, who mightest have given
To all Thy heaven,
But who, instead, didst give
This life we live--
Who feedest with blood and tears
The hungry years--
I make one prayer to Thee,
O Great God! grant it me.
Some day when summer shows
Her leaf, her rose,
God, let Thy sinner lie
Under Thy sky,
And feel Thy sun's large grace
Upon his face;
Then grant him this, that he
May not believe in Thee!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Old Dispensation
O THOU, who, high in heaven,
To man hast given
This clouded earthly life
All storm and strife,
Blasted with ice and fire,
Love and desire,
Filled with dead faith, and love
That change is master of--
O Thou, who mightest have given
To all Thy heaven,
But who, instead, didst give
This life we live--
Who feedest with blood and tears
The hungry years--
I make one prayer to Thee,
O Great God! grant it me.
Some day when summer shows
Her leaf, her rose,
God, let Thy sinner lie
Under Thy sky,
And feel Thy sun's large grace
Upon his face;
Then grant him this, that he
May not believe in Thee!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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