Related quotes: There was a weasel lived...

The Gallows

There was a weasel lived in the sun
With all his family,
Till a keeper shot him with his gun
And hung him up on a tree,
Where he swings in the wind and rain,
In the sun and in the snow,
Without pleasure, without pain,
On the dead oak tree bough.

There was a crow who was no sleeper,
But a thief and a murderer
Till a very late hour; and this keeper
Made him one of the things that were,
To hang and flap in rain and wind,
In the sun and in the snow.
There are no more sins to be sinned
On the dead oak tree bough.

There was a magpie, too,
Had a long tongue and a long tail;
He could talk and do -
But what did that avail?
He, too, flaps in the wind and rain
Alongside weasel and crow,
Without pleasue, without pain,
On the dead oak tree bough.

And many other beasts
And birds, skin, bone, and feather,
Have been taken from their feasts
And hung up there together,
To swing and have endless leisure
In the sun and in the snow,
Without pain, without pleasure,
On the dead oak tree bough.

poem by Edward Thomas
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Related quotes

You Hung Me

It's dead, it'd dead you killed it all
you fucked me over, you watched me fall
the life you sucked right out of me
dead you hung me from tree.

My blood spills out onto the ground
it screams, it cries without a sound
there is no victory here for me
dead you hung me from a tree.

You can run but you can't hide
you'll try to say it's suicide
torn apart for all to see
dead you hung me from a tree.

I'll prove to you your world is wrong
your power has gone on way to long
watch my body swing so free
dead you hung me from a tree.

Free from you I find my peace
in a grave that's six feet deep
the cage unlocked, I found the key
dead you hung me from a tree.

poem by CJA Anderson
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The intermediate halt

A bough dead, the tree is not dead.
A tree dead, its species is not dead.
When the species is extinct
Its family, when the family is extinct
Its order and when the order is extinct
The plant kingdom is not extinct.
As long as there is life force,
The death is intermediate halt.
11.09.2005

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Tree Of Life

Once a seedling
Well nourished and fed,
Now a giant elm
In my garden bed.

I've sheltered this tree
From wind and rain,
Watched it grow,
And kept it from pain.

This great big elm,
So important to my life,
Signifies my past;
It symbolizes my strife.

When I grow weary
Of dealing with my pain,
I turn to my tree
Realizing I have much to gain.

My tree has scars
And it's bark grows rough,
But day after day
It's just never enough.

You see at my tree
Life throws rain,
And at my tree,
Life throws pain.

It's these things though,
My tree needs to live.
For, it's these hardships
Life has to give.

So just like my tree,
I'll learn to move on.
I'll soak up the storms
Until I'm gone.

poem by Candika Niada
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A Dead Leaf

between these two shores
i float like a dead leaf
am not dead either..
if i was i will not feel the pain

budded flowered and became a fruit
on one shore
eaten and as a bare stray seed laid
at the other shore

as a seed i did germinate
the mother root grew into a tree
an off spring flower and fruit came by
all along as a seed i thought i was the tree itself

I NEVER THOUGHT I WILL LOOSE
MY IDENTITY AS A SEED
CAN A TREE SHOW ITS SEED
EVEN IF IT WANTS TO

ALL ALONG...

I thought i was the tree itself
may be i was a part of each part
the stem to hold, the leaf to nourish
till fate wind blew me down as a dead leaf

today as a dead leaf i float
wanting a living from one shore
wanting relationship from the other
as a dead leaf i float..am not dead with pain

ALL ALONG....
I DID THINK I WAS THE TREE ITSELF
BEING JUST A SEED

poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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Arbor Amoris

I have a tree, a graft of Love,
That in my heart has taken root;
Sad are the buds and blooms thereof,
And bitter sorrow is its fruit;
Yet, since it was a tender shoot,
So greatly hath its shadow spread,
That underneath all joy is dead,
And all my pleasant days are flown,
Nor can I slay it, nor instead
Plant any tree, save this alone.

Ah, yet, for long and long enough
My tears were rain about its root,
And though the fruit be harsh thereof,
I scarcely looked for better fruit
Than this, that carefully I put
In garner, for the bitter bread
Whereon my weary life is fed:
Ah, better were the soil unsown
That bears such growths; but Love instead
Will plant no tree, but this alone.

Ah, would that this new spring, whereof
The leaves and flowers flush into shoot,
I might have succour and aid of Love,
To prune these branches at the root,
That long have borne such bitter fruit,
And graft a new bough, comforted
With happy blossoms white and red;
So pleasure should for pain atone,
Nor Love slay this tree, nor instead
Plant any tree, but this alone.

L'ENVOY.

Princess, by whom my hope is fed,
My heart thee prays in lowlihead
To prune the ill boughs overgrown,
Nor slay Love's tree, nor plant instead
Another tree, save this alone.

poem by François Villon
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The balloon in the tree

There high up in the tree
was a bright Red balloon
how did it get there I mused?
Was it put there by a little boy
or did the wind pluck it from his hand?
it was stuck firm on a branch now.
When I came by the tree the next day
I looked up and it was still there
and it wasn't the only balloon
there was a blue one and a yellow one?
The following day the tree was covered in them
all different colours and sizes and shapes
the wind and rain couldn't pop them dead.
Every day more balloons were there in the tree
all different colours, shapes, and sizes,
the wind and rain wouldn't hit them at all.
I was the only person who knew of the tree
it became invisible to anybody else
the balloon tree was there just for me.
When a balloon died another took it's place
so the tree was always covered in balloons
throughout the years it stood proud and strong.
You may say I'm making this up or I'm mad
and there's no such thing as a balloon tree
but I know it's true so that's all that matters.

This is for Chloe, Holly, Katie, and Oliver.

poem by Kevin Halls
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The Meeting

After so long an absence
At last we meet agin:
Does the meeting give us pleasure,
Or does it give us pain?

The tree of life has been shaken,
And but few of us linger now,
Like the prophets two or three berries
In the top of the uppermost bough.

We cordially greet each other
In the old, familiar tone;
And we think, though we do not say it,
How old and gray he is grown!

We speak of a Merry Christmas
And many a Happy New Year;
But each in his heart is thinking
Of those that are not here.

We speak of friends and their fortunes,
And of what they did and said,
Till the dead alone seem living,
And the living alone seem dead.

And at last we hardly distinguish
Between the ghosts and the guests;
And a mist and shadow of sadness
Steals over our merriest jests.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Tree's Will

Planted firmly, and sprouting seemingly too fast,
The result was strong and beautiful.
Roots growing through the soil and getting stronger each day
The tree grew taller than all.
Standing tall through the wind and the rain
The storms and the droughts, beholding strength with pain.

One day a storm came, and through the wind, through the rain
The tree fought and came through with scars.
Feeling beyond repair, the tree stood there, looking for the sun in a black abyss.
Remaining strong, hope lingered on, as the tree held to the earth.
Limbs snapped, leaves flew, and gashes were left in it's skin.
But still, the tree's will grew.

poem by Carli Gibson
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A Ghost And A Dream

Rain will fall on the fading flowers,
Winds will blow through the dripping tree,
When Fall leads in her tattered Hours
With Death to keep them company.
All night long in the weeping weather,
All night long in the garden grey,
A ghost and a dream will talk together
And sad are the things they will have to say:
Old sad things of the bough that's broken;
Heartbreak things of the leaf that's dead;
Old sad things no tongue hath spoken;
Sorrowful things no man hath said.

poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Grass is easier?

Up on a windy hill a tree is
a grassy field wind is the breeze
birds and bee's play and play
long lost lovers sign there names
in the tree
a tire swing sways and sways
on this tree
children songs and voices
filled the air at the time
now and days the grass is dead
tree is bare and the birds and the bees
play else ware
long lost lovers are lost
the names wore and decay
on this tree
a tire swing once swayed
on this tree children played
now on this tree smoke and ash lay
songs and voices now all gone
for this is the tree we once plaid on

poem by Cody Lee Jones
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Ballad Of The Mad Ladye

The rowan tree grows by the tower foot,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
Can the dead feel joy or pain?_)
And the owls in the ivy blink and hoot,
And the sea-waves bubble around its root,
Where kelp and tangle and sea-shells be,
When the bat in the dark flies silently.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

The ladye sits in the turret alone,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The dead--can they complain?_)
And her long hair down to her knee has grown,
And her hand is cold as a hand of stone,
And wan as a band of flesh may be,
While the bird in the bower sings merrily.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

Sadly she leans by her casement side
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
Can the dead arise again?_)
And watcheth the ebbing and flowing tide,
But her eye is dim, and the sea is wide;
The fisherman's sail and the cloud flies free
And the bird is mute in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

The moon shone in on the turret stair
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The dead are bound with a chain._)
And touched her cheek and brightened her hair,
And found naught else in the world so fair,
So ghostly fair as the mad ladye,
While the bird in the bower sang lonesomely.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

The weary days and the months crept on,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,
The words of the dead are vain_)
At last the summer was over and gone,
And still she sat in her turret alone,
Her white hands clasping about her knee,
And the bird was mute in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

Wild was the sound of the wind and the sleet,
(_Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea.
The dead--do they walk again?_)
Wilder the roar of the surf that beat;
Whose was the form that it bore to her feet
Swayed with the swell of the unquiet sea,
While the raven croaked in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

Oh Lady, strange is the silent guest--
(_Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,
Can the dead feel sorrow or pain?_)
With the sea-drenched locks and the pulseless breast
And the close-shut lips which thine have pressed
And the wide sad eyes that heed not thee,
While the raven croaks in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

The tower is dark, and the doors are wide,
(_Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,
The dead are at peace again._)
Into the harbour the fisher boats ride,
But two went out with the ebbing tide,
Without sail, without oar, full fast and free,
And the raven croaks in the rowan tree.
(_Hark to the wind and the rain._)

poem by Kate Seymour Maclean
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The tree that knew me.

My tree will know it all
The tree of my childhood
With the endless branches
And the many whispers
Time that it can only measure

My tree remembers
The boy with the wind in his hair
The boy with the crazy laughter
The boy with the fear of living and of lifes unknowns
The boy I used to be

Before the internet or the mac
Playstation Nintendo and games that attack.

My tree remembers me
Clinbing its branches into the sky
Hung on its strong limb
A swing
Of rope and wood.
Telling me I should
Swing as high as I could
Touch the weightless sky
On the magical piece of wood
I can fly and pierce the sky.

My tree remembers
Red Light
Green light
Outdoor street light
Before
My first crush or even a kiss
Dodgeball
And street baseball
Red rover
Red rover
Please come over
And play
Hide and seek
Take cover
And be meek

In my tree
Is everything I want to be.
Imaganary places
People
Creatures
And mystical things

High In my tree
I can see the world
But no one can see me...

My tree remembers me
The boy I use to be

My tree does not know what happened to me
My life has no room for fasanations of fantasys
Now complacted full of responsibilities
I have no time
To many dead lines

My tree looked at me
And said this is where you should be..

One day I drove hurriedly by.....
The pain of progress has its cost
And my tree has lost its spot
It was no longer needed for shade and play,
And its slow pace way
Was its end.

In my heart that tree and me are not appart.

poem by Howard Johnson
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVIII

HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE IS DEAD
My love is dead, dead and in spite of me,--
Dead while I lived,--while yet my blood was rife
With hope and pleasure and the pride of life.
For my love ended unexpectedly
During the Winter, stricken like a tree
By a night's cold, and frozen to the blood,
Whose leaves fell off and never were renewed
By any promise of the years to be.
And, when the Spring came, and the birds, to mate
Among its branches, lo! they found it bare,
Though all around was Summer in the wood.
Yet they took heart awhile, incredulous
That such a tree should be for ever dead.
``'Tis early yet,'' they cried. ``The Spring is late.
It shall still be as in the days that were.''
But Summer came and went while the tree stood
Bare in the sun like a deserted house.
--Then the birds suddenly despaired and fled.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Tree's Love

Tree's are

Loving

The rain....

Rain all

Most come

Again and again come's

For sea dipression

People are shouted

The rain...

'what is this rain...? ! '

Are some thing....

But...

Green full tree's

Take bath and refresh

Dance with air...

Drops are rain

Little little bit

Nicely kiss too kiss

The tree's body's

And leave's enjoy...!

With rain drops kissess...

Enjoy the tree's too love

Rain is the life of tree's

Tree' s is the life of rain...!

So...

Love the tree's for rain...? ! ? ? ! ! !

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Stand in The Rain

She stands bellow the tree,
As she looks out towards the sea.

Her eyes see the blue, yet her mind is lost,
It has left her on it's journey remembering what it lost.

The breeze blows though her dark crimson hair,
And still she does not blink, she only stares.

She stares though nothing only seeing pain,
The pain that has left her standing in the rain.

The rain falls around her on the sea,
Yet still she stands under the tree,

It will not leave her, it will not go,
What she has seen will never go,

She will always remain alone,
She remains in the wind as it moans,

She feels movement of the air,
Yet she does not hear it, she does not fear,

Se fears not the storm, only the pain,
She stands by the side of the sea, stands in the rain.

She stands here, still,
As the pain begons to kill.

She stands and looks past her heart through the pain,
As she stands in the rain.

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Hanging from a Blood Soaked Tree

Hanging from a Blood Soaked Tree
By: Adam M. Snow

One morn as under a great tree I lay,
Misery held me in its pain-filled sway.
I dreamt of a life where I wasn't numb,
Sleepwalking my way toward the dusk to come.

I felt sweat drops that I thought were rain,
And opening my eyes, saw a man hung in pain.
His feet were crossed and his arms stretched wide;
I could see no life in this man. Had he died?

Arose a voice from the blood soaked tree,
'I died for you so that you are free.'

I sat there stunned in my ignorant sleep,
My curiosity teased by a tree that speaks.
I lingered in repose, knowing not what was said;
Clinging to the echoing voice in my head-

'I did this for you.'
With eyes of blue-
He wept.

His head was pierced with thorns claw-like,
And each hand was nailed by a rusty spike.
He calls to me by my name,
I couldn't help it but show my shame.

Words arose from his lips,
As his blood still drips.
His voice so dear,
So pure, so clear;
Spoken once more-

His voice was dear as it said to me,
'I died for you so that you are free.'

There then rose a light, blinding as the morn;
'Fear not, ' he said 'For I am reborn'
'Behold, ' he said, 'My blood is made pure,
I am not dead, I am dying's cure! '
His voice drew near, and whispered he:
'I died for you so that you are free.'

poem by Adam M. Snow
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Snow And Rain

I have watched
and felt
both snow and rain
shaken

from bough
of tree limbs,
desired to linger
longer to watch

'Silent and soft and slow'
the first snow fall
as a new mantle
'Descends the snow'.

I wonder
if Longfellow
faced the same
dilemma,

the onset
of encroaching dark
or a possible
turn in the weather,

may necessitate
but the glimpse
with long hours
of hard hiking left

before
the days
journey
is over.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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You Are The Tree, I Am The Wind

You are the tree, I am the wind,
You alter my course, yet you also bend;
No longer is either the same after each-
I am the wind, be my tree, I do beseech!
Ethereal, unseen-yet alterations I may make!
Magnificent, beautiful-away, my gust, you take!

Together, we are an ever-changing landscape,
Making wondrous reality out of our dreasmscape!
A tree, without its wind-breathless, becalmed:
A wind, without its tree-purposeless, withdrawn!

The wind sweeps around the tree, the tree dances
More inspiring is this than all other romances!
I, the most powerful wind, you, the most beautificent tree;
Wonder do I what, as one, together, we may be!

Maurice Harris,30 August 2009

poem by Maurice Harris
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Trees

I Tthink that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Song from Aella

O SING unto my roundelay,
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be: