A Star In The East
FOR THE ART EXHIBITION AT ST. JUDE'S, WHITECHAPEL
LIKE a fair flower springing fresh, sweet, and bright,
Through prison stones; or like one perfect song
Heard in a dream on one remembered night,
When waking worlds were dumb with grief and wrong;
Like the one kiss that links--first kiss and last--
The inevitable future spent apart
With the immutable divided past:
So in the east shines out this star of Art.
The narrow-shouldered, pale-faced girl and boy
Nestle against Art's new-found, love-warm breast,
And feel vague stirrings of a far-off joy,
Which life has never for themselves possessed,
And dimly guess at wonders hardly known--
Even as dreams--and weep glad tears to see
A loveliness that is at once life's own,
And yet is something life can never be.
Not worse will work the flying busy hand
Because the soul has drunk a cup of pleasure,
Has picked up on its leaden-coloured strand
Some little jewel of Art's splendid treasure,
Nor will less work be done because men see
That work is not the only thing in life,
Because they have been glad at heart and free
A little space 'mid sorrow, sin, and strife.
And this sweet draught may banish men's content?
For this we pray and strive--not all in vain--
That men may reach such heights of discontent
As never to fall back to peace again
Where no peace is--nor rest from strife and prayers,
But tread firm-footed up the thorny way,
Till all that spring of art and joy is theirs
Whereof they taste so small a draught to-day.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Winter Stores
We take from life one little share,
And say that this shall be
A space, redeemed from toil and care,
From tears and sadness free.
And, haply, Death unstrings his bow
And Sorrow stands apart,
And, for a little while, we know
The sunshine of the heart.
Existence seems a summer eve,
Warm, soft, and full of peace;
Our free, unfettered feelings give
The soul its full release.
A moment, then, it takes the power,
To call up thoughts that throw
Around that charmed and hallowed hour,
This life's divinest glow.
But Time, though viewlessly it flies,
And slowly, will not stay;
Alike, through clear and clouded skies,
It cleaves its silent way.
Alike the bitter cup of grief,
Alike the draught of bliss,
Its progress leaves but moment brief
For baffled lips to kiss.
The sparkling draught is dried away,
The hour of rest is gone,
And urgent voices, round us, say,
' Ho, lingerer, hasten on !'
And has the soul, then, only gained,
From this brief time of ease,
A moment's rest, when overstrained,
One hurried glimpse of peace ?
No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us,
And flowers bloomed round our feet,
While many a bud of joy before us
Unclosed its petals sweet,
An unseen work within was plying;
Like honey-seeking bee,
From flower to flower, unwearied, flying,
Laboured one faculty,
Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow,
Its gloom and scarcity;
Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow,
Toiled quiet Memory.
'Tis she that from each transient pleasure
Extracts a lasting good;
'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure
To serve for winter's food.
And when Youth's summer day is vanished,
And Age brings Winter's stress,
Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished,
Life's evening hours will bless.
poem by Charlotte Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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One More Day's Work for Jesus
One more day’s work for Jesus,
One less of life for me!
But Heav’n is nearer, and Christ is clearer
Than yesterday, to me.
His love and light fill all my soul tonight.
Refrain
One more day’s work for Jesus,
One more day’s work for Jesus,
One more day’s work for Jesus,
One less of life for me!
One more day’s work for Jesus!
How sweet the work has been,
To tell the story, to show the glory,
Where Christ’s flock enters in!
How it did shine in this poor heart of mine.
Refrain
One more day’s work for Jesus!
O yes, a weary day;
But Heav’n shines clearer, and rest comes nearer,
At each step of the way;
And Christ in all, before His face I fall.
Refrain
O blessèd work for Jesus!
O rest at Jesus’ feet!
There toil seems pleasure, my wants are treasure,
And pain for Him is sweet.
Lord, if I may, I’ll serve another day!
Refrain
poem by Anna Bartlett Warner
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Erase
From Bye Bye Birdie soundtrack
JA:
I was never crazy for flowers
I confess that nothing left me colder.
I could watch a daisy for hours
and all i'd feel was several hours older.
Lilacs or lilies,
anything you please
all that they did was make me shrug or sneeze.
But now i love each blossom that i see
for a lovely little rose loves me.
Now my life is Rosie,
since i found my Rosie.
With a girl like rosie
how could i be blue?
Hand in hand we'll mosey
Me and little Rosie.
We will be so cozy
by a fire built for two.
Oh i once heard a poem that goes
A rose is a rose is a rose.
But i don't agree
Take it from me,
There's one rose sweeter than any that grows
That's my Rosie.
I'm so glad you chose me.
Life is one, sweet, beautiful song
to me.
JA: Now my life is Rosie
VW: Oh, we'll be happy I know.
JA: Since I found my Rosie.
VW: Off to the preacher we'll go.
JA: With a girl like ROsie
VW: So how could we
JA: How could I be blue?
VW: Be blue?
VW: Oh we'll have us a home out west.
A nice, little split, level nest.
And in every room, roses in bloom
JA: but there's one Rose sweeter than all of the rest.
JA: And that's my Rosie
Both:
I'm so glad you chose me.
Life is one, sweet, beautiful song.
If love is right, then, what could be wrong?
Life is one, sweet, beautiful song to me.
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Day Dreamer
Day Dreamer
By: Adam M. Snow
If dreams would end with life of all life,
would our dreams still suffer with strife?
Would the day dreamer still dream,
or is it all that it may seem?
Dreaming in a night, or in a day,
dreaming as it's all flown away.
Living a life as it use to be,
like branches of stars we see.
Is this but a dream within a dream,
to grasp the glistening moonlight beam?
From dawn to dusk, dusk to dawn,
dreaming of that day that is gone.
That day to which all dreams died,
with all fears and hope we feel inside.
Dreams that died will be born once more.
dreams freed beyond the open door.
If dreams live within all life,
will it one day be free of all strife?
To be in the vastness of one's dream,
and lit the way with a sparkle gleam.
To be with peace and fear surround,
to be the lost now is found.
If dreams would end with life of all life,
would our dreams still suffer with strife?
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kisses In My Life
A KISS - To a baby means I'll love you for life
A KISS- To a husband, I'm glad to be your wife
A KISS- To a teen daughter I've been there and
I understand
A KISS-To your mother thanks for understanding me
A KISS-To a father I'll always be your littlr girl
A KISS -To a sister I'm glad god made you my sister
A KISS-To a friend I'm glad your here to hear my
secrets and dry my tears
A KISS-To a loved one who's passed I'll miss you
I'll always love you and good-bye
A KISS-To my pet after a hard day I love
coming home to your wet kisses
A KISS-To myself I'm glad I'm here to love all
of you who are in my life
GAYLE ANNE GOFF
FEB,2009
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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Peace in essence
Peace that pleases people’s hearts
found on the faces of loved ones
Their heartfelt smiles trigger content
that transcends the soul and excel
Peace of a determined mind
Won when work and will
mingle and dwindle down
to a calming climax of triumph
Peace is a place
where nature is nurtured
In a unique symphony
that challenges any anarchy
Peace can be heard
in the delicacy of a baby’s sigh
Pulled from within the sweetest of dreams
That can color only the life of an innocent soul
Peace can be seen
In the loveliness of the rising sun
That spread its rays of hope and joy
and paints the most exquisite sceneries
Peace can be touched, peace can be gained
Peace can put you to rest but don’t remain
Peace that brings satisfaction is that restored
The ultimate of them all is peace sustained
poem by Beam Be Me
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Broken Branches
Broken Branches
Date: January 24,2011
I've tasted sweet o'hungry lips
And felt thy warm embrace
Though now blinded from my sight
In dreams I know thy grace
Whilst nevermore shall honey sweet
Melt soft against my tongue
It's locked away in melodies
Of all the songs we've sung
So, if I'm cursed to see no more
Beyond these clouds of pain
I'll stand and face the bitter force
And languish in the rain
As bending heart and broken branch
Trap grief beneath my breast
For deep inside the cardinals cage
The passion's laid to rest
But, never was a song as sweet
Nor shined on me as bright
As all the windswept lullabies
That whispered in the night
I close my eyes, to feel again
The fire upon my lips
And in the magic of the flight
I still can taste your kiss
So, I'll not weep for all that's lost
Or hope to find once more
The passion of our yesteryears
Was swept beyond my shore
Life will bring another day
The sun will rise again
And I'll not mend my broken dreams
By searching in the sand
I've tasted sweet o'hungry lips
My soul still wears the stain
In silence I will walk in strife
Until the heartache wanes
************************************ *********
Copyright © 201 Leria Hawkins, All Rights Reserved
poem by Leria Hawkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Promise of Sleep
Put the sweet thoughts from out thy mind,
The dreams from out thy breast;
No joy for thee--but thou shalt find
Thy rest
All day I could not work for woe,
I could not work nor rest;
The trouble drove me to and fro,
Like a leaf on the storm's breast.
Night came and saw my sorrow cease;
Sleep in the chamber stole;
Peace crept about my limbs, and peace
Fell on my stormy soul.
And now I think of only this,--
How I again may woo
The gentle sleep-- who promises
That death is gentle too.
Kiss Me Everything! ! !
Kiss me heart and said i'love you.
Kiss me from warm your eyes rays and said all better.
Kiss me from your sweet lips i'was everything.
Kiss me from your desire was embrace by you.i'was passing yearning fogs.
Kiss me with your soft face the angel gave peace on my heart.
Kiss me the rainbow gave the colour to illustrate my dreams.
Kiss me my blue clouds will lie down all tired i'to you.
Kiss me the green leaves penetrating freshness bellows of the heart and mind.
Kiss me the wind-the blowing wind continued the long breath in the life.
Kiss me the wave of the birds wings in the branch, stamped the love and the spirit.
Kiss me the flower and was kissed by me again went through the sun and the rain.
Kiss me the river gave my warm regards to the ocean.
Kiss me the nature said to my heart sweetheart.
I kissed him through all
the life breath in the world.
At peace [Împăcare]
A comrade when the pain is rife
That's how I saw you, on the whole;
I gave you my entire life,
A starry sky, devoid of strife –
And the pure flower of my soul.
But when you wished to shake it, dear,
It withered and it lost its bliss.
In vain you ask a kiss sincere,
Keep running to a new frontier
And other cheeks you'll fondly kiss!...
I do not beg, like in the past,
Your smile, while staying on my knees.
Neither the secret curses cast
Can bring you back to me at last,
Nor tears or any foolish pleas.
Mine was the fairest of them all
A bread in which the life abounds;
The rest I barely can recall:
Pick up the pieces that will fall
And throw them, darling, to the hounds!...
I love that one you used to be,
O, flame extinguished now for good,
As in my dreams your face I see,
But shadow dark... to cherish thee
Who walk away, I never could!
That's why, at peace with my own soul,
I'm just a stranger left behind.
I say: go forth, pursue your goal!
............................................
I'm watching how you play your role
And step by step you leave my mind.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Children's Playground In The City
THIS is a place where men laid their dead,
Each with his life-tale of good or ill;
Here prayers were murmured and hot tears shed,
And passionate anguish moaned its fill.
Silent now is each voice that cried,
And the tears that were wept have all been dried
In the dust; and dust are the hearts that bled
With hopeless longing for hearts grown still.
Dead and forgotten! for Death, requiter
Of love, taught Memory how to forget!
The love that remembered them died. Grow brighter,
Oh, dim grave-garden, with dead hearts set!
Room for the small flying feet to pass,
The feet of the children over the grass!
The dead, if they knew it, would feel them lighter
Than the weight of a stone that no tears make wet.
We must die too, and the grief that will live
Must die as surely--death comes to all;
But you who come after--let Nature give
To our graves her tears, to our dust her pall:
Let her hide us away in her cold broad breast,
Let us be forgotten, and be at rest,
And over our heads let the great world strive,
And the children's voices carol and call.
If your heart on the flower of remembrance is set,
There is one way to pluck it--and only one:
Dare you ask your country not to forget
A name that needs to be graved on stone?
By grief, strife, sacrifice, scorn of fame,
You may grave on the people's hearts your name,
Or your name may die, and your soul live yet
In the cause you died for--the work you have done.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Senses of the Elegy
At a funeral people usually wear black but I'm wearing white
A small glitch of faith trapped by the depths...what a sight
Everything has changed the world now that you are deceased
Even if this is not the path you chose; may your soul rest in peace
I shall sit and stay with you and your one rose coffin
Strangers stop and stare every so often
I sit next to you entwining our hands
Even if you have passed my eyes shall remain on one man
One heart, one love, one life...one past
The love I have for you and others i compare and contrast
All i ask is for things to be like before
I shall look no further and breathe nevermore
My future and memories of my friends and family matter no longer
For they cannot support me like you do...for you are stronger
I think you did know how you made me feel when I looked into your eyes
We were always happy, always together, there was no sadness...there were no lies
I sit here every minute of every hour everyday reading you my elegy
I have always loved you and I still do that's why i want you to be with me
I will stay by you until there is no such thing as the present
Any of my time spent away from you I'll always resent
Sometimes when I put your hand up to my chest I hear my name in the wind
I know it is you that calls...so I start to cry again
I cry because I'll never know what it feels like to kiss your warm lips
When you were alive you drunk my life force in big sips
And when you got full you diminished our hereafter
A life without you could tear me apart like a natural disaster
Yet here I remain by you whose name was brought to shame
Nevertheless, I did not care...you were not to blame
From my mind your face will never fade
I refuse to be alone now I shall lie in the bed that I've made
It's such a pity that I won't be able to kiss your high cheekbones
You died labeling me single instead of widowed...you melt my heart to stone
Since then I haven't been home so when night appears I lay my head on your casket and see you in my dreams
How could you not see your mind...your soul...your life...tearing at the seams?
How could you know if I reek if you cannot smell?
How could you know, see, or feel what I feel if you cannot tell?
How can you know if I'm good if you cannot taste?
How can you rest in peace knowing your hard work has gone to waste?
How can you be happy and go into the tunnel of light when at the end of it is someone else's face?
The place I have for you in my heart no one else can replace
Without you I don't know what it means to be alive
I feed off of nothing so I won't survive
I remain rooted by you; it seems as if the world is spinning
If you could be revived would you go back to that grand hour or the beginning?
That day you were stressed and delusional of what you were hearing
You're just like the man of every woman's dreams even now you are appealing
Every night before I go to sleep I kiss you softly on your neck
I'm here now and I've been here since the day we've met...you I will never neglect
You're broken; a king who cannot breathe cannot be betrothed upon the throne
You...my darling, my family, my friends and the world have all left me alone
You should be proud your name's written in the dirt
Because you could never know how much this hurts
You can choose to chase me although I won't feel your touch
I sit beside you wasting away because I love you so much
I loved lying beside you in bed resting my head against your chest
I just hope you know you've been everything to me so for now just get some rest
You're in the sky now and I should have no reason to worry
I am ashamed to feel like this for you, for me...for us and I'm sorry
I cannot disappoint you anymore...I'll go home after giving you one last kiss
I'll be back for you and every minute I'm away it'll be you that I miss
To bring back my reason to exist your death i shall undo
As I walk away the darkness surrounds me and I fall into the abyss thinking about you
poem by Adena Marie Von Gardner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Complaint of Lisa
There is no woman living who draws breath
So sad as I, though all things sadden her.
There is not one upon life's weariest way
Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.
Toward whom I look as looks the sunflower
All day with all his whole soul toward the sun;
While in the sun's sight I make moan all day,
And all night on my sleepless maiden bed.
Weep and call out on death, O Love, and thee,
That thou or he would take me to the dead.
And know not what thing evil I have done
That life should lay such heavy hand on me.
Alas! Love, what is this thou wouldst with me?
What honor shalt thou have to quench my breath,
Or what shall my heart broken profit thee?
O Love, O great god Love, what have I done,
That thou shouldst hunger so after my death?
My heart is harmless as my life's first day:
Seek out some false fair woman, and plague her
Till her tears even as my tears fill her bed:
I am the least flower in thy flowery way,
But till my time be come that I be dead,
Let me live out my flower-time in the sun,
Though my leaves shut before the sunflower.
O Love, Love, Love, the kingly sunflower!
Shall he the sun hath looked on look on me,
That live down here in shade, out of the sun,
Here living in the sorrow and shadow of death?
Shall he that feeds his heart full of the day
Care to give mine eyes light, or my lips breath?
Because she loves him, shall my lord love her
Who is as a worm in my lord's kingly way?
I shall not see him or know him alive or dead;
But thou, I know thee, O Love, and pray to thee
That in brief while my brief life-days be done,
And the worm quickly make my marriage-bed.
For underground there is no sleepless bed.
But here since I beheld my sunflower
These eyes have slept not, seeing all night and day
His sunlike eyes, and face fronting the sun.
Wherefore, if anywhere be any death,
I fain would find and fold him fast to me,
That I may sleep with the world's eldest dead,
With her that died seven centuries since, and her
That went last night down the night-wandering way.
For this is sleep indeed, when labor is done,
Without love, without dreams, and without breath,
And without thought, O name unnamed! of thee.
Ah! but, forgetting all things, shall I thee?
Wilt thou not be as now about my bed
There underground as here before the sun?
Shall not thy vision vex me alive and dead,
Thy moving vision without form or breath?
I read long since the bitter tale of her
Who read the tale of Launcelot on a day,
And died, and had no quiet after death,
But was moved ever along a weary way,
Lost with her love in the underworld; ah me,
O my king, O my lordly sunflower,
Would God to me, too, such a thing were done!
But if such sweet and bitter things be done,
Then, flying from life, I shall not fly from thee.
For in that living world without a sun
Thy vision will lay hold upon me dead,
And meet and mock me, and mar my peace in death.
Yet if being wroth, God had such pity on her,
Who was a sinner and foolish in her day,
That even in hell they twain should breathe one breath,
Why should he not in some wise pity me?
So if I sleep not in my soft strait bed,
I may look up and see my sunflower
As he the sun, in some divine strange way.
O poor my heart, well knowest thou in what way
This sore sweet evil unto us was done.
For on a holy and a heavy day
I was arisen out of my still small bed
To see the knights tilt, and one said to me
"The king;" and seeing him, somewhat stopped my breath;
And if the girl spake more, I heard her not,
For only I saw what I shall see when dead,
A kingly flower of knights, a sunflower,
That shone against the sunlight like the sun,
And like a fire, O heart, consuming thee,
The fire of love that lights the pyre of death.
Howbeit I shall not die an evil death
Who have loved in such a sad and sinless way,
That this my love, lord, was no shame to thee.
So when mine eyes are shut against the sun,
O my soul's sun, O the world's sunflower,
Thou nor no man will quite despise me dead.
And dying I pray with all my low last breath
That thy whole life may be as was that day,
That feast-day that made trothplight death and me,
Giving the world light of thy great deeds done;
And that fair face brightening thy bridal bed,
That God be good as God hath been to her.
That all things goodly and glad remain with her,
All things that make glad life and goodly death;
That as a bee sucks from a sunflower
Honey, when summer draws delighted breath,
Her soul may drink of thy soul in like way,
And love make life a fruitful marriage-bed
Where day may bring forth fruits of joy to day
And night to night till days and nights be dead.
And as she gives light of her love to thee,
Give thou to her the old glory of days long done;
And either give some heat of light to me,
To warm me where I sleep without the sun.
O sunflower make drunken with the sun,
O knight whose lady's heart draws thine to her,
Great king, glad lover, I have a word to thee.
There is a weed lives out of the sun's way,
Hid from the heat deep in the meadow's bed,
That swoons and whitens at the wind's least breath,
A flower star-shaped, that all a summer day
Will gaze her soul out on the sunflower
For very love till twilight finds her dead.
But the great sunflower heeds not her poor death,
Knows not when all her loving life is done;
And so much knows my lord the king of me.
Ay, all day long he has no eye for me;
With golden eye following the golden sun
From rose-colored to purple-pillowed bed,
From birthplace to the flame-lit place of death,
From eastern end to western of his way,
So mine eye follows thee, my sunflower,
So the white star-flower turns and yearns to thee,
The sick weak weed, not well alive or dead,
Trod under foot if any pass by her,
Pale, without color of summer or summer breath
In the shrunk shuddering petals, that have done
No work but love, and die before the day.
But thou, to-day, to-morrow, and every day,
Be glad and great, O love whose love slays me.
Thy fervent flower made fruitful from the sun
Shall drop its golden seed in the world's way,
That all men thereof nourished shall praise thee
For grain and flower and fruit of works well done;
Till thy shed seed, O shining sunflower,
Bring forth such growth of the world's garden-bed
As like the sun shall outlive age and death.
And yet I would thine heart had heed of her
Who loves thee alive; but not till she be dead.
Come, Love, then, quickly, and take her utmost breath.
Song, speak for me who am dumb as are the dead;
From my sad bed of tears I send forth thee,
To fly all day from sun's birth to sun's death
Down the sun's way after the flying sun,
For love of her that gave thee wings and breath
Ere day be done, to seek the sunflower.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Night I Dreamed Of Heaven
LAST NIGHT I DREAMED OF HEAVEN
WRITER HANK WILLIAMS
Last night I dreamed of heaven and I saw my mother there
Standing with all the angels on a golden stair
I thought I heard her whisper welcome home my boy
Last night I dreamed of heaven and it filled my heart with joy
I heard the angels singing songs of peace and rest
And then there was a silence
Each eye looked toward the west
There sat my Saviour on his golden throne
Last night I dreamed of heaven my eternal home sweet home
Last night I dreamed of heaven that land so pure and sweet
And the joy within me made my glad heart weep
I was there with my Saviour free from grief and strife
Last night I dreamed of heaven the land of eternal life
I heard the angels singing songs of peace and rest
And then there was a silence
Each eye looked toward the west
There sat my Saviour on his golden throne
Last night I dreamed of heaven my eternal home sweet home
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sing To Me
Sing to me! Something of sunlight and bloom,
I am so compassed with sorrow and gloom,
I am so sick with the world’s noisse and strife, -
Sing of the beauty and brightness of life –
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing to me! Something that’s jubilant, glad!
I am so weary, my soul so sad.
All my earth riches are covered with rust,
All my bright dreams are but ashes and dust.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing og the blossoms that open in spring,
How the sweet flowers blow, and the long lichens cling,
Say, though the winter is round about me,
There are bright summers and springs yet to be.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing me a song full of hope and of truth,
Brimming with all the sweet fancies of youth!
Say, though my sorrow I may not forget,
I have not quite done with happiness yet.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Lay your soft fingers just here, on my cheek;
Turn the light lower – there- no, do not speak,
But sing! My heart thrills at your beautiful voice;
Sing till I turn from my grief and rejoice.
Sing to me, sing to me!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Night Cometh
Work! for the night is coming;
Work! through the morning hours;
Work! while the dew is sparkling;
Work! 'mid the springing flowers;
Work! while the day grows brighter,
Under the glowing sun;
Work! for the night is coming,--
Night, when man's work is done.
Work! for the night is coming;
Work! through the sunny noon;
Fill the bright hours with labour,
Rest cometh sure and soon.
Give to each flying minute
Something to keep in store;
Work! for the night is coming,--
Night, when man works no more.
Work! for the night is coming;
Under the sunset skies,
While their bright tints are glowing,
Work! for the daylight flies;
Work! till the last beam fadeth,
Fadeth to shine no more;
Work! while the night is darkening,--
Night, when man's work is o'er.
poem by Annie Louisa Walker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Work To Work
Happy too
Work...
Un happy too
work...
Love too
Woork...
With out love too
Work...
Silentely work...
Tenson to work...
Peace too work...
Diperession to work...
Work with work...
Any time do any
Work...
Work is give for
Human...
Relax and releave...
Sad too work...
Woory too work...
Work too work...
Work is wondrfully
Changed your and your's life
Each every day
Don't take un wanted rest
With your's lazey...
Lazy making
Sad... dipression...
Tenson...
Useless thinking...
So...
Work is wonder fully
Chnage to change for your's...
Mind and thinking and your's life...
Woo
Work to work with you
And other's...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Going Home
When my work here is oer
And trials come no more
On that great day I'm going home
To live forever more, just oer on heaven's shore
When my life here is oer I'm going home
Chorus
I'm going home, I'm going home
When my life here is oer I'm going home
Won't it be so sweet, to rest at Jesus feet
When my life here is oer I'm going home
I'm travelling in the light
And my way is clear and bright
Some glad day I'm going home
Heading for the pearly gates for there my savior waits
When my life here is oer I'm going home
As I travel down lifes road
So heavy is my load
But some glad day I'm going home
I'll meet my loved ones there, in that land so bright and fair
When my life here is oer I'm going home
Chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams, music by Hank Williams (1950)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Road to the Sea
We passed each other, turned and stopped for half an hour, then went our way,
I who make other women smile did not make you--
But no man can move mountains in a day.
So this hard thing is yet to do.
But first I want your life:--before I die I want to see
The world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes,
There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering, it may be,
Yet on brown fields there lies
A haunting purple bloom: is there not something in grey skies
And in grey sea?
I want what world there is behind your eyes,
I want your life and you will not give it me.
Now, if I look, I see you walking down the years,
Young, and through August fields--a face, a thought, a swinging dream
perched on a stile--;
I would have liked (so vile we are!) to have taught you tears
But most to have made you smile.
To-day is not enough or yesterday: God sees it all--
Your length on sunny lawns, the wakeful rainy nights--; tell me--;
(how vain to ask), but it is not a question--just a call--;
Show me then, only your notched inches climbing up the garden wall,
I like you best when you are small.
Is this a stupid thing to say
Not having spent with you one day?
No matter; I shall never touch your hair
Or hear the little tick behind your breast,
Still it is there,
And as a flying bird
Brushes the branches where it may not rest
I have brushed your hand and heard
The child in you: I like that best
So small, so dark, so sweet; and were you also then too grave and wise?
Always I think. Then put your far off little hand in mine;--
Oh! let it rest;
I will not stare into the early world beyond the opening eyes,
Or vex or scare what I love best.
But I want your life before mine bleeds away--
Here--not in heavenly hereafters--soon,--
I want your smile this very afternoon,
(The last of all my vices, pleasant people used to say,
I wanted and I sometimes got--the Moon!)
You know, at dusk, the last bird's cry,
And round the house the flap of the bat's low flight,
Trees that go black against the sky
And then--how soon the night!
No shadow of you on any bright road again,
And at the darkening end of this--what voice? whose kiss? As if you'd say!
It is not I who have walked with you, it will not be I who take away
Peace, peace, my little handful of the gleaner's grain
From your reaped fields at the shut of day.
Peace! Would you not rather die
Reeling,--with all the cannons at your ear?
So, at least, would I,
And I may not be here
To-night, to-morrow morning or next year.
Still I will let you keep your life a little while,
See dear?
I have made you smile.
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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