Related quotes: IF while I sit flatter'd...

In The Garden VII: Early Autumn

IF while I sit flatter'd by this warm sun
Death came to me, and kiss'd my mouth and brow,
And eyelids which the warm light hovers through,
I should not count it strange. Being half won
By hours that with a tender sadness run,
Who would not softly lean to lips which woo
In the Earth's grave speech? Nor could it aught undo
Of Nature's calm observances begun
Still to be here the idle autumn day.
Pale leaves would circle down, and lie unstirr'd
Where'er they fell; the tir'd wind hither call
Her gentle fellows; shining beetles stray
Up their green courts; and only yon shy bird
A little bolder grow ere evenfall.

poem by Edward Dowden
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Your perfect

The darkness of the night sky
With the stars shining bright
The full moon rising
What a nice summer night
A gush of warm wind
Against my face
Sitting here with you
Mt heart begins to race
You wrap your arm around me
Holding me close
You're warm and gentle
I love you the most
You kiss my forehead
As I lean more on you
This is love
I swear it's true
We lay back
And look at the night sky
When i'm with you
I feel I can fly
You kiss my lips
As I kiss yours
We close our eyes
It felt like a pause
Everything's perfect
When I'm with you
Promise you'll stay with me
Cause we are the two

poem by Lisa French
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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.

poem by Dwi utami
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Fade to Grey

Shane and Shay raking leaves in the autumn breeze
oh to be free under the trees in that autumn breeze
Tumbling and falling, scarlet red and amber warm
Shane and Shay in sync with fall
my loves, my life
The warm colors of autumn dusk, all too fast to fade
Winter beckons at the door; harkening no more falls
Scarlet tears mixed with gentle blue
sorrow and joy of maternal dues
Separate now, no longer one
No more days of raking leaves in an autumn breeze
Amber warm love gone gray
Why do my young ones stray

poem by Ophelia Deborah Payne Jarrett
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I Have Seen Autumn

I have never felt the chill of winter
Nor the birth of spring
Only the two faces of Nature
The golden sun shining
Or the heavens openly weeping.

But I have seen autumn
As I looked at her
No cold winter in her smile
A promise of summer in her eyes
Her hair of autumn leaves.

I have never felt autumn
But I have seen it
It’s the canvass of Rembrandt
Dark, red, crimson, gold
But I have never felt it.

Is the autumn breeze damp and soft like her lips?
Is the autumn sky naked and warm like her skin?
But I have never kissed her lips nor touched her skin
I have only seen autumn
But I have never felt it.

poem by Shogunoka Ledesma III
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New For Old

Bud blisters into life
Stretching for the light
Unfolding radiant green
Upturned palm to the sun
Life seeping in, breathing out
Green, Green so Green
Resurrected hope, so Green
Summer breeze stroking
Branches ebb and flow
Leaves so Green strong now
Fear not wind of change
Mellow summer turns
Green, green, green-yellow
Yellow area of dieing heart
Green lingers no more
Limp transparent yellow
Barely a breeze takes one
Fierce Hyde-like wind now
Cracking and ripping
Wind torn leaves fall
Life chords snapped
Death too early, still Green
Nourishment broken not ended
Seasons build up to tear down
To build up, to tear down
Leaves fall, Green leaves fall
And then some more
Until leaves are falling, falling
Trees and branches revealed
In the x-ray of autumn blast
Winter is coming
Winter is coming
Yellow pale yellow carpet
Beneath the naked tree
Yellow, mulchy brown
Once crisp leaves scatter
Green, yellow, transparent veins
Tired, half dead, leaves lose their grip
Join the autumn rain soaked mound
Providing new life to the roots
Old for new, New for Old
Seeds buried in death
Bring new life in Spring
In the end is the beginning.

poem by Adrian Wait
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A Season of Wine and Roses

Remember when the wine was red,
and the rose was red, as well ~
and how the two were wed as one,
when the sunlight softly fell.

The pinkened kiss, the gentle blush,
beneath a soft, green canopy ~
and wine flowed there beside the rose,
'til sunlight set on autumn's eve.

And there within the autumn's breath,
came an orange and golden kiss ~
that found the wine and lovely rose,
beguiled by summer's bliss...

remembering when the wine was sweet,
and the rose was a budding bloom ~
and velvet was the reddened wine,
when the red rose danced in June.

Thinly brown, with winter's death,
the vine and thorn entwine ~
and wait impatiently for spring,
when, once more, a life they'll find.

And now upon the chilling wind,
there's a whisper that gently fell ~
'Remember when the wine was red,
and the rose was red, as well'...

poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Your Warm And Tender Love

I was lost in the deep and darkest night
No direction, not a single hope in sight
When i saw a fire burning brightly through
The storm that raged above
In the shadows of your warm and tender love
I was a stranger to the land and life around
In constant danger, being hurt by what i found
And of hurting what i treasured most
Foolish eagle never dove
Till i fell upon your warm and tender love
In the shadows of your warm and tender love
Now i gaze in peace at the lonely sky
That is raging high above
Safe in the shadows of your warm and tender, tender love
In the shadows of your warm and tender love

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Caress

A caress can be the simple touch
A friendly squeeze of one’s shoulder

Can also mean so very much
When caress becomes a bit bolder

A caress can be a gentle tug
On tresses spread cross shoulder

A warm reassurance that all is well
When all else seems to grow colder

A contact of comfort to a wee girl child
With love from the mum that holds her

Just the simple touch
of a caring caress,

A squeeze of one’s hand
That Can strengthen the weak

Is what we want and need
No more, …no less

Just a touch on the brow…
A pat on the cheek

Just a kind, warm caress…
As we all grow older

poem by David Whalen
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Homeward Going

GRAY smoke in the green leaves,
Someone homeward going,
No sound in the lone hills . . .
Only cattle lowing.
Still trees and a hushed world,
Leaf and limb unshaken,
No wind in the tall grass,
Creeksides bird-forsaken.
Pale, pale and with mute lips
One in shadow lying —
Near gone from the green world,
Sorrow nigh him sighing.
Day's strife and a life's strife
Each in quiet ending;
Life's light and the dark of death
Softly interblending.
One star on a far ridge,
Home the Homeward going,
No sound on the lone hills . . .
Only cattle lowing.

poem by Roderic Quinn
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Let Me Count The Ways

Let me count the ways how I love you
Its like that gentle wind you feel at dawn
Its like that first sun that hits the dew
Its like that cloud with a gold lining telling us softly
That itll be a good day, a good day for us
Thank you, thank you, thank you
Let me count the ways how I miss you
Its like that oak tree in my childhood garden
Its like that first summer I spent in egypt
Its like that warm evening you read to me
Both knowing deeply
That its a good time, a good time for us
Thank you, thank you, thank you
Let me count the ways how I see you
Its like that lake in the mountain you heard about
Its like that autumn sky that stays so blue
Its like that air around me that holds me gently
Whispering strongly that youre always there, always for me
Thank you, thank you, thank you

song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Me Count The Ways

Let me count the ways how I love you,
Its like that gentle wind you feel at dawn,
Its like that first sun that hits the dew,
Its like that cloud with a gold lining telling us softly
That itll be a good day, a good day for us.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Let me count the ways how I miss you,
Its like that oak tree in my childhood garden,
Its like that first summer I spent in egypt,
Its like that warm evening you read to me
Both knowing deeply that its a good time,
A good time for us.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Let me count the ways how I see you,
Its like that lake in the mountain you heard about,
Its like that autumn sky that stays so blue,
Its like that air around me that holds me so gently,
Whispering strongly
That youre always there, always for me.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XXVI

Yet so it was. Adrian had hardly set
His lips to those cold lips where death had been,
His eyes those clammy eyelids scarce had wet
With his warm tears and poured his soul between,
Nor yet with eager hands had he undone
That bosom's fastness of its snowy fold,
Ere, lo, on his rapt ear there fell a moan
As of one waking in the night grown cold.
And, even as he held her in his arms,
And gazed into her face by the dim light,
He saw her blue eyes open in alarms,
As wondering who was with her in the night,
And a long shudder pass through all her frame,
And her lips move as half she breathed his name.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Sweetheart

Sweetheart, in my hand is this bird
Of desire
It sings a song from the bottom
Of my heart
On my shoulder it hovers
On my head it flies
Round in circle inside
My mind

On my hand this bird returns
With so much kindness
And grace
This bird sings again
About the love
It knew It found
Now nestling in the warm leaves
Of your memories

Sweetheart, undress yourself
For love has so desired us.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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St. Martin's Summer

Though flowers have perished at the touch
Of Frost, the early comer,
I hail the season loved so much,
The good St. Martin's summer.

O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn,
And thin moon curving o'er it!
The old year's darling, latest born,
More loved than all before it!

How flamed the sunrise through the pines!
How stretched the birchen shadows,
Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines
The westward sloping meadows!

The sweet day, opening as a flower
Unfolds its petals tender,
Renews for us at noontide's hour
The summer's tempered splendor.

The birds are hushed; alone the wind,
That through the woodland searches,
The red-oak's lingering leaves can find,
And yellow plumes of larches.

But still the balsam-breathing pine
Invites no thought of sorrow,
No hint of loss from air like wine
The earth's content can borrow.

The summer and the winter here
Midway a truce are holding,
A soft, consenting atmosphere
Their tents of peace enfolding.

The silent woods, the lonely hills,
Rise solemn in their gladness;
The quiet that the valley fills
Is scarcely joy or sadness.

How strange! The autumn yesterday
In winter's grasp seemed dying;
On whirling winds from skies of gray
The early snow was flying.

And now, while over Nature's mood
There steals a soft relenting,
I will not mar the present good,
Forecasting or lamenting.

My autumn time and Nature's hold
A dreamy tryst together,
And, both grown old, about us fold
The golden-tissued weather.

I lean my heart against the day
To feel its bland caressing;
I will not let it pass away
Before it leaves its blessing.

God's angels come not as of old
The Syrian shepherds knew them;
In reddening dawns, in sunset gold,
And warm noon lights I view them.

Nor need there is, in times like this
When heaven to earth draws nearer,
Of wing or song as witnesses
To make their presence clearer.

O stream of life, whose swifter flow
Is of the end forewarning,
Methinks thy sundown afterglow
Seems less of night than morning!

Old cares grow light; aside I lay
The doubts and fears that troubled;
The quiet of the happy day
Within my soul is doubled.

That clouds must veil this fair sunshine
Not less a joy I find it;
Nor less yon warm horizon line
That winter lurks behind it.

The mystery of the untried days
I close my eyes from reading;
His will be done whose darkest ways
To light and life are leading!

Less drear the winter night shall be,
If memory cheer and hearten
Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee,
Sweet summer of St. Martin!

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Kiss Of An Angel

They were a soft kiss that he felt on his lips.
The kiss was gentle and made him fell warm.
The kiss made him fell safe and secure.
Just for the special seconds he had her in his arms.
Even then this angel who kiss him disappeared.
He knows that deep in his heart.
He had a kiss of an angel in his heart.

poem by Kelly Berry
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August

THERE WERE four apples on the bough,
Half gold half red, that one might know
The blood was ripe inside the core;
The colour of the leaves was more
Like stems of yellow corn that grow
Through all the gold June meadow’s floor.

The warm smell of the fruit was good
To feed on, and the split green wood,
With all its bearded lips and stains
Of mosses in the cloven veins,
Most pleasant, if one lay or stood
In sunshine or in happy rains.

There were four apples on the tree,
Red stained through gold, that all might see
The sun went warm from core to rind;
The green leaves made the summer blind
In that soft place they kept for me
With golden apples shut behind.

The leaves caught gold across the sun,
And where the bluest air begun,
Thirsted for song to help the heat;
As I to feel my lady’s feet
Draw close before the day were done;
Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.

In the mute August afternoon
They trembled to some undertune
Of music in the silver air;
Great pleasure was it to be there
Till green turned duskier and the moon
Coloured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.

That August time it was delight
To watch the red moons wane to white
’Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees;
A sense of heavy harmonies
Grew on the growth of patient night,
More sweet than shapen music is.

But some three hours before the moon
The air, still eager from the noon,
Flagged after heat, not wholly dead;
Against the stem I leant my head;
The colour soothed me like a tune,
Green leaves all round the gold and red.

I lay there till the warm smell grew
More sharp, when flecks of yellow dew
Between the round ripe leaves had blurred
The rind with stain and wet; I heard
A wind that blew and breathed and blew,
Too weak to alter its one word.

The wet leaves next the gentle fruit
Felt smoother, and the brown tree-root
Felt the mould warmer: I too felt
(As water feels the slow gold melt
Right through it when the day burns mute)
The peace of time wherein love dwelt.

There were four apples on the tree,
Gold stained on red that all might see
The sweet blood filled them to the core:
The colour of her hair is more
Like stems of fair faint gold, that be
Mown from the harvest’s middle floor.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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In The Grass.

'Tis as if I saw it all — sat now in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat now in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
The two of them in the wood, below me there by the rill;
He with the light on his brow, she in the shadow still;
And a cloud so white goes over the blue on the gleaming hill.
My nest in the grass was good: they deemed that none might see —
Ah God in heaven! my eyes looked out of the hell in me,
As his arm went round her waist, and his lips where mine might be —
Touched hers, as her face drew up like a flower in the light to his —
Touched hers, as I felt her soul shine out in a dream of bliss;
While mine with the pangs of hell was alive in a world like this!
I dared not move, nor could I shut my eyes to it all;
And still they clung and kissed: I heard the waterfall,
I heard the warm wind sing till the day began to pall.
And then they rose, the twain who had taken my life from me;
I did not rise, but lay where none might hear or see,
In the grass in the dark and sobbed, 'Would God that the end might be!'
The years have come since then, and the years have gone but I,
Though the fever of death was strong upon me, did not die;
And though I am old and weak as upon my couch I lie,
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat still in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat still in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.

poem by Robert Crawford
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St. Martin's Summer

This name in some parts of Europe is given to the season we call Indian Summer, in honor of the good St. Martin. The title of the poem was suggested by the fact that the day it refers to was the exact date of that set apart to the Saint, the 11th of November.