Related quotes: Here by the ample river’s...

La Vierge Au Donateur

Here by the ample river’s argent sweep,
Bosomed in tilth and vintage to her walls,
A tower-crowned Cybele in armoured sleep
The city lies, fat plenty in her halls,
With calm parochial spires that hold in fee
The friendly gables clustered at their base,
And, equipoised o’er tower and market-place,
The Gothic minister’s winged immensity;
And in that narrow burgh, with equal mood,
Two placid hearts, to all life’s good resigned,
Might, from the altar to the lych-gate, find
Long years of peace and dreamless plenitude.

poem by Edith Wharton
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Related quotes

Two Backgrounds

I. LA VIERGE AU DONATEUR
HERE by the ample river's argent sweep,
Bosomed in tilth and vintage to her walls,
A tower-crowned Cybele in armoured sleep
The city lies, fat plenty in her halls,
With calm parochial spires that hold in fee
The friendly gables clustered at their base,
And, equipoised o'er tower and market-place,
The Gothic minister's winged immensity;
And in that narrow burgh, with equal mood,
Two placid hearts, to all life's good resigned,
Might, from the altar to the lych-gate, find
Long years of peace and dreamless plenitude.

II. MONA LISA
Yon strange blue city crowns a scarped steep
No mortal foot hath bloodlessly essayed:
Dreams and illusions beacon from its keep.
But at the gate an Angel bares his blade;
And tales are told of those who thought to gain
At dawn its ramparts; but when evening fell
Far off they saw each fading pinnacle
Lit with wild lightnings from the heaven of pain;
Yet there two souls, whom life's perversities
Had mocked with want in plenty, tears in mirth,
Might meet in dreams, ungarmented of earth,
And drain Joy's awful chalice to the lees.

poem by Edith Wharton
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Two Capitals—1910

Moscow
White Moscow of the pearly towers,
And golden domes for praise,
And chiming hours!
Red Moscow of the Kremlin walls,
And bloody battle ways,
And fire-scarred halls!

Beautiful Moscow brave and bright,
Whose banners floated toward the light
When Asia knocked at Europe's door
And bleeding tzars paid off our score—
Ah, shining city, far away
Your gaudy spires salute the day
Like opal-hearted iris flowers
Decking the blue transparent hours.
Now from your seat the slim rails run
Through Asia to the rising sun,
Along the ancient highway made
By caravan and cavalcade.
Still East and West meet at your gate—
That Kremlin gate where once in state
Great Europe's conqueror, seeking room,
Marched through triumphant to his doom.
Proud Moscow of barbaric tzars,
Of gorgeous crownings and dark wars,
Jewel-encrusted, rich with age,
Heir of a lordly heritage,
Look out from Ivan's tower of bells—
See, the vast East is proud with day!
Soon to your ancient citadels
The world will march the Asian way.

White Moscow of the pearly towers.
And golden domes for praise
And chiming hours!
Red Moscow of the Kremlin walls,
And bloody battle ways
And fire-scarred halls!

Peking
Under her yellow roofs adream
The imperial city sleeps in state,
While warrior nations, flags agleam,
Come marching through her fortress gate.
Beneath her towered wall, one by one,
The slow contemptuous camels tread,
And through it eager engines run
Over the dust of ages dead.
Peking! close bound in triple walls,
Between the old and new she lies;
The yellow dragon guards her halls,
The blare of trumpets fills her skies.
She stirs out of her age-long sleep
By the worn temples chill and still,
Where Sung and Ming and Mongol keep
Their ghostly watch from hill to hill.
Over the graves of dynasties
The winds of dawn blow free and far—
Heralds of hastening centuries,
With banners flown for peace or war.

O brooding East!
O winds of dawn!
From the night-long feast
The kings are gone.
What guests will come
Down the world's highway
At the roil of the drum
For the day?

poem by Harriet Monroe
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Ben Boyd's Tower

Ben Boyd's Tower is watching—
Watching o’er the sea;
Ben Boyd’s Tower is waiting
For her and me.
We do not know the day,
We do not know the hour,
But we know that we shall meet
By Ben Boyd’s Tower.

Moonlight peoples Boyd Tower,
Mystic are its walls;
Lightly dance the lovers
In its haunted halls.

Ben Boyd’s Tower is watching—
Watching o’er the foam;
Ben Boyd’s Tower is waiting
Till the “Wanderer” comes home.

O! he lay above us—
High above the surf—
Finger-nails and toe-caps
Digging in the turf.

We do not know the day,
We do not know the hour,
But Two and Two shall meet again
By Ben Boyd’s Tower.

There’s an ancient dame in Eden—
Basket on her arm—
And she goes down the Main Street
From the old, old farm.

Hood drawn on her forehead—
Withered dame and grey—
She never looks on Boyd Tower
Out across the Bay.

Bright eyes in the ballroom,
Coquetting with two,
Just for love of mischief,
As a girl will do.
A quarrel in the bar-room—
All within the hour—
And four men rode from Boyd Town
To Ben Boyd’s Tower.

poem by Henry Lawson
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If These Walls Could Speak

If these old walls,
If these old walls could speak
Of the things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.
If these old halls,
If hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
>from floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.
They would tell you that Im sorry
For bein cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that its only
That I have a stubborn strreak,
If these walls could speak.
If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all--
Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Heres someone who really loves you;
Dont ever go away.
Thats what these walls would say.
They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Heres someone who really loves you;
Dont ever go away.
Thats what these walls would say.
Thats what these walls would say.
Thats what these walls would say.

song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pick Up That Broom and Sweep, Boy

Pick up that broom and sweep, boy.
If you wanna eat.
You gotta get sweepin'
Pick up that broom and sweep, boy.
If you wanna eat.
You gotta get sweepin
And if you don't sweep,
You ain't going to sleep.

Pick up that broom and sweep, boy.
If you wanna eat.
You gotta get sweepin'
Pick up that broom and sweep, boy.
Nobody's peepin' on the way you sweep.
And if you don't sweep,
You ain't going to sleep.
And you wont sleep,
If you don't eat.
So I suggest get off your seat...
Grab that broom and commence to sweepin'

Pick up that broom and sweep, boy.

If you wanna eat.
You gotta get sweepin
And if you don't sweep,
You ain't going to sleep.
So don't try sneakin' tippy toe on your feet,
Across this floor because it creaks.
And when that happens...
My dog Pete,
Will do his best to sink his teeth.
Right into your funky meat.
And you'll go screamin down the street.
And I'll report you to the police.
Who will bring you back here...
Once again until you sweep.
And it you don't do it,
You'll join those who've been deleted!

'You better pick up that broom,
And sweep, boy! '

~I gotcha 'boy' ol'man! ~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Mannahatta

I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name!

Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly,
musical, self-sufficient;
I see that the word of my city is that word up there,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with
tall and wonderful spires,
Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and steamships--an
island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets--high growths of iron, slender, strong,
light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies;
Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining
islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the
ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model'd; 10
The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business--the houses of
business of the ship-merchants, and money-brokers--the river-
streets;
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week;
The carts hauling goods--the manly race of drivers of horses--the
brown-faced sailors;
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft;
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells--the broken ice in the river,
passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd, beautiful-faced,
looking you straight in the eyes;
Trottoirs throng'd--vehicles--Broadway--the women--the shops and
shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums
beating;
A million people--manners free and superb--open voices--hospitality--
the most courageous and friendly young men;
The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves! 20
The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the
city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!
The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after
death to be with them!
The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, without I
often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!

poem by Walt Whitman
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Proud River

The river flows through the inner city estate
in it I see beer cans, trolleys, and a milk crate.
Two coots sit on top of a mini fridge
a burnt out car lies under the bridge.
A beautiful Swan glides around an old pushchair
in the reeds lie a child's doll and teddy bear.
An electric cooker lies on the river bed
a family of ducks wait around hoping for bread.
In the dirty water swim little fish and a vole
a big fat rat shoots down a hole.
On a branch a Kingfisher sits ready to dive
Amongst this squalor they somehow manage to survive.
I imagine this stream was once clean and clear
Sadly now used as a dustbin year after year.
But flowing through all this waste and decay
this proud river meanders gently on it's way.

poem by Kevin Halls
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A Brook In The City

in my heart
a river runs
alluvial, fishes,
leaves, flowers and all
a catfish winds
its way up to the surface
shows its pinkish whiskers
and round mouth
and down in a fleet second
puyu splash
their way down
after a fall
bubble, splash, bubble, splash,
big fish, small fish,
breakdance
down the river
their only way to show
joy and gratitude
for nature's care
like a gymnast
they turn their tails up
bend and sweep
the water swivels
and down they go
head plunging
the river a stage
of tail splashing game
how the world has changed since
thirty years the sweep of a puyu's tail
i could still collect that childhood heart
that had gone afflutter
the river that has changed course
to run through my heart
calming nerves and evoking childhood joy
the river now buried deep
in the town's memory
the river now imprisoned
caged between cement walls
no more fishes, no more splashdance, breakdance
red water, blooms and leaves!
the river that now only has me as its fish
splashing every now and then
to let its sweetness flow forth
the river now buried deep in the earth
in the city's mind

inspired by

A Brook In The City
The farmhouse lingers, though averse to square
With the new city street it has to wear
A number in. But what about the brook
That held the house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
From growing under pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was thrown
Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid darkness still to live and run -
And all for nothing it had ever done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being kept forever under,
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.
Robert Frost

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sydney my Love

Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
Pretty pretty place,
Plenty- plenty beauty.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
First rays of sun –
Spread here fun,
Splendour and majesty,
Nothing so beauty.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
Tidy beaches, green green trees,
Heavenly blowing cool cool breeze,
Kissing the shore waves sporty.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
Fort Dension, port Jackson,
Kings Cross, Opera attraction,
Harbour bridge, Bondi beach,
Place to find calm & peace,
Sydney is our identity.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
Kangaroo, emu, blue mountain,
Adventure, romance, 4x, fun.
Flora fauna, folk, fidelity.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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These City Walls

There's no doubt this city's in abundance
There's beauty alright, too much to see sometimes
The summer varnishes stone buildings like they were a canvas
The rivers reflect the scenes, doubling the impact
And the people here are smart and easy
No trouble, no smashing glass or arses out of car windows

Of course; they keep the best stuff locked away
If you weren't born to money or vast ambition
Then you've not earned the right to see some joys
Then you're not blessed enough to come inside the walls

These city walls, secrets within arms-reach
Exploding summer gardens, ponds, boats, buildings
Dining halls, drawing rooms, ancient chapples
Wrapped a hundred walls around it all
Reserved for the elite, for the wealthy and the 'wise'

Still this city holds me in her talons tight
Still this place cushions me in its soft paw
Strips a few garments here and there
To keep me aware of all the beauty bubbling under

But now my times are tainted
Now too many feelings have boiled away
When I go to other cities
They fire my imagination
They inspire me with their possibility

Oh, the excitement of not knowing
Where this street will take me
Oh, the happiness in lost moments
Just swimming through confusion

It's time to go beyond these city walls
It's time to move on
From these city walls...

(2009)

poem by B. Alexander
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Tale of Three Cities

New York blasted London blasted
Singapore -
Ripped off each other's metaphoric balls,
Crumbling walls.

Priapic city monoliths -
Blue-sky scraping bastards -
Shout about their height (but really length) .

V8 arseholes didn't care -
Pumping shit into the air,
So long as they were always there to
Fart aloud a smoggy cloud,
Laughing at the weak asthmatic,
Humoured that it seems traumatic.

Watch the greedy cities oozing
Chair-bound fat committees, though they
Look a bunch of titties as they
Waffle on about the pound.

Ever thought to look around and see
That they were dead?

city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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City-Dweller

I look through the city with pride,
It compels me with lawmaking,
The gardens are full of employers,
They are gardeners of the gardeners.
We are plenty of times in love with this city,
The district loves me and my company.
Inventing lies on the city is dastardly,
Just view it with the naked eyes and absorb the company.
Maybe the city of all cities can wink a few times,
Calling the angels to visit, with the keys to the city.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Where The River Flows

Music : rudolf schenker
Lyrics: klaus meine
Under suburban skies
Where life is bleeding
Where concrete skies are grey
Theres plenty of room for dreaming
I still keep coming here
Follow those traces
I travel back in time
Remember all those places
Feels like I never left
The houses still standing
Down by the river where
The dreams are never ending
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Under the silent moon
This industrial city
Is heartland even though
Lifes been not that pretty
I still keep coming here
To that old river
To find my roots just where
The future lives forever
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me, you can find me
By the river where dreams will never die
By the river under suburban skies
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
By the river where dreams have never died
By the river I look through childrens eyes
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Where the river flows
Where the river flows
Where the river flows

song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today, the notion of progress in a single line without goal or limit seems perhaps the most parochial notion of a very parochial century.

quote by Lewis Mumford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Living in Hiroshima

A morning in Hiroshima

In August of the year

I walk towards a tower

with battered walls and naked steel.

The dome is open to the sky

The walls have crumbled down

All else around had been laid waste

This was the zero ground.

In that river there were bodies

burned beyond recall.

Thousands dead around here

And scarce a standing wall

An involuntary Shiva

A chill creeps down my spine

One bomb destroyed this city

A monster born of mind..

We gather to remember-

The mayor says some words

Silence, a bell ringing,

sounds a warning to this world.

If the destroyer comes again

With his thousand suns

We'll die in our Hiroshimas

with Victory for none.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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Walls Of Silent

WALLS OF SILENT

What if walls could talk what would they say?
Along the walls they walk
Sputtering words every day

In boardrooms
In school hallways
Hotels walls
And shopping malls

In Elevators
Hospital corridors
Office walls
Tenement halls
And bedroom walls

Some words never to been mention again
Other words that take to the air ways
Walls of silent’s
What would they say…

poem by Paul Klobusicky
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Cities

(david byrne)think of london - small city
Dark - dark in the daytime
People sleep - sleep in the daytime
If they want to - if they want to
Im checkin em out
Im checkin em out
Ive got it figured out
Ive got it figured out
Theres some good points - some bad points
But it all works out - Im just a little freaked out
Find your city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city -
Find yourself a city to live in
A lot of bridges in birmingham
A lot of ghosts - and a lot of houses
Look over there - dry ice factory
Good place to get some thinking done
Im checkin em out
Im checkin em out
Ive got it figured out
Im the one who got it figured out
Theres some good points - some bad points
Find your city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city -
Find yourself a city to live in
Did I forget to mention -
Forget to mention memphish
Home of elvis and the ancient greeks
Do I smell - I smell home cooking
Its only the river - its only the river
Im checkin em out
Im checkin em out
Ive got it figured out
Ive got it figured out
Theres some good points - some bad points
Are those things real? denied!
Find your city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city -
Find yourself a city to live in
I will find a city
Find yourself a city to live in

song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Magician - Internally

Magician, magician
Take me upon your wings, and
Gently roll the clouds away
Im sorry, so sorry
I have no incantations
Only words to help sweep me away
I want some magic to sweep me away
I want some magic to sweep me away
I want to count to five
Turn around and find myself gone
Fly through the storm
And wake up in the calm
Release me from this body
From this bulk that moves beside me
Let me leave this body far away
Im sick of looking at me
I hate this painful body
That disease has slowly worm away
Magician take my spirit
Inside Im young and vital
Inside Im alive, please take me away
So many things to do, its too early
For my life to be ending
For this body, to simply rot away
I want some magic to keep me alive
I want a miracle, I dont want to die
Im afraid that if I go to sleep Ill never wake
Ill no longer exist
Ill close my eyes and disappear
And float into the mist
Somebody, please hear me
My hand cant hold a cup of coffee
My fingers are weak, things just fall away
Inside Im young and pretty
Too many things unfinished
My very breath taken away
Doctor youre no magician
And I am no believer
I need more than faith can give me now
I want to believe in miracles
Not just belief in numbers
I need some magic to take me away
I want some magic to sweep me away
I want some magic to sweep me away
Visit on this starlit night
Replace the stars the moon the light, the suns gone
Fly me through this storm
And wake up in the calm
I fly right through this storm
And I wake, up, in, the, calm

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bamborough Castle

Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn steep,
Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime,
Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time
Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep
Round your dark battlements; for far from halls
Of Pride, here Charity hath fixed her seat,
Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests beat
With hollow bodings round your ancient walls;
And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour
Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high,
Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tower,
And turns her ear to each expiring cry;
Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch may save,
And snatch him cold and speechless from the wave.

poem by William Lisle Bowles
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where are your powers Babylon?

Illustrious Babylon
where are your powers now?
city of fame
city of gold and silver
city of a famous name
where are your powers now?
city of wonders
empire of sin
Babylon
city of ruins

mighty Babylon
city of prowess
empire of old
empire of supremacy
rich with stolen gold
where are you now?
city of the hanging gardens
city holding the righteous captive
where are your powers Babylon?
city of desolate wastes

ferocious Babylon
look out over the valley
Cyrus the great of Persia
with his army of men
and Darius the Mede
with his army of men
diverting the great river Euphrates
and sneaking under your walls
your 'impenetrible walls
Babylon
city of ruins

Where are your powers
King Nebuchadnezzar?
your colossal gate is open
your subjects are drunk
drunk with wine and blood
unaware of approaching destruction
living their normal course of life
where are you now Babylon?
heaped in ruin and desolation
...forever
now just a dry desert plain
and the wind goes...hush...

poem by Allen Steble
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