Chloe
NIGHT wind sighing through the poplar leaves,
Trembling of the aspen, shivering of the willow,
Every leafy voice of all the night-time grieves,
Mourning, weeping over Chloe's pillow.
Chloe, fresher than the breeze of dawn,
Fairer than the larches in their young spring glory,
Brighter than the glow-worms on the dewy lawn,
Hear the dirge the green trees sing to end your story:--
'Chloe lived and Chloe loved: she brought new gladness,
Hope and life and all things good to all who met her;
Only, dying, wept to know the lifelong sadness
Willed, against her will, to those who can't forget her.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Related quotes
Warm And Tender
Warm and tender is my prayer for your world, that I surrender to my girl
All my life I've waited for the angel you are
You're the dream that I knew you'd be
And I love you completely my Chloe, Chloe
Warm and tender, I will color your days, with smiles and friends along the way
From the silver morning to the blue velvet night
Through it all you can count on me
And I love you completely my Chloe, Chloe
I'll make you a world to grow in, where you will be safe and free
I'll save you a greener world, where you can be
Warm and tender you will heal all the world
Your touch can mend a mother's heart
Everyday I'm thankful for the blessing you are
You're the future, the hope we need
And I love you completely my Chloe, Chloe, Chloe, Chloe
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Charming Month of May
It was the charming month of May,
When all the flow’rs were fresh and gay.
One morning, by the break of day,
The youthful, charming Chloe—
From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o’er the flow’ry mead she goes—
The youthful, charming Chloe.
Chorus:
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o’er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.
The feather’d people you might see
Perch’d all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody
They hail the charming Chloe;
Till, painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Outrival’d by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Chorus
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Warm & Tender
(olivia newton-john/john farrar)
Warm and tender is my prayer for your world
That I surrender to my girl
All my life Ive waited for the angel you are
Youre the dream that I knew youd be
And I love you completely my chloe/chloe
Warm and tender--i will color your days
With smiles and friends along the way
From the silver morning
To the blue velvet night
Through it all you can count on me
And I love you completely my chloe/chloe
Ill make you a world to grow in
Where you will be safe and free
Ill save you a greener world
Where you can be
Warm and tender you will heal all the world
Your touch can mend a mothers heart
Everyday Im thankful for the blessing you are
Youre the future, the hope we need
And I love you completely my chloe/chloe/chloe/chloe
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Question to Lisetta
WHAT nymph should I admire or trust,
But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just?
What nymph should I desire to see,
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compose the lay,
But her who listens when I play?
To whom in song repeat my cares,
But her who in my sorrow shares?
For whom should I the garland make,
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boasts she wears it for my sake?
In love am I not fully blest?
Lisetta, prithee tell the rest.
LISETTA'S REPLY
Sure Chloe just, and Chloe fair,
Deserves to be your only care;
But, when you and she to-day
Far into the wood did stray,
And I happen'd to pass by,
Which way did you cast your eye?
But, when your cares to her you sing,
You dare not tell her whence they spring:
Does it not more afflict your heart,
That in those cares she bears a part?
When you the flowers for Chloe twine,
Why do you to her garland join
The meanest bud that falls from mine?
Simplest of swains! the world may see
Whom Chloe loves, and who loves me.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Chloe
Chloe, i hang onto the past
Like a chandelier in a darkened room
But your hope is in the future
As light emerges from the gloom.
My sunset will be your dawn
Your happiness will be reborn.
It's snowy, but Chloe, ice will melt away.
Life, the price we have to pay
For the sun will light the bay
When silent fears sail away.
Chloe, we hang our hopes on a crescent moon
The aching in our hearts not just a pleasant tune
Scarred but starred like tender night
We feel the dark but wait for the light.
Our words still survive on a nomadic wind
Our thoughts free and open, with reality twinned.
Be proud, that life's shroud you have cast away
To feel out loud, while others torn, do fray-
Keeping it all inside on this roller- coaster ride
-They had so neatly planned, when love went hand in hand
As passion's fire was fanned.
Then Cupid turned out their light.
We still have the blue crazed night.
Chloe, continue to fly your kite
While the smug are convinced they are right.
Yes, the heart must rule the head
No skeleton ever bled
No feeling, no life, just dead.
Chloe we hang our hopes on a crescent moon.
poem by Kevin East
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Song
THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrow'd name:
Euphelia serves to grace my measure;
But Chloe is my real flame.
My softest verse, my darling lyre,
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay;
When Chloe noted her desire
That I should sing, that I should play.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise;
But with my numbers mix my sighs:
And while I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.
Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd:
I sung, and gazed: I play'd, and trembled:
And Venus to the Loves around
Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Ninth Ode of the Third Book of Horace
Horace.
While I was your beloved one,
And while no other youth threw his fond arms around
Your white neck so easily,
Than the King of the world I was far happier.
Lydia..
While you loved not another one,
While you did not prefer Chloë to Lydia,
I then thought myself happier
Than the mother of Rome, great Rhea Silvia.
Horace..
Thracian Chloë now governs me,
She can merrily sing, playing the cithara;
I'd not scruple to die for her,
If the Implacable spared Chloë, the auburn haired.
Lydia.
I now love and am loved again,
By my Calaïs, son of the old Ornytus;
Twice I'd die for him willingly,
If the terrible fates spared but my Calaïs.
Horace.
What if love should return again,
And unite us by ties more indissoluble?
What if Chloë were cast away,
And the long-closed door open to Lydia?
Lydia.
My love's brighter than any star;
You, too, lighter than cork, tossed on the waves of the Hadriatic so terrible;
Still I'd live but with thee, and I could die with thee.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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Roundelay
I.
Chloe found Amyntas lying,
All in tears, upon the plain,
Sighing to himself, and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain!
Kiss me, dear, before my dying;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain.
II.
Sighing to himself, and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain!
Ever scorning, and denying
To reward your faithful swain.
Kiss me, dear, before my dying;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain.
III.
Ever scorning, and denying
To reward your faithful swain.---
Chloe, laughing at his crying,
Told him, that he loved in vain.
Kiss me, dear, before my dying;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain.
IV.
Chloe, laughing at his crying,
Told him, that he loved in vain;
But, repenting, and complying,
When he kissed, she kissed again:
Kissed him up, before his dying;
Kissed him up, and eased his pain.
poem by John Dryden
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To Chloe
Chloe, you shun me like a hind
That, seeking vainly for her mother,
Hears danger in each breath of wind,
And wildly darts this way and t' other;
Whether the breezes sway the wood
Or lizards scuttle through the brambles,
She starts, and off, as though pursued,
The foolish, frightened creature scrambles.
But, Chloe, you're no infant thing
That should esteem a man an ogre;
Let go your mother's apron-string,
And pin your faith upon a toga!
poem by Eugene Field
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Advising Chloë
Horace: Book I, Ode 23
"Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chloë--"
Why shun me, my Chloë? Nor pistol nor bowie
Is mine with intention to kill.
And yet like a llama you run to your mamma;
You tremble as though you were ill.
No lion to rend you, no tiger to end you,
I'm tame as a bird in a cage.
That counsel maternal can run for The Journal--
You get me, I guess. . . . You're of age.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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To Chloe Jealous
Dear Chloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face;
Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd:
Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says)
Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.
How canst thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy
The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping?
Those looks were design'd to inspire love and joy:
More ord'nary eyes may serve people for weeping.
To be vext at a trifle or two that I writ,
Your judgment at once, and my passion you wrong:
You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit:
Odds life! must one swear to the truth of a song?
What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows
The diff'rence there is betwixt nature and art:
I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose:
And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my heart.
The god of us verse-men (you know, child) the Sun,
How after his journeys he sets up his rest:
If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run;
At night he declines on his Thetis's breast.
So when I am wearied with wand'ring all day,
To thee my delight in the evening I come:
No matter what beauties I saw in my way;
They were but my visits, but thou art my home.
Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war;
And let us like Horace and Lydia agree:
For thou art a girl as much brighter than her,
As he was a poet sublimer than me.
poem by Matthew Prior
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The IX Ode to Horace
HORACE.
While I was pleasing to your arms,
Nor any youth, of happier charms,
Thy snowy bosom blissful prest,
Not Portia's like me was blest.
LYDIA.
While for no other fair you burn'd,
Nor Lydia was for Chloe scorn'd
What maid was then so blest as thine?
Not [xx's] flame could equal mine.
HORACE.
Me Chloe now possesses whole,
Her voice her lyre command my soul;
For whom Ill gladly die, to save
Her dearer beauties from the grave.
LYDIA.
My heart young Calats inspires,
Whose bosom glows with mutal fires,
For whom I twice would die with joy,
If death would spare the charming boy.
HORACE.
Yet what if love, whole bards we broke,
Again should tame us to the yoke;
Should I shake off bright Chloe's chain,
And take my Lydia home again?--
LYDIA.
Though he exceed in beauty far
The rising lustre of a star;
Though light as cork thy fancy strays,
Thy passions wild as angry seas,
When vex'd with storms; yet gladly I
With thee would live, with thee would die.
poem by Major Henry Livingston Jr.
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To A Lady Asking Foolish Questions
Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far:
And who am I to be straitened in a little earthly star?
Because thy face is fair? And what if it had not been,
The fairest face of all is the face I have not seen.
Because the land is cold, and however I scheme and plot,
I cannot find a ferry to the land where I am not.
Because thy lips are red and thy breasts upbraid the snow?
(There is neither white nor red in the pleasance where I go.)
Because thy lips grow pale and thy breasts grow dun and fall?
I go where the wind blows, Chloe, and am not sorry at all.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Trespassers
When Love and I drew softly nigh
And gazed in modest Chloe's eye
We saw reflected there in part
The lovely mansion of her heart,
A sight so fair that, quite bereft
Of sense and shame, we had but left
One wish, that we by foul or fair
Might enter in and tarry there.
But when, with vagabondish art,
We nearer crept to Chloe's heart
That we might steal therein, we found
Her heart with barbed wires enwound;
And crawling through those cruel rings
My garments caught, Love caught his wings.
And though we now would fain depart
We twain are snared, outside her heart.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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the sea engulfs me
into a world of despair
i want to be free
haiku by Chloe Young
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A Song Of Faries
Flitter flutter here and there
Flying high up in the air
Fairy dust is just so fragile
And the fairies flying are all so agile
And sparkles in the sun
Oh looking for fairies is so much fun
Under some rocks or under a pot
Flying around a twisted vine knot
Under the tree is where the fun begins
all of our faces bearing grins
That’s me and my fairy friends
They lead me to the river they lead me to its spring
The lead to their castle to see the fairy king
Its pearly white with lots of land
Wow this place is very grand
I hop inside to take a peek
Me and the fairies play hide and seek
That night I share a bedroom with a little girl called sky
I like her lots ‘cause she’s my friend even if she’s shy
The sun shines through my window bright as bright can be
I hop out of bed with a big sigh of glee
Because today’s the day when I go home
To where I live back in Italy, Rome
I wave goodbye to my fairy friends
And tie together all loose ends
So goodbye fairies I’ll visit you soon
In the dead of night under the misty moon
Chloe White, age 13
poem by Chloe White
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Shivering
my hands are trembling
on your story
of a plot that vibrates
with fear
like the leaves of an aspen
one autumn breeze
like i were a child
quaking always
asking for more
like the quivering
poplar tree
my shaking knees
on shaky feet
i changed perspective
about this
shivering
i must see
the sparkling lights
from some shivering
crystals
of the chandeliers
of this
old house
where this family
of mine
still thrive
wanting to get
rid of
trembling hands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Willow Shade
I sat beneath a willow tree,
Where water falls and calls;
While fancies upon fancies solaced me,
Some true, and some were false.
Who set their heart upon a hope
That never comes to pass,
Droop in the end like fading heliotrope
The sun's wan looking-glass.
Who set their will upon a whim
Clung to through good and ill,
Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim,
Or hit or miss their will.
All things are vain that wax and wane,
For which we waste our breath;
Love only doth not wane and is not vain,
Love only outlives death.
A singing lark rose toward the sky,
Circling he sang amain;
He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high,
And then he sank again.
A second like a sunlit spark
Flashed singing up his track;
But never overtook that foremost lark,
And songless fluttered back.
A hovering melody of birds
Haunted the air above;
They clearly sang contentment without words,
And youth and joy and love.
O silvery weeping willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Have you no purpose but to shadow me
Beside this rippled spring?
On this first fleeting day of Spring,
For Winter is gone by,
And every bird on every quivering wing
Floats in a sunny sky;
On this first Summer-like soft day,
While sunshine steeps the air,
And every cloud has gat itself away,
And birds sing everywhere.
Have you no purpose in the world
But thus to shadow me
With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled,
O weeping willow tree?
With all your tremulous leaves outspread
Betwixt me and the sun,
While here I loiter on a mossy bed
With half my work undone;
My work undone, that should be done
At once with all my might;
For after the long day and lingering sun
Comes the unworking night.
This day is lapsing on its way,
Is lapsing out of sight;
And after all the chances of the day
Comes the resourceless night.
The weeping willow shook its head
And stretched its shadow long;
The west grew crimson, the sun smoldered red,
The birds forbore a song.
Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves,
The ripple made a moan,
The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves;
And then I felt alone.
I rose to go, and felt the chill,
And shivered as I went;
Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still,
What more that willow meant;
That silvery weeping willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Which spent one long day overshadowing me
Beside a spring in Spring.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Horatian Lyrics Odes I, 23.
Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn,
That, fearful of the breezes and the wood,
Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn
And on the pathless mountain tops has stood?
Her trembling heart a thousand fears invites--
Her sinking knees with nameless terrors shake;
Whether the rustling leaf of spring affrights,
Or the green lizards stir the slumbering brake.
I do not follow with a tigerish thought
Or with the fierce Gaetulian lion's quest;
So, quickly leave your mother, as you ought,
Full ripe to nestle on a husband's breast.
poem by Eugene Field
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Nightlight
Shelby Young, Chloe Bridges, Carter Jenkins, Mitch Hewer, Taylor Murphy, Kyle Fain
from Nightlight (2015)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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