En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Baby's Birthday

G.T.A.

BEFORE your life that is to come,
Love stands with eager eyes, that vainly
Seek to discern what gift may fit
The slow unfolding years of it;
And still Time's lips are sealed and dumb,
And still Love sees no future plainly.

We cannot guess what flowers will spring
Best in your garden, bloom most brightly;
But some fair flowers in any plot
Will spring and grow, and wither not;
And such wish-flowers we gladly bring,
And in that small hand lay them lightly.

Baby, we wish that those dear eyes
May see fulfilment of our dreaming,
Those little feet may turn from wrong,
Those hands to hold the right be strong,
That heart be pure, that mind be wise
To know the true from the true-seeming.

We wish that all your life may be
A life of selfless brave endeavour--
That for reward the fates allow
Such love as lines your soft nest now
To warm the years for you, when we,
Who wish you this, are cold for ever.

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Somewhere in my heart

I never thought that I would fall
I cant stop dreaming of you
Don’t know how to stop thinking of you
I miss you in each day of my life
And wanting you to be here right by my side

I never asked for this feeling
A love that grows deep inside of me
Like a sun that bloom in my life
Like a flowers that bloom in spring
As wide like an ocean and stream

Could it be so beautiful
Could it be so wonderful
That somewhere in my heart
There’s a magic of love

Could it be true
Or Could I’ll be wrong
That somewhere in my heart
There was me and you

Somewhere here in my heart
I dreaming of you
As thoughts of you made me blush
In the passing clouds I felt a rush
Suddenly I felt I’m in love

How I hate what you have done
For this feeling I felt in my heart
Constantly you’re in my mind
And it’s such ashamed
Cause my heart is on the ground….

poem by Cheryl Aldea
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A Love Spring

So Spring warm weather upon with you watch
bloom flowers: Tulip, Orchid, Cherry ect..
That awake Springtime beautiful blue sky

With me, feeling of peace with Spring
Pollen of the flowers trees everywhere
To let you know the Spring coming
Green grass with flowers fill us with joy

Outdoor full of activities
Spring gently warm our souls
To the Spring 's love within you and me forever.

poem by Natasa Tocuc
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It Is Spring....

when you pose beside those flowers
and you tell me

it is spring! it is spring!

and that i should be happy
because it is spring time and all the flowers
are showing
their true colors

i stop right there
it is not actually the beauty that we are
caught inside
the prison of having to stay and
believe and
hold on to life with awe

it is the true colors
that i am stuck with

not even the spring that merely
springs it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Owe A Debt To Spring II

Oh, I owe a debt to spring!
She brought me wild flowers and
Hardy daffodils,
Beautiful, velvet, green carpeted hills.
She brought the mist of April showers,
With the promised bloom of May flowers.

Birds came back to sin,
Oh, I owe a debt to spring!
I see the colors of a rainbow dancing
Across the sky,
Spring came in with a lullaby.
I owe a debt to spring for the love
You bring to me, my love, to me!

I shall plant moss roses, dear spring,
To dance at your feet,
Spring time is the best time for nature's
bouquet of happiness complete...
O, I owe a debt to spring, for you, my love,
For you!

Dorothy Alves Holmes
A Poet Who Loves To Sing

poem by Dorothy Holmes
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Prayer of Flowers

Behind the flowers an angel sings
Every hour showers what life brings
Be patient my friends and grow
Love always shows the way home

Earth kisses flowers of sky blue
Joy is a gift in the soul of the true
Bring your smiles of gentle hope
May all your heart be known

May all your dreams like flowers grow

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Rose Tree Of Winter

In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Etude Realiste

A Baby's feet, like sea-shells pink,
Might tempt, should heaven see meet,
An angel's lips to kiss, we think,
A baby's feet.

Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat
They stretch and spread and wink
Their ten soft buds that part and meet.

No flower-bells that expand and shrink
Gleam half so heavenly sweet
As shine on life's untrodden brink
A baby's feet.

II.

A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled
Whence yet no leaf expands,
Ope if you touch, though close upcurled,
A baby's hands.

Then, fast as warriors grip their brands
When battle's bolt is hurled,
They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.

No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled
Match, even in loveliest lands,
The sweetest flowers in all the world -
A baby's hands.

III.

A baby's eyes, ere speech begin,
Ere lips learn words or sighs,
Bless all things bright enough to win
A baby's eyes.

Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies,
And sleep flows out and in,
Sees perfect in them Paradise.

Their glance might cast out pain and sin,
Their speech make dumb the wise,
By mute glad godhead felt within
A baby's eyes.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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In Memoryt Of Saretta Deakin

_Who Died on October 25th_, 1899.

THERE was a day,
A horrible Autumn day,
When from her home, the home she made for ours
And that day made a nightmare of white flowers
And folk in black who whispered pityingly,
They carried her away;
And left our hearts all cold
And empty, yet with such a store to hold
Of sodden grief the slow drops still ooze out,
And, falling on all fair things, they wither these.
Tears came with time--but not with time went by.

And still we wander desolate about
The poor changed house, the garden and the croft,
Warm kitchen, sunny parlour, with the soft
Intolerable pervading memories
Of her whose face and voice made melodies,
Sweet unforgotten songs of mother-love--
Dear songs of all the little joys that were.
We see the sun, and have no joy thereof,
Because she gathered in her dying hands
And carried with her to the fair far lands
The flower of all our joy, because she went
Out of the garden where her days were spent,
And took the very sun away with her.

The cross stands at her head.
Over her breast, that loving mother-breast,
Close buds of pansies purple and white are pressed.
It seems a place for rest,
For happy folded sleep; but ah, not there,
Not there, not there, our hardest tears are shed,
But in the house made empty for her sake.
Here, in the night intolerable, wake
The hungry passionate pains of Love still strong
To fight with death the bitter slow night long.
Then the rich price that poor Love has to pay
Is paid, slow drop by drop, till the new day
With thin cold fingers pushes back night's wings,
And drags us out to common cruel things
That sting, and barb their stings with memory.
O Love--and is the price too hard to give?
Thine is the splendour of all things that live,
And this thy pain the price of life to thee--
The sacrament that binds to the beloved,
The chain that holds though mountains be removed,
The portent of thine immortality.

So, in the house of pain imprisoned, we
Endure our bondage, and work out our time,
Nor seek from out our dungeon walls to climb--
Bondsmen, who would not, if we could, be free.
Thank God, our hands still hold Love's cord--and she--
Do not her hands still clasp the cord we hold,
Drawing us near, coiling bright fold on fold,
Till the far day when it shall draw us near
To the sight of her--her living hands, her dear
Tired face, grown weary of watching for our face?
And we shall hold her, in the happy place,
And hear her voice, the old same voice we knew--
'Ah! children, I am tired of wanting you!'

Or, in some world more beautiful and dear
Than any she ever even dreamed of here,
Where time is changed, does she await the day
She longed for, and so little a while away,
When all the love we watered with our tears
Shall bloom, transplanted by the kindly years?
Dreaming through her new garden does she go,
Remembering the old garden, long ago,
Tending new flowers more fair than those that grow
In this sad garden where such sad flowers blow;
And, fondly touching bud and leaf and shoot,
Training her flowers to perfect branch and root,
Does she sometimes entreat some darling flower
To wait a little for its opening hour?
Can you not hear her voice: 'Ah, not to-day,
While my dear flowers, my own, are far away.
Be patient, bud! to-morrow soon will come:
Ah! blossom when my little girl comes home!'

But now. But here.
The empty house, the always empty place--
The black remembrance that no night blots out,
The memories, white, unbearable, and dear
That no white sunlight makes less cruel and clear?
The resistless riotous rout
Of cruel conquering thoughts, the night, the day?
Love is immortal: this the price to pay.
Worse than all pain it would be to forget--
On Love's brave brow the crown of thorns is set.
Love is no niggard: though the price be high
Into God's market Love goes forth to buy
With royal meed God's greatest gifts and gain,
Love offers up his whole rich store of pain,
And buys of God Love's immortality.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Whats Simple Is True

Turn to me with frozen lips
Your hands are so icy cold
Your eyes burn bright against the frost-bit sky
You never seemed more lovely than you do tonight
Pale on the horizon
Like leaves frozen in the snow
Our two shadows merge inserparably
Will time stand still if its pierced with cold?
The more I live
The more I know
Whats simple is true
I love you
Theres a warmth in my heart
It haunts me when youre gone
Mend me to your side and never let go
Say time knows nothing, well never grow cold
The more I live
The more I know
Whats simple is true
I love you
Twilight descends on our silhouette
How soon spring comes
How soon spring forgets
I wanna hold time, say itll never begin
Old man winter be our friend
Old man winter be our friend
cause the more I live
The more I know
Whats simple is true
Whats simple is true
I love,
I love you

song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song Of Success

Ho! we were strong, we were swift, we were brave.
Youth was a challenge, and Life was a fight.
All that was best in us gladly we gave,
Sprang from the rally, and leapt for the height.
Smiling is Love in a foam of Spring flowers:
Harden our hearts to him -- on let us press!
Oh, what a triumph and pride shall be ours!
See where it beacons, the star of success!

Cares seem to crowd on us -- so much to do;
New fields to conquer, and time's on the wing.
Grey hairs are showing, a wrinkle or two;
Somehow our footstep is losing its spring.
Pleasure's forsaken us, Love ceased to smile;
Youth has been funeralled; Age travels fast.
Sometimes we wonder: is it worth while?
There! we have gained to the summit at last.

Aye, we have triumphed! Now must we haste,
Revel in victory . . . why! what is wrong?
Life's choicest vintage is flat to the taste --
Are we too late? Have we laboured too long?
Wealth, power, fame we hold . . . ah! but the truth:
Would we not give this vain glory of ours
For one mad, glad year of glorious youth,
Life in the Springtide, and Love in the flowers.

poem by Robert William Service
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The Next One

The next one
Will not be like me
I know I have flaws
As you plainly do see

I know I'm not perfect
But I know I did try
But you only see me
Through days of past eyes

I bet he'll be perfect
Say all the right things
Bring you all of the joy
A new relationship brings

Will he open your door?
As 9 years have gone by
When you share your hurts
Will he truthfully cry?

Will his heart stick with you?
Through thick and through thin?
Will he love you through everything?
The good stuff and sin?

Will he laugh at your jokes?
With genuine heart?
Will it last through the years?
Or just at the start?

Will he walk with you
Through all of your dreams?
And make them come true?
As sure as it seems.

If you lay in bed dying
Will he hold your last breath?
Will he love you forever?
Or just until death?

Will he change who he is?
To bring you much joy?
Will he cherish you like I do?
Or are you just a new toy?

Will he do what it takes?
To win back your heart.
Will he try to become
Who he was in the start?
Will he lead you to God?
Will he lead you to Hell?
I guess we'll find out
As only time will tell.

Will he love you like I do?
Through good times and bad?
When your loving or angry?
When your happy or mad?

Will he love you so deeply?
For you will he pray?
When things get real tough
Will he just walk away?

Would he walk through a fire?
Put his life on the line?
Give it all up for you?
Is his love stronger than mine?

Will he dream of a future?
Where you both will grow old?
Will he love you so dearly?
Will his love just turn cold?

If you did what I did
Would you just walk away?
Or stand up and fight on
Each and everyday

I just want you to be happy
So I'll let you go
You truly are worth it
I thought you should know

I will love you forever
After I leave this world
And even in heaven
You'll still be my girl

So now I to move on
Things will be what they'll be
For I know he won't love you
Won't love you like me.

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Too Late

Too late the prize is drawn, the goal attained.
Too late, too late, our heart's desire is gained.
Wealth's use is past; Fame's crown of laurel mocks
The downward drooping head and grizzled locks.
The end is reached — the end of toil and strife —
The end of life.

Love flowers and fades like grass, and flowers again,
And strong young hearts spend all their strength in vain.
The fiery passions burn out, one by one,
And then, too late, when our best days are done,
Spirit and body find their perfect mate —
Too late, too late!

Long sought, long seeking, through the lonely years,
We meet at last to weep our useless tears
For time and chance irrevocably flown,
For dreams outlived and fervent hopes outgrown,
For babes unborn, for myriad joys unseen,
That might have been.

Too late, too late! And yet the priceless boon
Might ne'er have come to bless us, late or soon;
And only comes, like Holy Grail, to those
Made wise and pure by bitter needs and woes.
We learn the worth of life when life is o'er,
And not before.

Not for the spring and morning time of youth
The perfect flower of slow- unfolding truth —
The perfect love, deep, passionate, and strong,
That comes of wanting much and waiting long.
This glorious fire is of the setting sun
When day is done.

This harvest wealth, this crowning gift of fate,
This fruit of suffering years, must aye come late;
And only seeking spirit and ripe mind —
Only a few — the matchless treasure find,
And find, despite all time and chances lost,
'Twas worth the cost.

Ah me! To stand upon this height at last,
Ere eyes are dim or daylight overpast;
To see one aim achieved, one dream fulfilled,
Ere striving brain and hoping heart are stilled;

To know that we have borne a lifelong pain
Not all in vain!

O, not too late, if once we reach the goal —
If once we satisfy this hungry soul —
If only for a year, a day, an hour,
We drink our fill of life's true bliss and power.
If we but touch that point, we conquer fate
Not quite too late!

poem by Ada Cambridge
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Winter Song

Turn to me with frozen lips
Your hands are icy cold
Your eyes burn bright
Against the frost lit sky
You never seemed more lovely than you do tonight
Pale on the horizon
Like leaves frozen in the snow
Two bodies merging seperately
Time stands still
If its pierced with cold
Chorus:
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Whats simple is true
And I love you
Theres a warmth in my heart
It haunts me when youre gone
Mend me to your side
And never let go
Time knows nothing
Well never grow cold
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Whats simple is true
And I love you
The twilight descends
On our sillouhettes
How soon spring comes
How soon spring forgets
I wanna stop time
Say itll never begin
Old man winter be our friend
Old man winter be our friend
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Whats simple is true
Whats simple is true
And I love you
---------------
October 97 version
Turn to me with frozen lips
Your hands are icy cold
Your eyes so blue
Against the frost lit sky
You never looked more lovely than you do tonight
Pale on the horizon
Like leaves frozen in the snow
Two shadows merging seperately
Time stands still
Its pierced with cold
Chorus:
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Its simple
Its true
And I love you
Theres warmth in my heart
It haunts me when youre gone
Mend me to your side
And never let me go
Time knows nothing
And itll never grow cold
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Its simple
Its true
And I love you
Twilight descends
On our sillouhette
How soon spring comes
How soon spring forgets
I once talked of time
Saying itll never begin
Old man winter be our friend
Old man winter be our friend
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Its simple
Its true
And I love you

song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love With Out Life

Imagine love without life
No one to hug
And say I love you
No one to kiss and
say good bye
No one to cry to
when they die
No one to forgive
When we no longer hate
No one to think about
No one to think of us
No heart to beat
with our love
No love to meet
No adventure for love to seek
Nor we to seek love's adventure
No mystery in the thing we love
there is no loving thing
No crushes
No flowers to give, nor flowers to pick
No one to discover ourselves in
No sighs,
No children, no babies
No respect
No souls to call our mate
No life to need a soul
No first date
No hand to hold, no hand to feel
No one to walk through life with
For there is no life

Let's live first and love shall come next I say…..
To Life

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The Last Envoy

THIS wind, that through the silent woodland blows,
O'er rippling corn and dreaming pastures goes
Straight to the garden where the heart of spring
Faints in the heart of summer's earliest rose.

Dimpling the meadow's grassy green and grey,
By furze that yellows all the common way,
Gathering the gladness of the flowering broom,
And too persistent fragrance of the may--

Gathering whatever is of sweet and dear,
The wandering wind has passed away from here,
Has passed to where within your garden waits
The concentrated sweetness of the year.

And in your leafed enclosure as you stood,
Training your flowers to new beatitude--
Ah! did you guess the wind that kissed your hair
Had kissed my forehead in this solitude--

Had kissed my lips, and gathered there the heat
It breathed upon your mouth, my only sweet--
Had gathered from my eyes the tender thought
That drooped your eyes, and stirred your pulses' beat?

You only thought the sun's caress too warm
That lay upon your bosom and your arm;
You did not guess the wind had brought from me
The unacknowledged fancy's fire and charm--

You only said, 'Too strong these sunlit skies,
More dear the moments when the daylight dies!'
And then you dreamed of meetings by your gate
In sanctity of sunset and moonrise.

To-night, when he shall come and meet you there,
To kiss your lips and hands and eyes and hair,
To light with love and hope youth's waiting shrine--
Think of my love, and my assured despair!

To-night the wind will rob the languid flowers
Of secret scents kept close through daylit hours;
It will blow coolly over dewy lawns,
Where the laburnums fall in silent showers.

I, too, shall learn a secret then--shall wrest
Life's hidden things from out her languorous breast,
Shall learn the way that leads away from life
Into the land where nothing lives but rest.

You will not know that the cold air you prize,
After the stormy sweetness of his sighs,
Is cold from blowing through a moonlit wood
Over the hollow where a dead man lies!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Is It Wrong Me to Make You Love Me?

Is it wrong me to say I love you?
Is it wrong me to tell I miss you?
Is it wrong me to hold you tight?
Is it wrong me?

When rainbow of love sprang up again
In the long cold broken heart
Love does not bloom only for you
So share with me

Is it wrong me to say I love you?
Is it wrong me to tell I miss you?
Is it wrong me to hold you tight?
Is it wrong me?

Don't regret all winter's left
It won't come back even you turn the time
Love does not bloom only for her
Here I'm waiting

Is it wrong me to say I love you?
Is it wrong me to tell I miss you?
Is it wrong me to hold you tight?
Is it wrong me?

It's time for you to feel spring again
Look at my eyes, don't turn around
Love is not only just sorrow
There's happiness

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Heart Beats Specially For You

You are the only One to matter
True Joy forever
We are to go
You remain
And bring again
Oh! Life
You gave me joy
(It was not just a toy)
You won't take what you give
You help the heart to strive
I know
It just might be a too long life
And you sure better know
May be you send cold winter in spring
To save me some flowers in winter to bring
Make for me a rainbow when it must rain
Make me content
As long as my heart sees You're here
I can live and cheer
And though at twenty one
I miss the past pure joy
Of eight or two or one
I know I will go on
And get of life the new
As much I do long for the new
Yours is the new
Still You more joy will give
Oh God!
Send of you - Love -
A gaurdian to my heart
To wipe the hard
With each heart- beat
And every year
This special day
Come to renew.

(written on my 21st birthday)

poem by Eman Elbadawi
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These Little Ones

'What of the garden I gave?'
God said to me;
'Hast thou been diligent to foster and save
The life of flower and tree?
How have the roses thriven,
The lilies I have given,
The pretty scented miracles that Spring
And Summer come to bring?

'My garden is fair and dear,'
I said to God;
'From thorns and nettles I have kept it clear.
Green-trimmed its sod.
The rose is red and bright,
The lily a live delight;
I have not lost a flower of all the flowers
That blessed my hours.'

'What of the child I gave?'
God said to me;
'The little, little one I died to save
And gave in trust to thee?
How have the flowers grown
That in its soul were sown,
The lovely living miracles of youth
And hope and joy and truth?'

'The child's face is all white,'
I said to God;
'It cries for cold and hunger in the night:
Its little feet have trod
The pavement muddy and cold.
It has no flowers to hold,
And in its soul the flowers you set are dead.'
'Thou fool!' God said.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Here Comes The Spring

Joy that comes with each passing spring
Is free for all for both begger or a king

For the spring is a gift of God
That he has given to all as reward

For spring is when flowers bloom
And are ready to take away gloom

And it is when birds start to sing
To tell all that here comes the Spring

So enjoy this gift and thank your Lord
Who gave you the part of blessing's rod

And showed you so much joy in the way
That made pleasurable your whole life's day.

Seema Chowdhury

poem by Seema Chowdhury
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On this day of Spring Original by Rabindranath Tagore

So many flowers bloom
On this day of Spring
So many flutes are played
So many birds sing
On this day of Spring
On this day of Spring

My friend's heart is as soft
As a little flower
Whose negligence makes it
So terribly suffer
Why do you come to her
And try to make her laugh
The one who used to come
Now doesn't care enough

So many flowers bloom
On this day of Spring
So many flutes are played
So many birds sing
On this day of Spring
On this day of Spring

God please keep the happy
People always happy
And let the Spring season
Of joy pass by smoothly
God don't let the happy
People see her in tears
Since they overlook her
And want to live in cheers

So many flowers bloom
On this day of Spring
So many flutes are played
So many birds sing
On this day of Spring
On this day of Spring

poem by Asif Andalib
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