Come
Come, when the pale moon like a petal
Floats in the pearly dusk of Spring,
Come with arms outstretched to take me,
Come with lips that long to cling.
Come, for life is a frail moth flying,
Caught in the web of the years that pass,
And soon we two, so warm and eager,
Will be as the gray stones in the grass.
poem by Sara Teasdale from Rivers to the Sea (1915)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Come
Come, when the pale moon like a petal
Floats in the pearly dusk of spring,
Come with arms outstretched to take me,
Come with lips pursed up to cling.
Come, for life is a frail moth flying,
Caught in the web of the years that pass,
And soon we two, so warm and eager,
Will be as the gray stones in the grass.
poem by Sara Teasdale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is A Kind Of Silence In Your Eyes (Stave Stanza Sestets)
There is a kind of silence in your eyes,
a glimmering purer than all the skies
that with tranquility speaks to my heart
draw me much nearer when we are apart,
there's something that I grasp, in a way hear,
something very frail when you are too near.
As a perfect white rose during the spring
is petal by tiny petal opening
so very fragile you do enclose me,
so very lovely is your sheer beauty,
there is something that becomes quite clear,
something very frail when you are too near.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Return
The grass was gray with the moonlit dew,
The stones were white as I came through;
I came down the path by the thirteen yews,
Through the blocks of shade that the moonlight hews.
And when I came to the high lych-gate
I waited awhile where the corpses wait;
Then I came down the road where the moonlight lay
Like the fallen ghost of the light of day.
The bats shrieked high in their zigzag flight,
The owls' spread wings were quiet and white,
The wind and the poplar gave sigh for sigh,
And all about were the rustling shy
Little live creatures that love the night -
Little wild creatures timid and free.
I passed, and they were not afraid of me.
It was over the meadow and down the lane
The way to come to my house again:
Through the wood where the lovers talk,
And the ghosts, they say, get leave to walk.
I wore the clothes that we all must wear,
And no one saw me walking there,
No one saw my pale feet pass
By my garden path to my garden grass.
My garden was hung with the veil of spring -
Plum-tree and pear-tree blossoming;
It lay in the moon's cold sheet of light
In garlands and silence, wondrous and white
As a dead bride decked for her burying.
Then I saw the face of my house
Held close in the arms of the blossomed boughs:
I leaned my face to the window bright
To feel if the heart of my house beat right.
The firelight hung it with fitful gold;
It was warm as the house of the dead is cold.
I saw the settles, the candles tall,
The black-faced presses against the wall,
Polished beechwood and shining brass,
The gleam of china, the glitter of glass,
All the little things that were home to me -
Everything as it used to be.
Then I said, 'The fire of life still burns,
And I have returned whence none returns:
I will warm my hands where the fire is lit,
I will warm my heart in the heart of it!'
So I called aloud to the one within:
'Open, open, and let me in!
Let me in to the fire and the light -
It is very cold out here in the night!'
There was never a stir or an answering breath -
Only a silence as deep as death.
Then I beat on the window, and called, and cried.
No one heard me, and none replied.
The golden silence lay warm and deep,
And I wept as the dead, forgotten, weep;
And there was no one to hear or see -
To comfort me, to have pity on me.
But deep in the silence something stirred -
Something that had not seen or heard -
And two drew near to the window-pane,
Kissed in the moonlight and kissed again,
And looked, through my face, to the moon-shroud, spread
Over the garlanded garden bed;
And--'How ghostly the moonlight is!' she said.
Back through the garden, the wood, the lane,
I came to mine own place again.
I wore the garments we all must wear,
And no one saw me walking there.
No one heard my thin feet pass
Through the white of the stones and the gray of the grass,
Along the path where the moonlight hews
Slabs of shadow for thirteen yews.
In the hollow where drifted dreams lie deep
It is good to sleep: it was good to sleep:
But my bed has grown cold with the drip of the dew,
And I cannot sleep as I used to do.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Indian Springs
I KNOW a shady hollow 'neath the pines,
Rich floored with velvet moss and trailing vines,
Where grouping ferns grow lusty, tall, and green,
With sipping from the bowl o'er which they lean;
And crimson berries on the margin cling,
Like drops of blood about the Indian spring.
On this same spot these many years ago
A graceful figure knelt and, bending low,
Wrist-deep in moss, one hand curved to a cup,
The water to her scarlet lips dipped up.
A heron's wing drooped from her dusky hair,
Which draped her rich-hued cheeks and shoulders bare.
Swift, stealthy footsteps took her by surprise;
She started, flushed, and met his eager eyes,—
A noble figure, young and lithe and tall,
With one proud eagle feather crowning all.
A pause, a word, and lo! the heron's wing
Brushed with the eagle's there above the spring.
Two cruel eyes gleamed from the piny shade,
Fixed on the bended heads of man and maid;
Sudden, a gray goose feather with a twang
Of hate and envy from the darkness sprang.
One shrilling cry—the heron wing was fled;
Low lay the eagle plume; the spring ran red.
The years have gone; new mosses veil the ground,
New ferns, new vines:—but here the spring I found,
And here the gray goose shalt its story told,—
A heart of flint 'neath moss and years of mold
And vines to which the blood-red berries cling,
I found an arrow by the Indian spring.
poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 22, Issue 4 (1897)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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La Regina Avrillouse
Lady of rich allure,
Queen of the spring's embrace,
Your arms are long like boughs of ash,
Mid laugh-broken streams, spirit of rain unsure,
Breath of the poppy flower,
All the wood thy bower
And the hills thy dwelling-place.
This will I no more dream;
Warm is thy arm's allure,
Warm is the gust of breath
That ere thy lips meet mine
Kisseth my cheek and saith:
"This is the joy of earth,
Here is the wine of mirth
Drain ye one goblet sure,
Take ye the honey cup
The honied song raise up,
Drink of the spring's allure,
April and dew and rain;
Brown of the earth sing sure,
Cheeks and lips and hair
And soft breath that kisseth where
Thy lips have come not yet to drink."
Moss and the mold of earth,
These be thy couch of mirth,
Long arms thy boughs of shade
April-alluring, as the blade
Of grass doth catch the dew
And make it crown to hold the sun.
Banner be you
Above my head,
Glory to all wold display'd,
April-alluring, glory-bold.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Yet hope is reborn in the world of torrid heat that passes through the human soul. With outstretched arms, I waited for hope to fall, but I knew that this pain would save my life, that I had a duty to continue searching for the spring among the burnt stones.
aphorism by Camelia Oprița from How can I plant your fingerprints on the path of my life? (2017), translated by Camelia Oprița
Submitted by Alexander
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Where does the Winter go?
There goes the Winter, sulkily slinking
Somewhere behind the trees on the hill.
He caught a vision of sweet Spring prinking
In green before her mirror---the rill.
And he turned away
With his face quite grey,
And he went without ever a glance behind him
But I want to know
Which way does he go,
And does anyone ever try to find him?
Is he caught to the sky in a burst of thunder
And tucked away in the clouds to sleep?
Or does he go down to the sea, I wonder,
And fling himself out where the waves roll deep?
Is he washed ashore
After tossings sore,
And found by some fisherman, pale and dying?
On some lonely beach
Beyond human reach
Still and stark is poor Winter lying?
Or climbs he up, with his grey head drooping,
Yon purple mountain that hides the sun,
And stooping and rising, rising and stooping,
Digs a grave where never was one?
And then lies down
In his grey, pale gown
A prayer on his lips, and his hands together?
"What tears will they shed
Because I am dead?
They will dance on my grave all the bright Spring weather."
Oh! Winter, Winter, my tears are falling,
Are you glad of the tears of a little child?
Though Spring is abroad and calling, calling,
I cling to the edge of your cloak so wild.
And I kiss your hand
And I understand,
And I smooth your proor grey head, low-lying,
Ah! I cannot sing
Just yet with the Spring
While Winter, Winter, is pale and dying.
poem by Ethel Turner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fire-Caught
The gold moth did not love him
So, gorgeous, she flew away.
But the gray moth circled the flame
Until the break of day.
And then, with wings like a dead desire,
She fell, fire-caught, into the flame.
poem by Langston Hughes
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I Cant Reach You
Im a million ages past you
Im a million ages past you
A million years behind you too
A million years behind you too
A thousand miles up in the air
A thousand miles up in the air
A trillion times Ive seen you there
A trillion times Ive seen you there
Your hair is golden, mine is grey
Your hair is golden, mine is grey
You walk on grass, it turns to hay
You walk on grass, it turns to hay
You blood is blue and mine is red
You blood is blue and mine is red
My body strains, but the nerves are dead
My body strains, but the nerves are dead
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
Ive strained my eyes
Ive strained my eyes
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
Ive split my sides
Ive split my sides
I cant reach
I cant reach
Tryin to get on you
Tryin to get on you
See, feel or hear from you
See, feel or hear from you
The distances grow greater now
The distances grow greater now
You drink champagne and past me plow
You drink champagne and past me plow
You fly your plane right over my head
You fly your plane right over my head
Youre still alive and Im nearly dead
Youre still alive and Im nearly dead
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
With arms outstretched
With arms outstretched
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
I crane my neck
I crane my neck
I cant reach
I cant reach
Tryin to get on you
Tryin to get on you
See, feel or hear from you
See, feel or hear from you
Once I caught a glimpse
Once I caught a glimpse
Of your unguarded, untouched heart
Of your unguarded, untouched heart
Our fingertips touched and then
Our fingertips touched and then
My mind tore us apart
My mind tore us apart
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
With arms outstretched
With arms outstretched
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
I crane my neck
I crane my neck
I cant reach
I cant reach
Tryin to get on you
Tryin to get on you
See, feel or hear from you
See, feel or hear from you
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
With arms outstretched
With arms outstretched
I cant reach you
I cant reach you
I crane my neck
I crane my neck
I cant reach
I cant reach
Tryin to get on you
Tryin to get on you
See, feel or hear from you
See, feel or hear from you
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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New Life, New Love
The breezes blow on the river below,
And the fleecy clouds float high,
And I mark how the dark green gum trees match
The bright blue dome of the sky.
The rain has been, and the grass is green
Where the slopes were bare and brown,
And I see the things that I used to see
In the days ere my head went down.
I have found a light in my long dark night,
Brighter than stars or moon;
I have lost the fear of the sunset drear,
And the sadness of afternoon.
Here let us stand while I hold your hand,
Where the light’s on your golden head—
Oh! I feel the thrill that I used to feel
In the days ere my heart was dead.
The storm’s gone by, but my lips are dry
And the old wrong rankles yet—
Sweetheart or wife, I must take new life
From your red lips warm and wet!
So let it be, you may cling to me,
There is nothing on earth to dread,
For I’ll be the man that I used to be
In the days ere my heart was dead!
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Sun
The sun, we all admire her great glorious red eye
So in the depth of the universe it may roam high
Yet, does it see and comprehend as much as I
Even on warm hot summer day when to the earth it is so nigh
And regard her kinswoman the solitary moon all sliver proud
As she floats and travel in her ordained orbit, she spread no doubt
Of her divine state with the divine scenery of night cloud
The amazed owl usurps the tallest oak will shriek and shout
Oh, the lovely young season of spring
How many happy hours to human it may bring
Rolling in trodden lavish season grass
I had observed in so detail every pretty lass
I do look in curiosity where no one dares
I examine as a child where no one stares
And as the quite evening behind dusk draws nigh
Creature of the night, lambs in bars sweetly bleat my lullaby
Teo Torriatte (Let Us Cling Together)
===============================================
Queen - Teo Torriate (Let Us Cling Together)
===============================================
Words and music by Brian May
When I'm gone no need to wonder
If I ever think of you
The same moon shines
The same wind blows for both of us
And time is but a paper moon
Be not gone
Though I'm gone it's as though
I hold the flower that touches you
A new life grows
The blossom knows there's no one else
Could warm my heart as much as you
Be not gone
Let us cling together as the years go by
Oh my love my love
In the quiet of the night
Let our candle always burn
Let us never lose the lessons we have learned
Teo torriatte konomama iko
Aisuruhito yo
Shizukana yoi ni
Hikario tomoshi
Itoshiki oshieo idaki
Hear my song still think of me
The way you've come to think of me
The nights grow long
But dreams live on
Just close your pretty eyes
And you can be with me
Dream on
Teo torriatte konomama iko
Aisuruhito yo
Shizukana yoi ni
Hikario tomoshi
Itoshiki oshieo idaki
When I'm gone they'll say we were all fools
And we don't understand
Oh be strong don't turn your heart
We're all you're all we're all for all for always
Let us cling together as the years go by
Oh my love my love
In the quiet of the night
Let our candle always burn
Let us never lose the lessons we have learned
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Travel Flowers
When you travel ‘cross the country
You see along the roadways
Bright and cheerful flowers especially
In the warm spring and summer days
I love the beautiful sunflowers
Bold yellow blooms you see
Nodding in the gentle winds
Seem to say “hello” to me
White flowers ‘long side a trail
Roots go deep in red dirt
Stand out just beautifully
As they crop up in little spurts
Old barns off in the distance
In the midst of a field of dry grass
Are dotted with many flowers
Oh, I enjoy them when I pass
When spring time sets in and we have
Warm and gentle spring showers
I love to start my trips to see
Delightful travel flowers!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flames Of Song
Tonight moon will write a poem
on my hand
about an almond love.
I find a breeze.
Nightmare: I was caught stealing words
from your lips, a lark
flies into death, paralyzed
by peace!
I will have the baby, I cried
at the insult to a rape
of truth, after the brawl
Pyramid was not made in a day.
Who slept in the arms of ambers?
Look, it was an atomic illusion of a guilt
of centuries. Time walks with bowed head
like a blind man.
Baked brown in heat of wars like
a salted pistachio, perched high on dry
grass, a swallow watches the rising
lake with no stones floating.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Funeral Of Hearts
she was the sun shinning upon he tumb of your hopes and dreams so frail...
he was the moon painting you with its glow so vulnerable and pale...
love's the funeral of hearts nad an ode for cruelty
when angels cry blood on flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts and a plea for mercy
when love is a gun separating me from you
she was the wind carrying in all the troubles and fears he for years tried to forget...
he was the fire ,restless and wild and you were like a moth to that flame
the heretic seal beyond divine,a pray to a god who's deaf and blind
the last rites for souls on fire,three little words and a question why
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Veil Of Maya
SWEET, I have loved before. I know
This longing that invades my days;
This shape that haunts life's busy ways
I know since long and long ago.
This starry mystery of delight
That floats across my eager eyes,
This pain that makes earth Paradise,
These magic songs of day and night--
I know them for the things they are:
A passing pain, a longing fleet,
A shape that soon I shall not meet,
A fading dream of veil and star.
Yet, even as my lips proclaim
The wisdom that the years have lent,
Your absence is joy's banishment,
And life's one music is your name.
I love you to my heart's hid core:
Those other loves? how should one learn
From marshlights how the great fires burn?
Ah, no! I never loved before!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Wedding Song
Ive been having dreams and visions
In them you are always standing
Right beside me
I reach out for your hand
To see your arms extending
Outstretched towards me
For you I don the veil
By your light
Others pale by comparison
I place my faith in love
My fate in this communication
Ive been having dreams and visions
In them you are always standing
Right beside me
I reach out for your hand
To see your arms extending
Outstretched towards me
To you I give my pledge
I honor all thats good
In this life were living
To think not only of myself
But of the greater union
Can I get a witness
There is salvation and rapture for the lonely
Can I get a witness
Bless this day sacred and holy
Sacred and holy
Ive been having dreams and visions
In them you are always standing
Right beside me
I reach out for your hand
To see your arms extending
Outstretched towards me
With you I am revealed
All my shame all my faults and virtues
Behold body mind and spirit
Heart and soul devoted all to you
Can I get a witness
Bless this day sacred and holy
Sacred and holy
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Children Of Stare
Winter is fallen early
On the house of Stare;
Birds in reverberating flocks
Haunt its ancestral box;
Bright are the plenteous berries
In clusters in the air.
Still is the fountain’s music,
The dark pool icy still,
Whereupon a small and sanguine sun
Floats in a mirror on,
Into a West of crimson,
From a South of daffodil.
’Tis strange to see young children
In such a wintry house;
Like rabbits’ on the frozen snow
Their tell-tale footprints go;
Their laughter rings like timbrels
’Neath evening ominous:
Their small and heightened faces
Like wine-red winter buds;
Their frolic bodies gentle as
Flakes in the air that pass,
Frail as the twirling petal
From the briar of the woods.
Above them silence lours,
Still as an arctic sea;
Light fails; night falls; the wintry moon
Glitters; the crocus soon
Will open grey and distracted
On earth’s austerity:
Thick mystery, wild peril,
Law like an iron rod:—
Yet sport they on in Spring’s attire,
Each with his tiny fire
Blown to a core of ardour
By the awful breath of God.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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