Summer Song
THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!
There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Related quotes
Late Autumn
October - and the skies are cool and gray
O'er stubbles emptied of their latest sheaf,
Bare meadow, and the slowly falling leaf.
The dignity of woods in rich decay
Accords full well with this majestic grief
That clothes our solemn purple hills to-day,
Whose afternoon is hush'd, and wintry brief
Only a robin sings from any spray.
And night sends up her pale cold moon, and spills
White mist around the hollows of the hills,
Phantoms of firth or lake; the peasant sees
His cot and stockyard, with the homestead trees,
Islanded; but no foolish terror thrills
His perfect harvesting; he sleeps at ease.
poem by William Allingham
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Moon Over You
on a Monday
morning
i go there
wanting to
see you
expecting that
love is in the air
sea breeze
blue skies
green grass
on the garden
some red roses
white daisies
ripe grapes &
strawberries
i am moon over
you and comes
this absence of a
noonday, till
late night, i am
still moon over
you, this hopeless
loveless romantic
waiting for nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Venus in the Garden
'Twas at early morning,
The dawn was blushing in her purple bed,
When in a sweet, embowered garden
She, the fairest of the goddesses,
The lovely Venus,
Roamed amongst the roses white and red.
She sought for flowers
To make a garland
For her golden head.
Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.
White roses, red roses, blossoming:
But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Daisies
I have daisies
for Misses Murphy
soft tender sheets
finest felt flannel
the meadow stains white
white dusking contour
white the colour
our silhouette shadowed
randy resh 2007
poem by Randy Resh
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I Dreamed Of Forest Alleys fair
I.
I DREAMED of forest alleys fair
And fields of gray-flowered grass,
Where by the yellow summer moon
My Jenny seemed to pass.
I dreamed the yellow summer moon,
Behind a cedar wood,
Lay white on fields of rippling grass
Where I and Jenny stood.
I dreamed - but fallen through my dream,
In a rainy land I lie
Where wan wet morning crowns the hills
Of grim reality.
II.
I am as one that keeps awake
All night in the month of June,
That lies awake in bed to watch
The trees and great white moon.
For memories of love are more
Than the white moon there above,
And dearer than quiet moonshine
Are the thoughts of her I love.
III.
Last night I lingered long without
My last of loves to see.
Alas! the moon-white window-panes
Stared blindly back on me.
To-day I hold her very hand,
Her very waist embrace -
Like clouds across a pool, I read
Her thoughts upon her face.
And yet, as now, through her clear eyes
I seek the inner shrine -
I stoop to read her virgin heart
In doubt if it be mine -
O looking long and fondly thus,
What vision should I see?
No vision, but my own white face
That grins and mimics me.
IV.
Once more upon the same old seat
In the same sunshiny weather,
The elm-trees' shadows at their feet
And foliage move together.
The shadows shift upon the grass,
The dial point creeps on;
The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass,
As then they passed and shone.
But now deep sleep is on my heart,
Deep sleep and perfect rest.
Hope's flutterings now disturb no more
The quiet of my breast.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Roses crimson, roses white
`Roses crimson, roses white,
Deadly pale or lovely blushing,
Both in love with May at sight,
And their maiden blood is rushing
To and fro in hope to hide
Tumult it but thus discloses.
Bring the Bridegroom to the Bride!
Everywhere are roses, roses.'
`Every wall is white with roses
`Every wall is white with roses,
Linnets pair in every tree;
Brim your beakers, twine your posies,
Kiss and quaff ere Springtime closes;
Bloom and beauty quickly flee.'
`Nay, let me sleep, or, best, be stone or steel
`Nay, let me sleep, or, best, be stone or steel,
While still endures this infamy of woe.
My one sole bliss is nor to see nor feel:
So, wake me not; and, lest you should, speak low.'
poem by Alfred Austin
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Danny Boy
(Traditionallyrics by Fred E. Weatherly)
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come you back when summer's in the meadow
Or all the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
But when you come, when all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
Then if you bend and tell me that you love me
I'll sleep in peace until you come to me
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or all the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Goeth all in White
Spring goeth all in white,
Crowned with milk-white may:
In fleecy flocks of light
O'er heaven the white clouds stray:
White butterflies in the air;
White daisies prank the ground:
The cherry and hoary pear
Scatter their snow around.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-42
Wallich Geranium(Geranium wallichianum)
Geranium Buxton Blue(Geranium wallichianum 'Buxton Blue')
Roundleaf Geranium(Geranium rotundifolium)
Small Geranium(Geranium pusillum)
Trailing Geranium(Geranium procurrens)
Meadow Cranesbill, Meadow Geranium(Geranium pratense)
Black Eyed Geranium(Geranium ocellatum)
Nepal Geranium(Geranium nepalense)
Himalayan Geranium(Lilac Cranesbill, Geranium himalayense)
Don's Geranium(Geranium donianum)
Alike and similar somewhat, somewhat
Hey, geraniums, such halcyon breeze
You colour along with dulcet delight
While the Himalayas proudly greets
In acceptance welcoming me thereat
How do I thank you in great words
When I'm wordless with wonder-heart
O'Wallich of rose-pink and red-purple
O' Buxton Blue of opal or angel-blue
O'Roundleaf Geranium of pale purple
O'Small Geranium of rosy pink hue
O'Trailing Geranium of pinkish purple
Of leaves similar, hairy sparse so true
So true mercy hearts hearty yours all
O'Meadow Geranium purplish red and white
O'Black Eyed Geranium black eyed purple
O'Nepal Geranium wild and small and white
O'Himalayan Geranium blue and beautiful
O'Don's Geranium pinkish purple and sweet
Of herbs and veins similar and beautiful
So true mercy hearts hearty yours sweet
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Night Coming Into A Garden
Roses red and white,
Every rose is hanging her head,
Silently comes the lady Night,
Only the flowers can hear her tread.
All day long the birds have been calling,
Calling shrill and sweet,
They are still when she comes with her long robe falling
Falling down to her feet.
The thrush has sung to his mate,
' She is coming ! hush ! she is coming ! '
She is lifting the latch at the gate,
And the bees have ceased from their humming.
I cannot see her face as she passes
Through my garden of white and red ;
But I know she has walked where the daisies and grasses
Are curtseying after her tread.
She has passed me by with a rustle and sweep
Of her robe (as she passed I heard it sweeping),
And all my red roses have fallen asleep,
And all my white roses are sleeping.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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Summer Song
The meadow lark’s trill and the brown thrush’s whistle
From morning to evening fill all the sweet air,
And my heart is as light as the down of a thistle –
The world is so bright and the earth is so fair.
There is life in the wood, there is bloom on the meadow;
The air drops with songs that the merry birds sing.
The sunshine has won, in the battle with shadow,
And she’s dressed the glad earth with robes of the spring.
The bee leaves his hive for the field of red clover
And the vale where the daisies bloom white as the snow,
And a mantle of warm yellow sunshine hangs over
The calm little pond, where the pale lillies grow.
In the woodland beyond it, a thousand gay voices
Are singing in chorus some jubilant air.
The bird and the bee and all nature rejoices,
The world is so bright, and the earth is so fair.
I am glad as a child, in this beautiful weather;
I have tossed all my burdens and trials away;
My heart is as light – yes, as light as a feather; -
I am care-free, and careless, and happy to-day.
Can it be there approaches a dark, dreary to-morrow?
Can shadows e’er fall on this beautiful earth?
Ah! To-day is my own! No forebodings of sorrow
Shall darken my skies, or shall dampen my mirth.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A White Architect Of Light
8.8.88: She came back from the land of democrative destiny and dissolved
into the chaotic void.
Fighting for the freedom of reality
Building the light house in the darkest hours of life
Fixing up the spiritual essence through the existential nothingness
in the valueless zone
Layers by layers, realities of life theatre are turned into distilled light
out of trapped reflections
Mother of modern Myanmar honoured by consciencious tree of life
Curving away all the unnecessary parts
Curving away all the necessary parts
Communication revolution of the 21 st century
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Purple and White
Purple swirls with white and becomes lavender.
Lavender, reminds my senses of my beloved grandmother.
Grandmother, with paper thin skin that is soft as roses.
A rose, it’s sweet smelling aroma is candy for my nose.
My nose, one of my finest features that fills with me delight.
Delight, fine noses, sweet roses, soft grandmothers and purple swirled with white.
poem by Connie Crane
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Clover, Daisies and Grass
Clover daisies and grass
spread out pink, white and greens
on the carpet in front of me.
A thousand heads of clover
and daisies dotted on the green
as far as the eyes can see.
No sea of turmoil there
as each has its own plot there.
(7 July 2007)
poem by David Harris
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And Then I Remember The White Roses
suddenly what flashed to my mind
on a gray afternoon, so vivid are the white roses
a bouquet of white roses
assuring me once again, after 13 years
that your love is pure, despite
that you have remained to be true
no matter what, despite the odds
and then i have seen how each petal of the white roses
fell one by one under our feet, we feel the loss again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Coming Up Roses
Im a junkyard full of false starts
And I dont need yr permission
To bury my love under this bare light bulb
The moon is a sickle cell
Itll kill you in time
You cold white brother riding yr blood
Like spun glass in sore eyes
While the moon does its division youre buried below
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses follow
The things that you tell yourself
Theyll kill you in time
You cold white brother alive in yr blood
Spinning in the night sky
While the moon does its division youre buried below
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses
So you got in a kind of trouble that nobody knows
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Day You Dissolve Into Whiteness...
a white car waits for you
at the white side of the road
you are in your white suit
white socks and white shoes
you are white yourself
pale lips and snowy face
dusty eyes, clear tears
falling down to your cheeks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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New Year
WHITE year, white year,
Muffled soft in snow,
A diamond spray whose gems are gone
Before their grace we know,
A crystal-coated spray whose hours
Melt when looked upon,
Hoarfrost stars and hoarfrost flowers,
White year!
Green year, green year,
Sweet with sun and showers,
A windblown spray whose blossoms bright
Are the seven-colored hours,
A dancing spray whose leaves are days,
A spray whose leaves delight
In azure gleam and silver haze,
Green year!
New Year, new year
From rosy leaf to gold,
A shining spray on the Tree of Time
Where myriad sprays unfold,
A spray so fair that God may see
And gather it, bloom and rime,
To deck the doors of Eternity,
New Year!
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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The New Moon
What have you got in your knapsack fair,
White moon, bright moon, pearling the air,
Spinning your bobbins and fabrics free,
Fleet moon, sweet moon, in to the sea?
Turquoise and beryl and rings of gold,
Clear moon, dear moon, ne’er to be sold?
Roses and lilies, romance and love,
Still moon, chill moon, swinging above?
Slender your feet as a white birds throat,
High moon, shy moon, drifting your boat
Into the murk of the world awhile,
Slim moon, dim moon, adding a smile.
Tender your eyes as a maiden’s kiss,
Fine moon, wine moon, no one knows this,
Under the spell of your witchery,
Dream moon, cream moon, first he kissed me.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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Late Aubade & Explanation
Once in a field, in a wide rising stretch of paintbrush
& purple vetch, we stuck down
a tent, like punctuation, and drank through the evening
our bottle of bad wine. When you looked up,
the weather was holding: a few breezes,
a full moon silvering the flowers
to white. In the distance, I heard the ache
& slide of snow, the beginning of crickets. It was twilight—
the landscape was lifting.
•
A mountain. The clouds, further up,
came down. A Book of Hours. A tent in which we twisted,
pressed each against the other, drunk
and when I stepped out into the cool
moonlight, there was drifting through the watery
end of the meadow, a deer
pale beneath pines, beneath those soaring
darknessess. Then there was only darkness, the
idea of a deer.
Remember, I never wanted
to be alive, to have
an outline. Better, I knew, to slip
unheld, an opening into mist.
poem by Kate Northrop
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