There was an Old Man at a casement,
Who held up his hands in amazement;
When they said, 'Sir, you'll fall!'
He replied, 'Not at all!'
That incipient Old Man at a casement.
quote by by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Roger Casement
THEY have hanged Roger Casement to the tolling
of a bell,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
And their Smiths, and their Murrays, and their Cecils say it's well,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
But there are outcast peoples to lift that
spirit high,
Flayed men and breastless women who laboured
fearfully,
And they will lift him, lift him, for the eyes
of God to see,
And it's well, after all, Roger Casement!
They've ta'en his strangled body from the gallows to the pit,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
And the flame that eats into it, the quicklime, brought to it,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
To waste that noble stature, the grave and brightening face,
In which courtesy and kindliness had eminence of place,
But they they'll die to dust which the wind will take a-pace,
While 'twas yours to die to fire, Roger Casement!
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Red Rose And White
A RED rose climbed to the casement;
Cried, 'Open to me!
My cry is the call of the passing years,
I ask for love and the dew of tears
Withheld by thee.'
I broke the rose at the casement;
Cried, 'Welcome to thee.'
Ah, red rose dead! but I could not know
That only the pale white rose would blow
On earth for me.
poem by Philip Henry Savage
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ghost Of Roger Casement
O WHAT has made that sudden noise?
What on the threshold stands?
It never crossed the sea because
John Bull and the sea are friends;
But this is not the old sea
Nor this the old seashore.
What gave that roar of mockery,
That roar in the sea's roar?
The ghost of Roger Casement
Is beating on the door.
John Bull has stood for Parliament,
A dog must have his day,
The country thinks no end of him,
For he knows how to say,
At a beanfeast or a banquet,
That all must hang their trust
Upon the British Empire,
Upon the Church of Christ.
The ghost of Roger Casement
Is beating on the door.
John Bull has gone to India
And all must pay him heed,
For histories are there to prove
That none of another breed
Has had a like inheritance,
Or sucked such milk as he,
And there's no luck about a house
If it lack honesty.
The ghost of Roger Casement
Is beating on the door.
I poked about a village church
And found his family tomb
And copied out what I could read
In that religious gloom;
Found many a famous man there;
But fame and virtue rot.
Draw round, beloved and bitter men,
Draw round and raise a shout;
The ghost of Roger Casement
Is beating on the door.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Dreamt Of Robin
I opened the casement this morn at starlight,
And, the moment I got out of bed,
The daisies were quaking about in their white
And the cowslip was nodding its head.
The grass was all shivers, the stars were all bright,
And Robin that should come at e'en--
I thought that I saw him, a ghost by moonlight,
Like a stalking horse stand on the green.
I went bed agen and did nothing but dream
Of Robin and moonlight and flowers.
He stood like a shadow transfixed by a stream,
And I couldn't forget him for hours.
I'd just dropt asleep when I dreamed Robin spoke,
And the casement it gave such a shake,
As if every pane in the window was broke;
Such a patter the gravel did make.
So I up in the morning before the cock crew
And to strike me a light I sat down.
I saw from the door all his track in the dew
And, I guess, called 'Come in and sit down.'
And one, sure enough, tramples up to the door,
And who but young Robin his sen?
And ere the old folks were half willing to stir
We met, kissed, and parted agen.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To-Morrow (From The Spanish Of Lope De Vega)
Lord, what am I, that with unceasing care
Thou did'st seek after me, that Thou did'st wait
Wet with unhealthy dews before my gate,
And pass the gloomy nights of winter there?
Oh, strange delusion, that I did not greet
Thy blest approach, and oh, to heaven how lost
If my ingratitude's unkindly frost
Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon Thy feet.
How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
'Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
How He persists to knock and wait for thee!'
And oh, how often to that Voice of sorrow,
'Tomorrow we will open,' I replied,
And when the morrow came I answered still 'Tomorrow.'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Farm Woman's Winter
I
If seasons all were summers,
And leaves would never fall,
And hopping casement-comers
Were foodless not at all,
And fragile folk might be here
That white winds bid depart;
Then one I used to see here
Would warm my wasted heart!
II
One frail, who, bravely tilling
Long hours in gripping gusts,
Was mastered by their chilling,
And now his ploughshare rusts.
So savage winter catches
The breath of limber things,
And what I love he snatches,
And what I love not, brings.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Once more, my now bewildered Dove
48
Once more, my now bewildered Dove
Bestirs her puzzled wings
Once more her mistress, on the deep
Her troubled question flings—
Thrice to the floating casement
The Patriarch's bird returned,
Courage! My brave Columba!
There may yet be Land!
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Strange Gentlewoman Passing By His Window
As I out of a casement sent
Mine eyes as wand'ring as my thought,
Upon no certayne object bent,
But only what occasion brought,
A sight surpriz'd my hart at last,
Nor knewe I well what made it burne;
Amazement held me then so fast
I had no leasure to discerne.
Sure 'twas a Mortall, but her name,
Or happy parentage or place,
Or (that which did mee most inflame)
I cannot tell her very Face:
No; 'twere prophane to think I could,
And I should pitch my thoughts too lowe
If ever sett my love I should
On that which Art or Words can shewe.
Was ever man so vext before,
Or ever love so blind as this,
Which vows and wishes to implore,
And yet not knows for what to wish?
Thus children spend theyr wayward cryes,
Not knowing why they doe complayne;
Thus sicke men long for remedyes,
Not knowing what would ease theyr payne.
Some god call backe againe that sight;
Ile suffer double payne to boote,
For griefe and anger in mee fight
So strongly at no marke to shoote!
Not only meanes to winne her grace,
But meanes to seeke are barr'd from mee;
Despayre enforc't by such a case
Is not a sinne but miserie.
Pygmalion hold thine Image fast,
'Tis something to enjoy Love so:
Narcissus thou a shaddowe hast,
At least thereby to cheate thy woe;
But I no likenesse can inferre
My pyning fancy to supply;
Nothing to love instead of her
For feare of some idolatry.
poem by William Strode
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tomorrow
Lord, what am I, that with unceasing care
Thou did'st seek after me, that Thou did'st wait
Wet with unhealthy dews before my gate,
And pass the gloomy nights of winter there?
Oh, strange delusion, that I did not greet
Thy blest approach, and oh, to heaven how lost
If my ingratitude's unkindly frost
Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon Thy feet.
How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
“Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
How He persists to knock and wait for thee!”
And oh, how often to that Voice of sorrow,
“Tomorrow we will open,” I replied,
And when the morrow came I answered still “Tomorrow.”
—H. W. Longfellow (translator).
From: Hispanic Anthology: Poems Translated from the Spanish by English and North American Poets, collected and arranged by Thomas Walsh. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1920.
poem by Lope de Vega
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To The Wind, At Midnight
Not unfamiliar to mine ear,
Blasts of the night! ye howl as now
My shuddering casement loud
With fitful force ye beat.
Mine ear has dwelt in silent awe,
The howling sweep, the sudden rush;
And when the passing gale
Pour'd deep the hollow dirge.
poem by Henry Kirke White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Hands
My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.
Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,
Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,
My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.
poem by Rebecca Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On the Deck
sonnet #18
on the deck
i sit in silence on the deck at night
and look into the gloom. the low winds utter
low sighing sounds. along the horizon’s height
the mountains rise darkly in the waning light;
within the house, behind a wind-blown shutter,
a flickering light burns, and white moths flutter
against the casement in their blundering flight.
attracted by the glow of brighter lamps,
the younger guys have left me with my ‘pipe’,
listening to the wind and crickets call.
i only think: the sun has dried my cramps,
the mist will touch the morn, the time is ripe
and in the sky, the stars begin to fall.
poem by Derrick Hubert Schnabel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
God's Warmth Is She
O glad sun, creeping through the casement wide,
A million blossoms have you kissed since morn,
But none so fair as this one at my side-
Touch soft the bit of love, the babe new born.
Towards all the world my love and pity flow,
With high resolves, with trust, with sympathy.
This happy heart of mine is all aglow-
This heart that was so cold-God's warmth is she.
poem by Jean Blewett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
NIght And Morning
THE night was loud with tumult; trees were torn
Sheer from their roots by the delirious wind;
In some waste dreamland wandered all forlorn
A smitten soul, bewildered, broken, blind.
The mists had lifted; evanescent gleams
Of tender emerald lighted every leaf,
While from a casement smiled, escaped from dreams,
A quiet face made exquisite by grief.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Welcome Home
To my native place
Bent upon returning,
Bosom all day burning
To be where my race
Well were known, 'twas much with me
There to dwell in amity.
Folk had sought their beds,
But I hailed: to view me
Under the moon, out to me
Several pushed their heads,
And to each I told my name,
Plans, and that therefrom I came.
'Did you? . . . Ah, 'tis true
I once heard, back a long time,
Here had spent his young time,
Some such man as you . . .
Good-night.' The casement closed again,
And I was left in the frosty lane.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Fire Burns As Hot And Scalds
What fire burns as hot and scalds
As Love’s fire?
Ah! Love ah! fire - how
Love scalds every piece of skin
Warming it to burning with touch invisible
And yet
The fire of Love does good to me
And abates not
When chill and frost do come
And rains on the casement come
And from on high hang white icicles.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hold On
I was doomed riding on top a black horse.
Whatever prize there was I could only observe where the troubles starts.
Where does it end?
I cannot be cured...mmm...but if...
I know life would be different if I held on, held on.
I know I could be something if I held on.
Gave her life away. Put it in my pocket when it should've been framed.
Oh lost it's shine. Gotta' get this out of my head, out of my head.
How could it end...end like this?
I could've been...
I know life would be different had I held on, held on.
I know I could've been something had I held on, held on.
I know I could be something if I held on, held on.
I know life would be different if I held on, held on.
Held on, held on, if I held on, held on, if I held on, held on, if I held on.
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Autumn
I love the fitful gust that shakes
The casement all the day,
And from the glossy elm tree takes
The faded leaves away,
Twirling them by the window pane
With thousand others down the lane.
I love to see the shaking twig
Dance till the shut of eve,
The sparrow on the cottage rig,
Whose chirp would make believe
That Spring was just now flirting by
In Summer's lap with flowers to lie.
I love to see the cottage smoke
Curl upwards through the trees,
The pigeons nestled round the cote
On November days like these;
The cock upon the dunghill crowing,
The mill sails on the heath a-going.
The feather from the raven's breast
Falls on the stubble lea,
The acorns near the old crow's nest
Drop pattering down the tree;
The grunting pigs, that wait for all,
Scramble and hurry where they fall.
poem by John Clare (1865)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Hemorrhage
Hemorrhage (In My Hands)"
memories are just where you laid them
drag the waters 'till the depths give up their dead
what did you expect to find?
was there something you left behind?
don't you remember anything i said when i said
don't fall away, and leave me to myself
don't fall away and leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands again
leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands
love lies bleeding
oh hold me now i feel contagious
am i the only place that you've left to go
she cries her life is like
some movie black and white
dead actors faking lines
over and over and over again she cries
don't fall away, and leave me to myself
dont fall away, and leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands again
leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands
love lies bleeding
and i wanted
you turned away
you don't remember, but i do
you never even tried
don't fall away and leave me to myself
don't fall away and leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands again
leave love bleeding
in my hands, in my hands
love lies bleeding
song performed by by Fuel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Delicious Beauty That Doth Lie
DELICIOUS Beauty, that doth lie
Wrapped in a skin of ivory,
Lie still, lie still upon thy back,
And, Fancy, let no sweet dreams lack
To tickle her, to tickle her with pleasing thoughts.
But if thy eyes are open full,
Then deign to view an honest gull
That stands, that stands expecting still
When that thy casement open will;
And bless his eyes, and bless his eyes with one kind glance.
poem by John Marston
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!