Searching
These quiet Autumn days,
My soul, like Noah's dove, on airy wings
Goes out and searches for the hidden things
Beyond the hills of haze.
With mournful, pleading cries,
Above the waters of the voiceless sea
That laps the shore of broad Eternity,
Day after day, it flies,
Searching, but all in vain,
For some stray leaf that it may light upon,
And read the future, as the days agone -
Its pleasures, and its pain.
Listening patiently
For some voice speaking from the mighty deep,
Revealing all the things that it doth keep
In secret there for me.
Come back and wait, my soul!
Day after day thy search has been in vain.
Voiceles and silent o'er the future's plain
Its mystic waters roll.
God, seeing, knoweth best,
And in His time the waters shall subside,
And thou shalt know what lies beneath the tide,
Then wait, my soul, and rest.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Exile
By the sad waters of separation
Where we have wandered by divers ways,
I have but the shadow and imitation
Of the old memorial days.
In music I have no consolation,
No roses are pale enough for me;
The sound of the waters of separation
Surpasseth roses and melody.
By the sad waters of separation
Dimly I hear from an hidden place
The sigh of mine ancient adoration:
Hardly can I remember your face.
If you be dead, no proclamation
Sprang to me over the waste, gray sea:
Living, the waters of separation
Sever for ever your soul from me.
No man knoweth our desolation;
Memory pales of the old delight;
While the sad waters of separation
Bear us on to the ultimate night.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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And the Waters Come Raging
And the waters come raging
like a month-long monsoon
spreading their fury in minutes
and seconds, making busy streets
of shops and houses into
deep sea of mud and graves.
And the waters come raging
like a giant thief in the night
unwanted, unexpected
stamping down on trees,
animals, cars and humans
flushing them out like
manure to a tunnel without light.
And the waters come raging
with the screams and cries
of the stranded on rooftops
the tears of those who cannot
save and find their loved ones,
the prayers of those who wait
until the fury of the waters
should calm down and subside.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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O Angel...
O Angel,
In the time of love,
Life is a silent prayer
All silent prayers!
Don't know how to describe you!
You:
The soul of innocence
Or innocence of the soul,
The soul of pain
Or pain of the soul,
The soul of loneliness
Or loneliness of the soul,
The soul of poetry
Or the poetry of the soul.......
Or
The soul of all souls
Wild with love at heart?
Who are you?
Days of love are
The days of pain never ending,
Days of pleasure immense!
Yes, the are the days of purge!
Like a wildfire, your words
Torment my soul...
Like a gentle caress,
Helps me resurrect like Phoenix...
Like a butterfly,
I flutter to kiss
All your dream-flowers
To enjoy all the hidden metaphors.....
A creative heart
Likes to be naked
And tormented always!
I know that
You are weaving wings for...................
poem by Premji Premji
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Sea Caves
Your garlic and sage roses
Your half moon sea
The waters rise like an oak tree
Boughs of pure crystal joy
Blue gray soul of seraphim eyes
Now the sea showers the shore
I am the hidden man
Golden treasures in caves
I hear the tide go in and out
We search for real dreams
Islands maroon the heart
Protons and neutrons in balance
Man asleep waiting to see her eyes
Woman knowing she is love
These kelp shores wait for you
I long to hold you in the moonlight
Your smile silent as morning
Seagulls soar with freedom
All the walls have crumbled
We share the serene stars of peace
Mystic warm waters surround
Topaz blended with sapphire
Violet touch amidst lime green
Clouds sigh like satin prose
These sea caves fill with your love
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Be In My Heart
What did I ever do for you, that you should die for me
And what did I ever give to you, that you should live in me
Now and forever and always true, your love has found a way
As I was, I am and always will be, will be
Be in my heart, be in my head, be in my soul tonight
Live in my words, let it be said, live in my life tonight
Pray that I never take in vain, the name I hold most dear
His love in very heart of me, casts out all doubt and fear
Now and forever and always true, your love has found a way
As I was, I am and always will be, will be
Be in my heart, be in my head, be in my soul tonight
Live in my words, let it be said, live in my life tonight
Tonight we shall sweetly sleep
Tonight by still waters deep
Tonight for my soul to keep, still waters lead me to your
Still waters, I need to drink of your still waters
Now that I know the kind of love that comes to fill me up
Fill me anew with love from you and overflow my cup
Now and forever and always true, your love has found a way
As I was, I am and always will be, will be
Be in my heart, be in my head, be in my soul tonight
Live in my words, let it be said, live in my life tonight
Still waters running deep
Still waters my soul to keep
Still waters its your love flowing over me
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Prisoner
THERE, where the swift Rhone's waters flow
Its verdant banks between;
Where fragrant myrtles bending grow,
And Rhone reflects their green;
There, where the vineyards deck the hills,
And o'er the valleys spread,
Which golden citrons' fragrance fills,
And plantains rear their head—
There stood, as sunk the lord of day,
Upon the smiling shore,
One who long watch'd the waters play,
And thought his sorrows o'er;
A Russian hero— stolen by war,
The honour of the Don;
Divided from his friends afar,
He wander'd there alone.
'O roll!' he sang, 'ye waters roll—
Flow in your glory on;
Your waves shall waken on my soul
The memory of the Don.
My days pass by without an aim,
Amidst life's busy roar;
For what is life without its fame,
Or the bright world?— 'tis poor.
'Now nature wears its spring-tide dress,
The sun shines splendidly;
All liberty and loveliness—
O! why am I not free?
O roll, ye waters! rage, thou Rhone!
And waken, as ye roll,
The thoughts of my domestic zone
Within my troubled soul.
'The maidens here are fair and bright,
Their glance is full of fire;
And their all-graceful smiles of light
Might satisfy desire
'But what is love in foreign lands,
Or joy?— I only know
The joy and love that bless our sands,
Midst forests and midst snow.
'Give me my freedom— let me tread
Once more my country's strand;
With frost and storm all overspread—
My home— my father-land!
Deep is the snow around my door;
But give me my own steed,
And day and night, the mountains o'er,
Me to my home he'll lead.
'At home, there's one who sits and keeps
The memory of her love;
And often to the window creeps,
And pours her prayers above.
She guards the thoughts of him whose mind
Guards every thought of her;
She pats the horse I left behind—
How privileged to be there!
'O roll, thou Rhone! ye waters roll—
Rush in your glory on;
Your waves still waken in my soul
The memory of the Don.
Come, winds! come hither from the north,
Come, in your freshness, come:
And thou bright pole-star blazen forth,
Memento of my home!'
So spake the prisoner, as he turn'd
To Lyons his tired eye,
When long in exile's chains he mourn'd
His hapless destiny.
He sang— the Rhone roll'd proudly on,
The moon oft kiss'd its tide;
And oft on Lyons' turrets shone
The sun in all his pride.
poem by Konstantin Nikolaevich Batiushkov
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To Linger in a Garden Fair
MIRTH, Spring, to linger in a garden fair,
What more has earth to give? All ye that wait,
Where is the Cup-bearer, the flagon where?
When pleasant hours slip from the hand of Fate,
Reckon each hour as a certain gain;
Who seeks to know the end of mortal care
Shall question his experience in vain.
Thy fettered life hangs on a single thread--
Some comfort for thy present ills devise,
But those that time may bring thou shalt not dread.
Waters of Life and Irem's Paradise--
What meaning do our dreams and pomp convey,
Save that beside a mighty stream, wide-fed,
We sit and sing of wine and go our way!
The modest and the merry shall be seen
To boast their kinship with a single voice;
There are no differences to choose between,
Thou art but flattering thy soul with choice!
Who knows the Curtain's secret? . . . Heaven is mute
And yet with Him who holds the Curtain, e'en
With Him, oh Braggart, thou would'st raise dispute!
Although His thrall shall miss the road and err,
'Tis but to teach him wisdom through distress,
Else Pardon and Compassionate Mercy were
But empty syllables and meaningless.
The Zealot thirsts for draughts of Kausar's wine,
And Hafiz doth an earthly cup prefer--
But what, between the two, is God's design?
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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By the Sea side
Staying by the sea, now at sunset
With the light slowly fading into greyness
And the waters lying quiet
A peace fills me as never before
Dismal fears barred entry into the soul
And mind freed of all disquietude.
Through the soft whisper of waves
A low sweet melody finds its way.
Listening to the gentle sibilance of the sea,
A new insight suddenly dawns on me
None but we are to blame
For all our angry bickerings.
With all swirls and whirls underneath
Is an abstruse calm in the deep
In this continuum of flux
Is a permanence - abiding and perpetual.
Staying by the sea at sunset
With its still waters glimmering in twilight
And the stray clouds straggling in the sky,
My soul undulates with the slow rhythm of waves
And in me breaks a light, luminous and clear
A glimpse of a radiance - ethereal!
poem by Valsa George
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Indian Woman's Death-Song
Non, je ne puis vivre avec un coeur brisé® Il faut que je retrouve la joie, et que je m'unisse aux esprits libres de l'air.
Bride of Messina
,
Madame De Stael
Let not my child be a girl, for very sad is the life of a woman.
The Prairie.
DOWN a broad river of the western wilds,
Piercing thick forest glooms, a light canoe
Swept with the current: fearful was the speed
Of the frail bark, as by a tempest's wing
Borne leaf-like on to where the mist of spray
Rose with the cataract's thunder. Yet within,
Proudly, and dauntlessly, and all alone,
Save that a babe lay sleeping at her breast,
A woman stood. Upon her Indian brow
Sat a strange gladness, and her dark hair wav'd
As if triumphantly. She press'd her child,
In its bright slumber, to her beating heart,
And lifted her sweet voice that rose awhile
Above the sound of waters, high and clear,
Wafting a wild proud strain, her Song of Death.
Roll swiftly to the Spirit's land, thou mighty stream and free!
Father of ancient waters, 5 roll! and bear our lives with thee!
The weary bird that storms have toss'd would seek the sunshine's calm,
And the deer that hath the arrow's hurt flies to the woods of balm.
Roll on! my warrior's eye hath look'd upon another's face,
And mine hath faded from his soul, as fades a moonbeam's trace;
My shadow comes not o'er his path, my whisper to his dream,
He flings away the broken reed roll swifter yet, thou stream!
The voice that spoke of other days is hush'd within his breast,
But mine its lonely music haunts, and will not let me rest;
It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone,
I cannot live without that light. Father of waves! roll on!
Will he not miss the bounding step that met him from the chase?
The heart of love that made his home an ever sunny place?
The hand that spread the hunter's board, and deck'd his couch of yore?
He will not! roll, dark foaming stream, on to the better shore!
Some blessed fount amidst the woods of that bright land must flow,
Whose waters from my soul may lave the memory of this wo;
Some gentle wind must whisper there, whose breath may waft away
The burden of the heavy night, the sadness of the day.
And thou, my babe! tho' born, like me, for woman's weary lot,
Smile! to that wasting of the heart, my own! I leave thee not;
Too bright a thing art thou to pine in aching love away,
Thy mother bears thee far, young Fawn! from sorrow and decay.
She bears thee to the glorious bowers where none are heard to weep,
And where th' unkind one hath no power again to trouble sleep;
And where the soul shall find its youth, as wakening from a dream,
One moment, and that realm is ours. On, on, dark rolling stream!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Waiting for love
As the heart panteth
After the water brooks
And as the fish
Is always caught by the hook
So my soul panteth after thee
My soul thirsteth for thee
Thou art my love
My true love
When shall i come
And appear before my love
My tears has been my meat
For i cant stand the heat
Whiles they continue to say unto me
Where is your love
When i remember all these things
I pour out my soul in me
For love flew with me
Like a white dove
Why art thou cast down
Oh my soul
Why art thou disquieted in me
Oh my soul
Hope, do not have fear
Wait patiently for her
For she will appear
By; matt ancient
poem by Matt Ancient
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Ecce Ancilla Domini.
Behold the Handmaid of the Lord, be it done unto me according to Thy word.'
The Angelus
The bells from St. Mary's still rings in the twilight
though I am a million miles away
from my hometown in which I was raised.
I hear them this early evening,
somehow they ring out this end of day
that falls, lies, then drowns
into the waters off this big city river bridge
where I sit alone,
just thinking
across the river
Ophelia closes her shop
the books standing alone, now
in perfect attention
waiting to be held
waiting to be read
I understand the books
this river's light and its reflections hold me now
and that, that is good
like the light always seems to be
though its passing will silence
the mourning birds
deepening my melancholia
like the waters of this river....
still, for now
the light shines
as the Angelus Bells ring
the light dancing
across the waters of this wide river
(Mars and Venus ascending)
that sameness of light reflects
in the eyes, the smile of Ophelia
who closes the doors
on the books
in the shop
who wait to be held
who wait to be read
who wait to be understood
as we all do
or hope to
before the Angelus Bells
ring us out of our days....
poem by R. James Sterzinger
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The Isle Of Founts
Son of the stranger! wouldst thou take
O'er yon blue hills thy lonely way,
To reach the still and shining lake
Along whose banks the west-winds play?
-Let no vain dreams thy heart beguile,
Oh! seek thou not the Fountain-Isle!
Lull but the mighty serpent king,
'Midst the grey rocks, his old domain;
Ward but the cougar's deadly spring,
-Thy step that lake's green shore may gain;
And the bright Isle, when all is pass'd,
Shall vainly meet thine eye at last!
Yes! there, with all its rainbow streams,
Clear as within thine arrow's flight,
The Isle of Founts, the Isle of dreams,
Floats on the wave in golden light;
And lovely will the shadows be
Of groves whose fruit is not for thee!
And breathings from their sunny flowers,
Which are not of the things that die,
And singing voices from their bowers
Shall greet thee in the purple sky;
Soft voices, e'en like those that dwell
Far in the green reed's hollow cell.
Or hast thou heard the sounds that rise
From the deep chambers of the earth?
The wild and wondrous melodies
To which the ancient rocks gave birth?
-Like that sweet song of hidden caves
Shall swell those wood-notes o'er the waves.
The emerald waves!-they take their hue
And image from that sunbright shore;
But wouldst thou launch thy light canoe,
And wouldst thou ply thy rapid oar,
Before thee, hadst thou morning's speed,
The dreamy land should still recede!
Yet on the breeze thou still wouldst hear
The music of its flowering shades,
And ever should the sound be near
Of founts that ripple through its glades;
The sound, and sight, and flashing ray
Of joyous waters in their play!
But woe for him who sees them burst
With their bright spray-showers to the lake!
Earth has no spring to quench the thirst
That semblance in his soul shall wake,
For ever pouring through his dreams,
The gush of those untasted streams!
Bright, bright in many a rocky urn,
The waters of our deserts lie,
Yet at their source his lip shall burn,
Parch'd with the fever's agony!
From the blue mountains to the main,
Our thousand floods may roll in vain.
E'en thus our hunters came of yore
Back from their long and weary quest;
-Had they not seen th' untrodden shore,
And could they 'midst our wilds find rest?
The lightning of their glance was fled,
They dwelt amongst us as the dead!
They lay beside our glittering rills,
With visions in their darken'd eye,
Their joy was not amidst the hills,
Where elk and deer before us fly;
Their spears upon the cedar hung,
Their javelins to the wind were flung.
They bent no more the forest-bow,
They arm'd not with the warrior-band,
The moons wan'd o'er them dim and slow-
-They left us for the spirit's land!
Beneath our pines yon greensward heap
Shows where the restless found their sleep.
Son of the stranger! if at eve
Silence be 'midst us in thy place,
Yet go not where the mighty leave
The strength of battle and of chase!
Let no vain dreams thy heart beguile,
Oh! seek thou not the Fountain-Isle!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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In Time of Doubt
`In the shadow of Thy wings, O Lord of Hosts, whom I extol,
I will put my trust for ever,' so the kingly David sings.
`Thou shalt help me, Thou shalt save me, only
Thou shalt keep me whole,
In the shadow of Thy wings.'
In our ears this voice triumphant, like a blowing trumpet, rings,
But our hearts have heard another, as of funeral bells that toll,
`God of David where to find Thee?' No reply the question brings.
Shadows are there overhead, but they are of the clouds that roll,
Blotting out the sun from sight, and overwhelming earthly things.
Oh, that we might feel Thy presence! Surely we could rest our soul
In the shadow of Thy wings.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Midnight
Unfathomable Night! how dost thou sweep
Over the flooded earth, and darkly hide
The mighty city under thy full tide;
Making a silent palace for old Sleep,
Like his own temple under the hush'd deep,
Where all the busy day he doth abide,
And forth at the late dark, outspreadeth wide
His dusky wings, whence the cold waters sweep!
How peacefully the living millions lie!
Lull'd unto death beneath his poppy spells;
There is no breath—no living stir—no cry
No tread of foot—no song—no music-call—
Only the sound of melancholy bells—
The voice of Time—survivor of them all!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Olney Hymn 19: Contentment
Fierce passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea,
But calm, content and peace we find,
When, Lord, we turn to Thee.
In vain by reason and by rule
We try to bend the will;
For none but in the Saviour's school
Can learn the heavenly skill.
Since at His feet my soul has sate,
His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,
I cast on Him my care.
'Art thou a sinner, soul?' He said,
'Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!
'If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine!
Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.
''Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.
'In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away.'
Thus I, who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent,
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learnt to be content.
poem by William Cowper
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Wait In Vain
you're a lover of convenience
who took away my heart ala pirate
hope you return for better experince
cos i'm hurt but can't feel irate
please help me not to wait in vain
i'm sitting here wishing for that day
when you appear from the woods or sea
i wonder what to you i would ever say
if i'll ever see that day i foresee
i hope i won't have to wait in vain
i think i'm about to let go
of all the thoughts of you i kept
from days in scool to long ago
days we laughed and days we wept
it's so sad i had to wait in vain
poem by Ray Anyasi
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Outre Mer
I see, as one in dreaming,
A broad, bright, quiet sea;
Beyond it lies a haven --
The only home for me.
Some men grow strong with trouble,
But all my strength is past,
And tired and full of sorrow,
I long to sleep at last.
By force of chance and changes
Man's life is hard at best;
And, seeing rest is voiceless,
The dearest thing is rest.
Beyond the sea -- behold it,
The home I wish to seek,
The refuge of the weary,
The solace of the weak!
Sweet angel fingers beckon,
Sweet angel voices ask
My soul to cross the waters;
And yet I dread the task.
God help the man whose trials
Are tares that he must reap!
He cannot face the future --
His only hope is sleep.
Across the main a vision
Of sunset coasts, and skies,
And widths of waters gleaming,
Enchant my human eyes.
I, who have sinned and suffered,
Have sought -- with tears have sought --
To rule my life with goodness,
And shape it to my thought.
And yet there is no refuge
To shield me from distress,
Except the realm of slumber
And great forgetfulness.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Impatience
How can I wait until you come to me?
The once fleet mornings linger by the way;
Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee
At my unrest, they seem to pause, and play
Like truant children, while I sigh and say,
How can I wait?
How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours
Refused to pause or loiter with me long;
But now they idly fill their hands with flowers,
And make no haste, but slowly stroll among
The summer blooms, not heeding my one song,
How can I wait?
How can I wait? The nights alone are kind;
They reach forth to a future day, and bring
Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind;
And time speeds by on light and airy wing.
I feast upon your face, I no more sing,
How can I wait?
How can I wait? The morning breaks the spell
A pitying night has flung upon my soul.
You are not near me, and I know full well
My heart has need of patience and control;
Before we meet, hours, days, and weeks must roll,
How can I wait?
How can I wait? Oh, Love, how can I wait
Until the sunlight f your eyes shall shine
Upon my world that seems so desolate?
Until your hand-clasp warms my blood like wine;
Until you come again, oh, Love of mine,
How can I wait?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Am Free I Choose The Peace And Quiet Around Me
i am free. i rest below the light of stars.
i look for the peace of the things around me.
trees that do not move, waters on the pond that are still,
birds resting on the nests with their wings clipped in sleep
i wait for nothing. i do not think about taxing things.
and when despair comes to meet me i simply move
and take refuge in other places where there are no obstructions
to the peace and quiet that i decide to choose.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soul Within A Dream (Dream Within a Soul)
Near the sea,
I filled the earth with fan leaf tree
To give chirping robins a clasp, and hide
Late the day, one enjoys the ebbs of tide
Someday, one could tell what nature be
a dream that stays with me
All worries, pressure of the day subside
The future of the unborn child
Under which a soul could rest
From crux, a tortured crest
This place hath done whats fair
Epitaph of my sweet ember's care
Dream is noble for the soul
Whose soul dream not
Faint -hearted dream it is without soul
and soul it is that dream, if by dream is soul we ennoble
I dream and filled the earth today
Hoped that dream would always stay
The time will I expire and rest on the ground
My dream will grow, stand, and live this land
poem by Kristoffer Randolf Ramos
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