En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Passion Past

WERE I a boy, with a boy's heart-beat
At glimpse of her passing adown the street,
Of a room where she had entered and gone,
Or a page her hand had written on,--
Would all be with me as it was before?
O no, never! no, no, never!
Never any more.

Were I a man, with a man's pulse-throb,
Breath hard and fierce, held down like a sob,
Dumb, yet hearing her lightest word,
Blind, until only her garment stirred:
Would I pour my life like wine on her floor?
No, no, never: never, never!
Never any more.

Gray and withered, wrinkled and marred,
I have gone through the fire and come out unscarred,
With the image of manhood upon me yet,
No shame to remember, no wish to forget:
But could she rekindle the pangs I bore?--
O no, never! thank God, never!
Never any more.

Old and wrinkled, withered and gray,--
And yet if her light step passed to-day,
I should see her face all faces among,
And say,--'Heaven love thee, whom I loved long!
Thou hast lost the key of my heart's door,
Lost it ever, and forever,
Ay, forevermore.'

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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To Minna

Do I dream? can I trust to my eye?
My sight sure some vapor must cover?
Or, there, did my Minna pass by--
My Minna--and knew not her lover?
On the arm of the coxcomb she crossed,
Well the fan might its zephyr bestow;
Herself in her vanity lost,
That wanton my Minna?--Ah, no!

In the gifts of my love she was dressed,
My plumes o'er her summer hat quiver;
The ribbons that flaunt in her breast
Might bid her--remember the giver!
And still do they bloom on thy bosom,
The flowerets I gathered for thee!
Still as fresh is the leaf of each blossom,
'Tis the heart that has faded from me!

Go and take, then, the incense they tender;
Go, the one that adored thee forget!
Go, thy charms to the feigner surrender,
In my scorn is my comforter yet!
Go, for thee with what trust and belief
There beat not ignobly a heart
That has strength yet to strive with the grief
To have worshipped the trifler thou art!

Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed--
Thy beauty--shame, Minna, to thee!
To-morrow its glory will fade,
And its roses all withered will be!
The swallows that swarm in the sun
Will fly when the north winds awaken,
The false ones thine autumn will shun,
For whom thou the true hast forsaken!

'Mid the wrecks of the charms in December,
I see thee alone in decay,
And each spring shall but bid thee remember
How brief for thyself was the May!
Then they who so wantonly flock
To the rapture thy kiss can impart,
Shall scoff at thy winter, and mock
Thy beauty as wrecked as thy heart!

Thy beauty thy heart hath betrayed--
Thy beauty--shame, Minna, to thee
To-morrow its glory will fade--
And its roses all withered will be!
O, what scorn for thy desolate years
Shall I feel!--God forbid it in me!
How bitter will then be the tears
Shed, Minna, O Minna, for thee!

poem by Friedrich Schiller
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My Loving Heart (Fun Poem 95)

(Alternative Valentine Poem)

My hair maybe thinning
and my eyes are getting dim,
but my loving heart
is still filled to the brim.

My legs maybe stiff
and I walk with a limp,
but my loving heart
isn’t any kind of wimp.

My face maybe wrinkled
and my hearing almost gone,
but my loving heart
is still beating strong.

I may look like I’m past it
all wrinkled and crinkled,
but my loving heart
has lost none of its twinkle.

13 February 2009

poem by David Harris
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The Magnetic Lady To Her Patient

I.
'Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain;
My hand is on thy brow,
My spirit on thy brain;
My pity on thy heart, poor friend;
And from my fingers flow
The powers of life, and like a sign,
Seal thee from thine hour of woe;
And brood on thee, but may not blend
With thine.

II.
'Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not;
But when I think that he
Who made and makes my lot
As full of flowers as thine of weeds,
Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine
Might then have charmed his agony
As I another's--my heart bleeds
For thine.

III.
'Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of
The dead and the unborn
Forget thy life and love;
Forget that thou must wake forever;
Forget the world's dull scorn;
Forget lost health, and the divine
Feelings which died in youth's brief morn;
And forget me, for I can never
Be thine.

IV.
'Like a cloud big with a May shower,
My soul weeps healing rain
On thee, thou withered flower!
It breathes mute music on thy sleep
Its odour calms thy brain!
Its light within thy gloomy breast
Spreads like a second youth again.
By mine thy being is to its deep
Possessed.

V.
'The spell is done. How feel you now?'
'Better—Quite well,' replied
The sleeper.--'What would do
You good when suffering and awake?
What cure your head and side?--'
‘What would cure, that would kill me, Jane:
And as I must on earth abide
Awhile, yet tempt me not to break
My chain.'

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Riddle 3

THE air is bright with hues of light
And rich with laughter and with singing:
Young hearts beat high in ecstasy,
And banners wave, and bells are ringing:
But silence falls with fading day,
And there's an end to mirth and play.
Ah, well-a-day

Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!
The kettle sings, the firelight dances.
Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught
That fills the soul with golden fancies!
For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,
And ye are withered, worn, and gray.
Ah, well-a-day!

O fair cold face! O form of grace,
For human passion madly yearning!
O weary air of dumb despair,
From marble won, to marble turning!
"Leave us not thus!" we fondly pray.
"We cannot let thee pass away!"
Ah, well-a-day!

poem by Lewis Carroll from Four Riddles
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In The Night

Where art thou, thou lost face,
Which, yet a little while, wert making mirth
At these new years which seemed too sad to be?
Where art thou fled which for a minute's space
Shut out the world and wert my world to me?
And now a corner of this idle Earth,
A broken shadow by the day forgot,
Is wide enough to be thy hiding place,
And thou art shrunk away and needest not
The darkness of this night to cover thee.

Where art thou hidden? In the boundless air
My hands go forth to thee, and search and feel
As through the universe. I hold the night
Caught in my arms, and yet thou art not there.
Where art thou? What if I should strike a light
So suddenly that thou couldst never steal
Back to thy shadows? What if I should find
Thee standing close to me with all thy hair
Trailing about me and thine eyes grown blind
With looking at me vainly through the night?

There are three rings upon thy hand to--night,
One with a sapphire stone, and one there is
Coiled like a snake, and one on which my name
Is written in strange gems. By this dim light
I cannot read if it be writ the same.
See, I have worn no other ring but this!
Why dost thou look at it with eyes estranged?
Is it not thine?--Ah, God! Thou readest right!
And it is changed, and thou and I are changed,
And I have written there another name.

Oh happiness, how has it slipped away!
We, who once lived and held it in our hand!
What is the rest that these new years can bring?
Did we not love it in our love's to--day,
And pleasure which was so divine a thing,
The sweetest and most strange to understand?
And that is why it left regret behind,
As though a wild bird suddenly should stay
A moment at our side and we should find
When we looked up that it had taken wing.

And thou, hast thou forgotten how to love?
Hast thou no kissing in thy lips? Thy tongue,
Has it no secret whisper for my ear?
I have been watching thee to see thee move
A little closer to my side in fear
Of the long night. Oh, there is room among
The pillows for thy head if thou wouldst sleep!
And thou art cold, and I would wrap my love
To my warm breast and so my vigil keep
And be alone with darkness and with her.

Thou standest with thy hand upon my heart,
As once thou used to stand, to feel it beat.
Doth it beat calmer now than in those days?
Thy foolish finger--tips will leave a smart,
If they so press upon my side. Thy gaze
Is burning me. Oh speak a word and cheat
This darkness into pain, if pain must be,
And wake me back to sorrow with a start,
For I am weary of the night and thee
And thy strange silence and thy stranger face.

Canst thou not speak? Thy tale was but begun.
How can I answer thee a tale untold?
Whisper it quick before the morning break.
How loud thou weepest! Listen, there is one
Dreaming beside me who must not awake.
Close in my ear !--Ah! child, thy lips are cold,
Because thou art forsaken.--Misery!
Is there not room enough beneath the sun
For her, and thee, and me?

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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To His Mistress

Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny
The sunshine of the Sun's enlivening eye?

Without thy light what light remains in me?
Thou art my life; my way, my light's in thee;
I live, I move, and by thy beams I see.

Thou art my life-if thou but turn away
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way-
Without.thee, Love, I travel not but stray.

My light thou art-without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darken'd with eternal night.
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.

Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.
Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life; if thou withdraw'st, I die.

My eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see:
To whom or whither should my darkness flee,
But to that light?-and who's that light but thee?

If I have lost my path, dear lover, say,
Shall I still wander in a doubtful way?
Love, shall a lamb of Israel's sheepfold stray?

My path is lost, my wandering steps do stray;
I cannot go, nor can I safely stay;
Whom should I seek but thee, my path, my way?

And yet thou turn'st thy face away and fly'st me!
And yet I sue for grace and thou deny'st me!
Speak, art thou angry, Love, or only try'st me?

Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,
The dead man's life. On thee my hopes rely:
If I but them remove, I surely die.

Dissolve thy sunbeams, close thy wings and stay!
See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray!
-O thou art my life, my light, my way!

Then work thy will! If passion bid me flee,
My reason shall obey, my wings shall be
Stretch'd out no farther than from me to thee!

poem by Lord John Wilmot
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Lost To An Angel

Romance was over
And love went away.
She lost him to an Angel
In heaven faraway.

She knew he had entered
High heaven above,
And will always remember
Their encounter of love.
But his life now belongs
To someone apart,
He smiles at an Angel
Who has captured his heart.

Not long ago his kisses were wine
And for a brief year or two
Her blue eyes were blind.
Then to heaven he soared
One day in the spring
Left her standing alone
Where the birds did not sing.

Romance was over
And love went away.
She lost him to an Angel
In heaven faraway.

poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Forget Me Not

Forget me not
Baby baby
As I rock you gently
Right here in my arms
I promise to always
Be here for you
Keep you safe and warm
Sometimes in the middle of the night
I wake up cryin when I think of how long
It took to find you
And now that I have I wont be movin on
Nothing can ever separate us
We know where we belong
All Im asking you
All Im asking
Before this moments gone
Forget me not
Dont forget what we got
Every day is surely but a dream
I found the sweetest of all things
For all my life
Youll be my light
With every beat thats in your heart
Oh baby please remember to
Forget me not
Time is funny
Time can fly
Thats one thing for sure
Ill wake tomorrow
Blink my eyes
See you standin at that door
And Ill be lookin at you
See the wonder of what love can be
Someday I might have to let you go
And thats just so hard to believe
And if I do youll know just
How much you mean to me
And all Ill ask of you
All Ill ask you
Before I set you free
Forget me not
Dont forget what we got
Every day is surely but a dream
I found the sweetest of all things
For all my life
Youll be my light
With every beat thats in your heart
Oh baby please remember to
Forget me not
Forget me not
Forget me not
Forget me
Dont forget me baby
Forget me
Not
Before I set you free yeah
Forget me not
Forget me
Dont forget what we got
What we got
Every day is surely but a dream
I found the sweetest of all things
For ever more
Connection
Ill thee adore
With every beat thats in your heart
Thats in my heart
Oh baby please remember to
Forget me not
Dont forget what we got
With every beat thats in your heart
Oh baby please remember to
Forget me not
Not
Forget me not

song performed by by Celine Dion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful Music

my heart can hold so much love
But thou love unfold all my love that ever loved
I cannot listen to thee without love's majesty
Royal are thee, in perfect symphony
Thy music takes my heart, my heart does not take thy music
Underneath thy breath is breath's secret beauty
The song thy sing to all and to me…
Is God's message painted black in notes sweetly
God's only answer to millions of years of futile prayers
All my love is gone lost in thee, the music thou create
Man's destiny, man's passage of fate every heart beat thou ate

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Growin' Gray

HELLO, ole man, you're a-gittin' gray,
An' it beats ole Ned to see the way
'At the crow's feet's a-getherin' aroun' yore eyes;
Tho' it oughtn't to cause me no su'prise,
Fur there's many a sun 'at you've seen rise
An' many a one you've seen go down
Sence yore step was light an' yore hair was brown,
An' storms an' snows have had their way—
Hello, ole man, you're a-gittin' gray.
Hello, ole man, you're a-gittin' gray,
An' the youthful pranks 'at you used to play
Are dreams of a far past long ago
That lie in a heart where the fires burn low—
That has lost the flame though it kept the glow,
An' spite of drivin' snow an' storm,
Beats bravely on forever warm.
December holds the place of May—
Hello, ole man, you're a-gittin' gray.
Hello, ole man, you're a-gittin' gray —
Who cares what the carpin' youngsters say?
For, after all, when the tale is told,
Love proves if a man is young or old!
Old age can't make the heart grow cold
When it does the will of an honest mind;
When it beats with love fur all mankind;
Then the night but leads to a fairer day—
Hello, ole man, you're a-gittin' gray!

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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My Christian Name

MY Christian name, my Christian name,
I never hear it now:
None have the right to utter it,
'T is lost, I scare know how.
My worldly name the world speaks loud;
Thank God for well-earned fame!

But silence sits at my cold hearth,--
I have no household name.

My Christian name, my Christian name,
It has an uncouth sound;
My mother chose it out of those
In Bible pages found:
Mother, whose accents made half sweet
What else I held in shame,
Dost thou remember up in heaven
My poor lost Christian name?

Brothers and sisters, mockers oft
Of the quaint name I bore,
Would I could leap back years, to hear
Ye shout it out once more!
One speaks it still, in written lines,
The last fraternal claim:
But the wide seas between us drown
Its sound--my Christian name.

I had a long dream once. Her voice
Might breathe the homely word,
And make it music--as love makes
Any name, said or heard.
O, dumb, dumb lips!--O, silent heart!
Though it is no ones' blame:
Now while I live I'll never hear
Her speak my Christian name.

God send her bliss, and send me rest!
If her white footsteps calm
Should track my bleeding feet, God make
To them each blood-drop balm!
Peace--peace. O mother, put thou forth
Thine elder, holier claim,
And the first word I hear in heaven
May be my Christian name.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Shame

What we learned here is love tastes bitter when its gone
Past yourself forget the light, things look dirty when its on
Funny how it comes to pass, that all the good slips away
And theres no one around you can remember being good to
You
(chorus1)
Shame, shouldnt try you, couldnt step by you
And open up more
Shame, shame, shame
What we lost here is something better left alone
Second steps been forgotten, will you tell me how
They go
Set yourself, situate, like a fool try again
Theres no one around you can remember being good, for you
So
(chorus2)
Shame, shouldnt try you, couldnt step by you
And open up more
Shame, shame, shame
Shame, shouldnt try you, couldnt step by you
And open up more
Shame, shame, shame
We never thought wed getter so troubled
We could never think that much
It should never get this bad
So let the wind blow ya
Across a big floor
But theres no one around who can tell us what were here
For
Funny in a certain light, how we all seem to look the same
And theres no one in life you can remember ever stood
For you, so
(chorus2)

song performed by by Matchbox 20
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song of a Young Lady to Her Ancient Lover

Ancient Person, for whom I
All the flattering youth defy,
Long be it e'er thou grow old,
Aching, shaking, crazy cold;
But still continue as thou art,
Ancient Person of my heart.

On thy withered lips and dry,
Which like barren furrows lie,
Brooding kisses I will pour,
Shall thy youthful heart restore,
Such kind show'rs in autumn fall,
And a second spring recall;
Nor from thee will ever part,
Ancient Person of my heart.

Thy nobler parts, which but to name
In our sex would be counted shame,
By ages frozen grasp possest,
From their ice shall be released,
And, soothed by my reviving hand,
In former warmth and vigour stand.
All a lover's wish can reach,
For thy joy my love shall teach;
And for thy pleasure shall improve
All that art can add to love.
Yet still I love thee without art,
Ancient Person of my heart.

poem by Lord John Wilmot
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Death

My body, eh? Friend Death, how now?
Why all this tedious pomp of writ?
Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow
For half a century bit by bit.

In faith thou knowest more to-day
Than I do, where it can be found!
This shrivelled lump of suffering clay,
To which I am now chained and bound,

Has not of kith or kin a trace
To the good body once I bore;
Look at this shrunken, ghastly face:
Didst ever see that face before?

Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
Thy only fault thy lagging gait,
Mistaken pity in thy heart
For timorous ones that bid thee wait.

Do quickly all thou hast to do,
Nor I nor mine will hindrance make;
I shall be free when thou art through;
I grudge thee nought that thou must take!

Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one,
Yes, two I grudge thee at this last,--
Two members which have faithful done
My will and bidding in the past.

I grudge thee this right hand of mine;
I grudge thee this quick-beating heart;
They never gave me coward sign,
Nor played me once the traitor's part.

I see now why in olden days
Men in barbaric love or hate
Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways,
Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state:

The symbol, sign and instrument
Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife,
Of fires in which are poured and spent
Their all of love, their all of life.

O feeble, mighty human hand!
O fragile, dauntless human heart!
The universe holds nothing planned
With such sublime, transcendent art!

Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine
Poor little hand, so feeble now;
Its wrinkled palm, its altered line,
Its veins so pallid and so slow --

Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
I shall be free when thou art through.
Take all there is -- take hand and heart;
There must be somewhere work to do.

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Habeas Corpus

1 My body, eh? Friend Death, how now?
2 Why all this tedious pomp of writ?
3 Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow
4 For half a century bit by bit.

5 In faith thou knowest more to-day
6 Than I do, where it can be found!
7 This shrivelled lump of suffering clay,
8 To which I am now chained and bound,

9 Has not of kith or kin a trace
10 To the good body once I bore;
11 Look at this shrunken, ghastly face:
12 Didst ever see that face before?

13 Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
14 Thy only fault thy lagging gait,
15 Mistaken pity in thy heart
16 For timorous ones that bid thee wait.

17 Do quickly all thou hast to do,
18 Nor I nor mine will hindrance make;
19 I shall be free when thou art through;
20 I grudge thee nought that thou must take!

21 Stay! I have lied; I grudge thee one,
22 Yes, two I grudge thee at this last,--
23 Two members which have faithful done
24 My will and bidding in the past.

25 I grudge thee this right hand of mine;
26 I grudge thee this quick-beating heart;
27 They never gave me coward sign,
28 Nor played me once the traitor's part.

29 I see now why in olden days
30 Men in barbaric love or hate
31 Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways,
32 Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state:

33 The symbol, sign and instrument
34 Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife,
35 Of fires in which are poured and spent
36 Their all of love, their all of life.

37 O feeble, mighty human hand!
38 O fragile, dauntless human heart!
39 The universe holds nothing planned
40 With such sublime, transcendent art!

41 Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine
42 Poor little hand, so feeble now;
43 Its wrinkled palm, its altered line,
44 Its veins so pallid and so slow --

* * * (Unfinished here.)

45 Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art;
46 I shall be free when thou art through.
47 Take all there is -- take hand and heart;
48 There must be somewhere work to do.

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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The Love Of Christ Which Passeth Kowledge

I bore with thee long weary days and nights,
Through many pangs of heart, through many tears;
I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights,
For three and thirty years.

Who else had dared for thee what I have dared?
I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above;
I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared:
Give thou Me love for love.

For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth,
For thee I trembled in the nightly frost:
Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth:
Why wilt thou still be lost?

I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced:
Men only marked upon My shoulders borne
The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced,
Or wagged their heads in scorn.

Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name
Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes:
I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame;
I, God, Priest, Sacrifice.

A thief upon My right hand and My left;
Six hours alone, athirst, in misery:
At length in death one smote My heart and cleft
A hiding-place for thee.

Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down
More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep:
So did I win a kingdom,—share my crown;
A harvest,—come and reap.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Walters Walk

(page/plant)
Ooh...know I feel so strange looking out the door
Oooh...tryin hard to change but cant let go
Oooh...cryin tears of pain and more and more
Oooh...everyday is the same as the one before
Im walkin the floor over you
Im walkin the floor
Every heart that breaks is a heart thats cold
To the hand that takes your dreamless soul
Ooh...is it long to wait, is it much to pay?
Oooh...sometimes its hard waiting for the day.
You know its hard. I said its hard
You know its true. I said its hard
You know its hard. you know its true
Every tear that falls is a smile thats lost
When you hear the call can you count the cost?
As you stand alone do you wonder how?
Can you step aside, does it matter now?
Every love thats changed ? -? -? -? -? -?
In the eye of the night ? -? -? -
In the day everything ? -? -? -?
She was smilin a tear at her waters fall ? ?
You know its true. you know its true now
Im walkin the floor over you
Im walkin the floor
Every tear that falls is a smile thats lost
When you hear the call can you count the cost?
As you stand alone do you wonder how?
Can you step aside, does it matter now?
Does it matter now? (repeat)

song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yes Thou Art Gone

Yes, thou art gone! and never more
Thy sunny smile shall gladden me;
But I may pass the old church door,
And pace the floor that covers thee,
May stand upon the cold, damp stone,
And think that, frozen, lies below
The lightest heart that I have known,
The kindest I shall ever know.

Yet, though I cannot see thee more,
'Tis still a comfort to have seen;
And though thy transient life is o'er,
'Tis sweet to think that thou hast been;

To think a soul so near divine,
Within a form, so angel fair,
United to a heart like thine,
Has gladdened once our humble sphere.

poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Farewell to Clarimonde

Adieu, Romauld! But thou canst not forget me.
Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,
Thy hungering heart forever must regret me,
And starve for those lost moments of delight.
Naught shall avail thy priestly rites and duties,
Nor fears of Hell, nor hopes of Heaven beyond:
Before the Cross shall rise my fair form's beauties—-
The lips, the limbs, the eyes of Clarimonde.
Like gall the wine sipped from the sacred chalice
Shall taste to one who knew my red mouth's bliss,
When Youth and Beauty dwelt in Love's own palace,
And life flowed on in one eternal kiss.
Through what strange ways I come, dear heart, to reach thee,
From viewless lands, by paths no man e'er trod!
I braved all fears, all dangers dared, to teach thee
A love more mighty than thy love of God.
Think not in all His Kingdom to discover
Such joys, Romauld, as ours, when fierce yet fond
I clasped thee—kissed thee—crowned thee my one lover:
Thou canst not find another Clarimonde.
I knew all arts of love: he who possessed me
Possessed all women, and could never tire;
A new life dawned for him who once caressed me;
Satiety itself I set on fire.
Inconstancy I chained: men died to win me;
Kings cast by crowns for one hour on my breast:
And all the passionate tide of love within me
I gave to thee, Romauld. Wert thou not blest?
Yet, for the love of God, thy hand hath riven
Our welded souls. But not in prayer well conned,
Not in thy dearly-purchased peace of Heaven,
Canst thou forget those hours with Clarimonde.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spain 1873-'74

OUT of the murk of heaviest clouds,
Out of the feudal wrecks, and heap'd-up skeletons of kings,
Out of that old entire European debris--the shatter'd mummeries,
Ruin'd cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests,
Lo! Freedom's features, fresh, undimm'd, look forth--the same
immortal face looks forth;
(A glimpse as of thy mother's face, Columbia,
A flash significant as of a sword,
Beaming towards thee.)

Nor think we forget thee, Maternal;
Lag'd'st thou so long? Shall the clouds close again upon thee? 10
Ah, but thou hast Thyself now appear'd to us--we know thee;
Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of Thyself;
Thou waitest there, as everywhere, thy time.

poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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