En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I Never Saw that Land Before

I never saw that land before,
And now can never see it again;
Yet, as if by acquaintance hoar
Endeared, by gladness and by pain,
Great was the affection that I bore

To the valley and the river small,
The cattle, the grass, the bare ash trees,
The chickens from the farmsteads, all
Elm-hidden, and the tributaries
Descending at equal interval;

The blackthorns down along the brook
With wounds yellow as crocuses
Where yesterday the labourer's hook
Had sliced them cleanly; and the breeze
That hinted all and nothing spoke.

I neither expected anything
Nor yet remembered: but some goal
I touched then; and if I could sing
What would not even whisper my soul
As I went on my journeying,

I should use, as the trees and birds did,
A language not to be betrayed;
And what was hid should still be hid
Excepting from those like me made
Who answer when such whispers bid.

poem by Edward Thomas
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The Fickle Breeze

Sighing softly to the river
Comes the loving breeze,
Setting nature all a-quiver,
Rustling through the trees!
And the brook in rippling measure
Laughs for very love,
While the poplars, in their pleasure,
Wave their arms above!
River, river, little river,
May thy loving prosper ever.
Heaven speed thee, poplar tree,
May thy wooing happy be!

Yet, the breeze is but a rover,
When he wings away,
Brook and poplar mourn a lover!
Sighing well-a-day!
Ah, the doing and undoing
That the rogue could tell!
When the breeze is out a-wooing,
Who can woo so well?
Pretty brook, thy dream is over,
For thy love is but a rover!
Sad the lot of poplar trees,
Courted by the fickle breeze!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Breather

Back in the time when you breathed
I would say breath to you and you
would answer back,
I would say breathe to you and you would do it:
I could have filled a community of breathers
with what you had,
it was free, a birthright,
day and night, black and white,
it was yours, given,
the acceptable inevitable companionship of opposites,
in and out, breath or death, breathe or die,
the human situation.

Birds talk about it
from one tree to another,
conversing across a small valley,
they know what they talk about,
they know something is wrong —
your breathing, or dying,
they know and talk about it,
while inside this room with big picture windows
we whisper about it.

We whisper
and they discuss it through trees
and across a small valley,
in their secret language,
they chatter it all out, gossip,
how we lost our power:
what we couldn’t imagine, couldn’t control,
happened.

poem by Ioanna Carlsen
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Right Across The River Bend

Right across the river bend there’s a warm gentle breeze.
Right across the river-bend are trees with yellow leaves.
Right across the river bend the water reflects the sun.
Right across the river bend is a smell of innocence.

Right across the river bend a robin’s egg is broken.
Right across the river-bend are peaceful mountain valleys.
Right across the river bend a dandelion is carried.
Right across the river bend are fields of shiny green grass.

Right across the riverbend are memories made to last.

poem by Alicia Page
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A Warm Summer Breeze

The trees whisper in the breeze
The forest peaceful, quiet, and serene.
The warm breeze like a soft caress,
Momentarily eliminating all stress.

Without delay it carries on
Leaving the place in silence when it's gone.
A summer day, a summer breeze,
Softly whispered through the trees.

The summer breeze, softly it comes,
Quickly it leaves,
Causing soft whispers in the trees.
It came and soon left, a warm summer breeze.

poem by Theo Townend
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O Lord My God! - -Carl Boberg

O Lord my God!
When I in awesome wonder
consider all the worlds
Thy hands have made
I see the stars,
I hear the rolling thunder,
The power throughout the universe displayed

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the geltle breeze;

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

And when I think that God, His Son not sparing,
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in; -
That on the cross my burden gladly bearing,
He bled to take away my sin; -

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, My God, How great Thou art!

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

poem by Sangnam Nam
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Dews make Grass and Leaves to Weep!

Neither I am Bruce lee,
I got only bruises fully,
I am not Tiger Woods,
Just fear to Tiger and woods,
I am not the Ronaldo who score
goal after goal,
Only I suffer a lot to achieve a goal,
I am not Jordan or Jackson,
Not even can sprint or jump,
Not I am Tagore or Gibran,
Not even like kayyam or Rumi,
Not my feelings or words can
make others feel,
Not I am Alexander,
the great,
Not That Chengez or Ghazni,
Nor that Ashoka the great, Still dogs and cats,
Trees and birds,
Sun and stars,
Moon and clouds,
Rainbows and flowers
Fruit trees love
me,
As they know how innocently I
love them,
Some day raining clouds may call
me,
the light in that lightning
may take me to my beloved!
Birds may sing farewell, flowers may say good bye,
The morning on which I will not be on earth,
At least, the morning dews make
grass and leaves to shed tears for
me!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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What Does The Wind Say?

What does the wind say i wonder
When it whispers to the trees?
How do the leaves feel
Tumbling along the breeze?
How do the birds feel
When the wind abashes them?
What does the wind say
When it goes by on a summers day?
How do the dandelions feel
When they travel through the breeze?
How does the grass feel
When the wind whispers 'please'?
Does it go without fear
When it whispers softly in your ear?
So, I ask you again
What does the wind say?

poem by Giuliana Carder
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Alankar(Decor) -82

Trees

Trees talk
Rustling to birds
Embraced of breeze nestling
'How wonderful this world you know
Lovely'

Lovely
Birds too agree
Having sheltered up safe
Rejoicing in harmony with
Nature

Nature
If we're fond of
Bonds us with good living
Like the trees store water in roots
For us

For us
The trees breeze breath
Pure and pollution free
Guarding self and around healthy
In peace

In peace
We all can sing
'How lovely this world is'
Until the axe-ghost enters to
Gobble

poem by Indira Renganathan
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At School

The bees are in the meadow
And the swallows in the sky;
The cattle in the shadow
Watch the river running by.
The wheat is hardly stirring;
The heavy ox-team lags;
The dragon-fly is whirring
Through the yellow-blossomed flag.
And down beside the river,
Where the trees lean o'er the pool,
Where the shadows reach the quiver
A boy has come to school.
His teachers are the swallow
And the river and the trees;
His lessons are the shallows
And the flowers and the bees.

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Bare Windows

I look at the world
Through bare windows,
And see it all --
Bright sunlight,
Deep shadows,
Birds in flight,

Bare dead trees,
Thick tangled vines
That whisper in the breeze.

Fox hunts the mouse.
Snake slithers by
Shedding his dry skin house.
I look at the world
Through bare windows,
And I love it all.

poem by M. Elizabeth Barrett Doyle
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The Wings Of Love

The wings that help me to fly,
Above trees, river and the wall,
Soaring like an eagle in the sky,
Look very little now they all.

Catch me not to cut my wings,
They are my life, I die for them,
I pray earnestly like a caged bird sings,
Or breeze will bring a bad news to them.

No quarrel and boundary of the land,
Cast, region, language or race,
Is obstacle in my way to my goal and,
Sitting by her to unveil her face.

poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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The Tuft of Flowers

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

"As all must be," I said within my heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim over night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly-weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

"Men work together," I told him from the heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."

poem by Robert Frost
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On Writing...

because there is no one
you can trust now,
feeling so alone, and have no one to speak to
with honesty,
you have decided to befriend yourself
welcoming to the house of your body
your soul, your best friend now,
sharing bed with you, looking at the stars at night
with you,
and since the world is so silent
and sad
there is no choice but to talk to yourself
to the trees
the grass

and then your hands
become one big river with ten tributaries
all move towards your heart
your mouth

and from which
since then
writing begins...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My beautiful flowering trees

My beautiful flowering trees

One day I shall buy some land
Plant countless seeds
And watch them grow
Into beautiful flowering trees

A cool breeze
Will bring me
Sweet fragrances
From a thousand flowering trees

I shall listen
To the songs
From birds perched
In the tall flowering trees

I shall play
With my children and theirs
In the vast expanse of green
Amongst beautiful flowering trees

One day I shall rest
Passing into oblivion
My ashes scattered
Amidst the beautiful flowering trees

by Ash (Rishi's Dad)

poem by Rishi Menon
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It's On Again

[Verse 1:]
The places brings back memories
as I walk by quiet streams
The caress of a wind blowing over me brings a chill to my skin
Whispers that go through the trees
And a hush comes over me
No way to fight the rush
Can't escape how we touch
[Bridge:]
As the cherry blossoms I slowy start
to remince the love we made
I can feel you in my arms
Gotta run to you
[Hook:]
I keep having these visions of you
Breaking me off like a lover should do
Remember the love that we made in the rain.
Then it's on again.
Video plays all over my body.
I hope sex is all over your mind
The catches may change but the secret's the same and it's on again
[Verse 2:]
The secret place you touched me in are unforgetable ain't no way I can ease all the visions of you
Our love's so unbelievable
You touched me softly, deeply like a woman needs
All I want, all I breathe even though I am...
[bridge]
[hook]
[Verse 3:]
Walking through quiet places brings back memories of the love we shared.
(remember that time by the waterfall)
Lost in those faded pictures (faded pictures)
Sexy whispers and then I know it's on again.
I know it's on again...
[hook]

song performed by by Olivia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In a Country

My love and I are inventing a country, which we
can already see taking shape, as if wheels were
passing through yellow mud. But there is a prob-
lem: if we put a river in the country, it will thaw
and begin flooding. If we put the river on the bor-
der, there will be trouble. If we forget about the
river, there will be no way out. There is already a
sky over that country, waiting for clouds or smoke.
Birds have flown into it, too. Each evening more
trees fill with their eyes, and what they see we can
never erase.

One day it was snowing heavily, and again we were
lying in bed, watching our country: we could
make out the wide river for the first time, blue and
moving. We seemed to be getting closer; we saw
our wheel tracks leading into it and curving out
of sight behind us. It looked like the land we had
left, some smoke in the distance, but I wasn't sure.
There were birds calling. The creaking of our
wheels. And as we entered that country, it felt as if
someone was touching our bare shoulders, lightly,
for the last time.

poem by Larry Levis
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Journeys end

The stream meanders to and fro.
Here where the cattle come to drink
the yellow cowslips gaily grow.

The weeping willows stooping low
adorn the banks on either side.
The stream continues in its flow.

Past meadows where the cattle graze
and fields where corn is ripening
but here and there red poppies blaze.

The stream now to a river grown
now deep and wide; it gathers strength
Its purpose to itself unknown.

Past cottages which stand alone.
Small villages and market towns
and bridges built of weathered stone.

It has become a thoroughfare
which slices through the city’s heart
With rush and bustle everywhere.

The docks and quays and factories
confine the river in its course.
There is no grass there are no trees.

The river flows on turgidly
until at last it gains release
and flows into the open sea.

But in the distance still the stream
meanders gently to and fro
Where cowslips nod and lovers dream.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ah The Trees

Ah the trees soothe the mind
Take time to breathe the air
With the breeze the puppeteer with touch so fair
- They duet, with delicate wave and muted joy
A minuet for bygone kings or tinker boy.
Ah the trees, I leave my madness
As I run through crowded street
Diesel perfume will never smell as sweet
-As the meadow kissed by the breeze
Conducted by the trees.
Finding childhood summers I had lost.
Or winter wood with decor frost.
Ah the trees, where we rest our eyes in shades of green
And butterflies now seldom seen
Flicker in the sun.
When your lips touched mine and we were one
Lost in the rat- race we would run.
Beauty now we find in books
Yet Mother Nature has kept her looks.
Ah the trees, charcoal black as tempests
Like to scatter fear with lightning strike
But you stand strong against the sky
Like troops you watch the bullets fly
Swaying until the storms respite
Laying still in the morning light
Revived as hoar frost does yield to sun
Miracles for everyone.
And as birdsong imparts a healing trill
Trees dance, we embrace
And stand so still.

poem by Kevin East
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Keep the Rest

They land on the grass by the river
Invisible with growling eyes
They are the dead things
The swirl of manipulation
They are control and tedious games
You see it too, good
Let's make love
Why do they want war?

Consciousness is a fragile island
Mistakes are clattering off the wall
She is the land full of flowers
We are like drained lovers
The world bothers us
Your body is like home
We have decided to not let it in
Except for the birds chirping
The trees in the breeze
The sea and the tides
They can stay along with the flowers

You can keep the rest

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Into The Last Month Of Winter

Into the last month of Winter and the wattles cloaked in yellow flowers in bloom
And pink flowers on the camellias and yellow flowers on the broom
And all through the night the white backed magpies sing
On the third week of August coming up to the Spring
On the third week of August in the Southern Hemisphere
One does have a sense that Spring is quite near
The paddocks and parklands are looking quite green
And fragile pink flowers on the fruit trees are seen
Into the third week of August and birds sing in the rain
And all through the night frogs sing in pond and drain
And in the calm of the night in the parkland nearby
The breeding spur wing plovers in their territory cry
And all through the night on the moonlit gum trees
The songs of the magpies carry in the breeze.

poem by Francis Duggan
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