I saw a chapel all of gold...
I saw a chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in
And many weeping stood without
Weeping mourning worshipping
I saw a serpent rise between 5
The white pillars of the door
And he forcd & forcd & forcd
Down the golden hinges tore
And along the pavement sweet
Set with pearls & rubies bright 10
All his slimy length he drew
Till upon the altar white
Vomiting his poison out
On the bread & on the wine
So I turnd into a sty 15
And laid me down among the swine
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
I Saw a Chapel
I saw a chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in,
And many weeping stood without,
Weeping, mourning, worshipping.
I saw a serpent rise between
The white pillars of the door,
And he forc'd and forc'd and forc'd,
Down the golden hinges tore.
And along the pavement sweet,
Set with pearls and rubies bright,
All his slimy length he drew
Till upon the altar white
Vomiting his poison out
On the bread and on the wine.
So I turn'd into a sty
And laid me down among the swine.
poem by William Blake
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Neswar
The King is weeping and mourning for his son,
The Queen is weeping and mourning for her daughter,
But i will remember you always Neswar;
Because you've touched my heart with your sweet love!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The ocean said to me once,
The ocean said to me once,
"Look!
Yonder on the shore
Is a woman, weeping.
I have watched her.
Go you and tell her this --
Her lover I have laid
In cool green hall.
There is wealth of golden sand
And pillars, coral-red;
Two white fish stand guard at his bier.
"Tell her this
And more --
That the king of the seas
Weeps too, old, helpless man.
The bustling fates
Heap his hands with corpses
Until he stands like a child
With a surplus of toys."
poem by Stephen Crane
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The Cedar Has Fallen
The spirit of compassion and supplication,
And of the waves of the sea to touch my heart;
For the cedar has fallen into my garden.
I am from the waterless pit and,
The Nile will dry up for me to wlk through;
For the axe is now laid against the tree of love.
Blessed are the merciful and love to the King!
But the cedar has fallen next to me;
And Rachel is now weeping for her children.
Curse be the deceiver!
And of lamentation and bitter weeping;
But at the fall of the night i will be with you.
Be as wise as the serpent and,
Ride on the donkey of love;
For i do have five loaves of bread and two fish to share,
And each day has its own trouble in this life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hildebrand And Hellelil
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH.
Hellelil sitteth in bower there,
None knows my grief but God alone,
And seweth at the seam so fair,
I never wail my sorrow to any other one.
But there whereas the gold should be
With silk upon the cloth sewed she.
Where she should sew with silken thread
The gold upon the cloth she laid.
So to the Queen the word came in
That Hellelil wild work doth win.
Then did the Queen do furs on her
And went to Hellelil the fair.
“O swiftly sewest thou, Hellelil,
Yet nought but mad is thy sewing still!”
“Well may my sewing be but mad
Such evil hap as I have had.
My father was good king and lord,
Knights fifteen served before his board.
He taught me sewing royally,
Twelve knights had watch and ward of me.
Well served eleven day by day,
To folly the twelfth did me bewray.
And this same was hight Hildebrand,
The King’s son of the English Land.
But in bower were we no sooner laid
Than the truth thereof to my father was said.
Then loud he cried o’er garth and hall:
‘Stand up, my men, and arm ye all!
‘Yea draw on mail and dally not,
Hard neck lord Hildebrand hath got!’
They stood by the door with glaive and spear;
‘Hildebrand rise and hasten here!’
Lord Hildebrand stroked my white white cheek:
‘O love, forbear my name to speak.
‘Yea even if my blood thou see,
Name me not, lest my death thou be.’
Out from the door lord Hildebrand leapt,
And round about his good sword swept.
The first of all that he slew there
Were my seven brethren with golden hair.
Then before him stood the youngest one,
And dear he was in the days agone.
Then I cried out: ‘O Hildebrand,
In the name of God now stay thine hand.
‘O let my youngest brother live
Tidings hereof to my mother to give!’
No sooner was the word gone forth
Than with eight wounds fell my love to earth.
My brother took me by the golden hair,
And bound me to the saddle there.
There met me then no littlest root,
But it tore off somewhat of my foot.
No littlest brake the wild-wood bore,
But somewhat from my legs it tore.
No deepest dam we came unto
But my brother’s horse he swam it through.
But when to the castle gate we came,
There stood my mother in sorrow and shame.
My brother let raise a tower high,
Bestrewn with sharp thorns inwardly.
He took me in my silk shirt bare
And cast me into that tower there.
And wheresoe’er my legs I laid
Torment of the thorns I had.
Wheresoe’er on feet I stood
The prickles sharp drew forth my blood.
My youngest brother me would slay
But my mother would have me sold away.
A great new bell my price did buy
In Mary’s Church to hang on high.
But the first stroke that ever it strake
My mother’s heart asunder brake.”
So soon as her sorrow and woe was said,
None knows my grief but God alone,
In the arm of the Queen she sat there dead,
I never tell my sorrow to any other one.
poem by William Morris
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Jewels: A Young Man to a Merchant
OLD Man, your pearls are not for us,
Your rubies die too soon:
Have you the pearls of Sirius,
Or opals of the moon?
I do not ask for other gems;
Flashing with frost and fire
The sky's undying diadems
Shall be my love's attire.
Emeralds, that into rubies melt
Upon the brow of night,
I've taken from Orion's belt
To make her girdle bright.
On high ways of the albatross
I scale the purple air
For sapphires of the Southern Cross
And wreath them in her hair
Her robe it is the morning sky,
Her veil it is the West;
So robed, so veiled my love will fly.
When I am gone to rest.
Yet all the rays of all the moons,
The lights of all the skies
Are pale beside the dim lagoons
Of those mysterious eyes.
Old Man, your pearls are not for us,
Your rubies die too soon:
Have you the pearls of Sirius,
Or opals of the moon
poem by Herbert Asquith
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Emerald City Sequence
(quincy jones/charlie smalls)
Emerald city green:
I want to be seen green
Wouldnt be caught dead, red
cause if you are seen green
It means you got mean bread
Youve got to be seen green
To show that youre stuffs layed
If youre not seen green
You better be wearing jade
Oh, youve got to be seen green
Dont tell them your cupboards bare
That you gave up one weeks feed
To pay for your colored hair
Oh, oh, oh
An announcement from the great powerful oz:
I thought it over and green is dead
till I change my mind, the color is red
Emerald city red:
I wouldnt be seen green
Ooo! oo! oo! ah! ah!
I wouldnt be caught dead
And if Im caught at all
Then catch me in dead, red
Ooo!
Youve got to be dead red
Youve got to be real hot
So throw away those green gems
And wear rubies on your yacht
Youve got to be dead, red
Youve got to have flash and flair
And if youre not seen red
Then you shouldnt be seen nowhere
Ah!
How quickly fashion goes down the drain.
Last week when you all was wearin pink
Already for me red was old.
The ultimate brick is gold.
Thats the new color, children
Emerald city gold:
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
You got to be seen gold
Watch out for the new kind
You got to have old gold
Like some from a gold mine
You got to be wearin gold
The twenty four carat kind
And once youve shined it up
It should ought to make you blind, ah!
You got to be seen in gold
To show that youre super slick
It helps to pay tips and tolls
Its the ultimate yellow brick
Its the ultimate
Gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Gold, gold, gold, gold
Gold!
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Trust
Think England what it is to shake,
& better use your King,
His power raisd the frozen snake,
& Must he when he hears it speak,
find how the tongue can sting?
Trustees you make in long debates,
Which he is forcd to give;
While by your trust the rebell getts,
The subject looses bought estates,
& the oppressors live.
Pitty us heaven, & lend your aid,
Anothers intrest sett us free,
& now it gives us slavery,
Thus weakness is a property,
& Greatness still obeyd.
The men whose heavy arms we feel
By Politicks are good or ill,
Deceiving, or deceivd;
Their law is founded on their will,
& our's by that inslavd.
Against their princes acts they rise,
& in their princes name;
The sly intreaguing factions choice,
& erring patriots shame.
So Dunghill foggs by fiery rays
To saucy empire scale,
Obscure the royall planetts face,
With pride supply a lofty place,
& with out pitty fall.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Heart And Mind
SAID the Lion to the Lioness-'When you are amber dust,-
No more a raging fire like the heat of the Sun
(No liking but all lust)-
Remember still the flowering of the amber blood and bone,
The rippling of bright muscles like a sea,
Remember the rose-prickles of bright paws
Though the fire of that sun the heart and the moon-cold bone are one.'
Said the Skeleton lying upon the sands of Time-
'The great gold planet that is the mourning heat of the Sun
Is greater than all gold, more powerful
Than the tawny body of a Lion that fire consumes
Like all that grows or leaps...so is the heart
More powerful than all dust. Once I was Hercules
Or Samson, strong as the pillars of the seas:
But the flames of the heart consumed me, and the mind
Is but a foolish wind.'
Said the Sun to the Moon-'When you are but a lonely white crone,
And I, a dead King in my golden armour somewhere in a dark wood,
Remember only this of our hopeless love
That never till Time is done
Will the fire of the heart and the fire of the mind be one.'
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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Born
AS I OPEN MY I SAW A NEW WORLD
NUMBER OF PEOPLE GATHER IN AROUND ME
JOY OF SOME PEOPLE WORTH WATCHING
SOME PEOPLE WANT TO KEEP ME THEIR HAND
FEW PEOPLE WANT TO KISS ME
BUT FOR TWO PEOPLE ARE MORE PRECIOUS
FIRST ONE WHERE I FEEL MORE SECURE
ANOTHER ONE WHEN I FEEL PROUD
MY WEEPING WORRIED EVERYONE
BUT NOBODY KNOW WHY I AM WEEPING
ONLY ONE KNOW AND REALISE WHY I AM WEEPING
ONLY ONE CAN UNDERSTAND AND CONTROL
MY WEEPING BY FEEDING ME
EVERYONE ENJOY, PLAY & WELCOME WITH ME
BUT ONLY TWO PERSON UNDERSTAND ME MOST
ONE CONTROL MY WEEPING AND ANOTHER ONE
WHERE I FEEL MY SELF PROUD.
I AM LITTLE UNKOWN WAITING FOR SWEET NAME
SO THAT I CAN START …..
poem by Ajay Srivastava
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The Mental Travellert
I traveld thro' a Land of Men
A Land of Men and Women too
And heard and saw such dreadful things
As cold Earth wanderers never knew
For there the Babe is born in joy
That was begotten in dire woe
Just as we Reap in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did sow
And if the Babe is born a Boy
He's given to a Woman Old 10
Who nails him down upon a rock
Catches his Shrieks in Cups of gold
She binds iron thorns around his head
She pierces both his hands and feet
She cuts his heart out at his side
To make it feel both cold and heat
Her fingers number every Nerve
Just as a Miser counts his gold
She lives upon his shrieks and cries
And She grows young as he grows old
Till he becomes a bleeding youth
And she becomes a Virgin bright
Then he rends up his Manacles
And binds her down for his delight
He plants himself in all her Nerves
Just as a Husbandman his mould
And She becomes his dwelling place
And Garden fruitful Seventy fold
An aged Shadow soon he fades
Wandring round an Earthly Cot
Full filled all with gems and gold
Which he by industry had got
And these are the gems of the Human Soul
The rubies and pearls of a lovesick eye
The countless gold of the akeing heart
The martyrs groan and the lovers sigh
They are his meat they are his drink
He feeds the Beggar and the Poor
And the way faring Traveller
For ever open is his door
His grief is their eternal joy
They make the roofs and walls to ring
Till from the fire on the hearth
A little Female Babe does spring
And she is all of solid fire
And gems and gold that none his hand
Dares stretch to touch her Baby form
Or wrap her in his swaddling-band
But She comes to the Man she loves
If young or old or rich or poor
They soon drive out the aged Host
A Begger at anothers door
He wanders weeping far away
Untill some other take him in
Oft blind and age-bent sore distrest
Untill he can a Maiden win
And to Allay his freezing Age
The Poor Man takes her in his arms
The Cottage fades before his Sight
The Garden and its lovely Charms
The Guests are scatterd thro' the land
For the Eye altering alters all
The Senses roll themselves in fear
And the flat Earth becomes a Ball
The Stars Sun Moon all shrink away
A desart vast without a bound
And nothing left to eat or drink
And a dark desart all around
The honey of her Infant lips
The bread and wine of her sweet smile
The wild game of her roving Eye
Does him to Infancy beguile
For as he eats and drinks he grows
Younger and younger every day
And on the desart wild they both
Wander in terror & dismay
Like the wild Stag she flees away
Her fear plants many a thicket wild
While he pursues her night and day
By various arts of Love beguild
By various arts of Love and Hate
Till the wide desart planted oer
With Labyrinths of wayward Love
Where roams the Lion Wolf and Boart
Till he becomes a wayward Babet
And she a weeping Woman Oldt
Then many a Lover wanders here
The Sun and Stars are nearer rolld
The trees bring forth sweet Extacy
To all who in the desart roam
Till many a City there is Built
And many a pleasant Shepherds home
But when they find the frowning Babe
Terror strikes thro the region wide
They cry the Babe the Babe is Born
And flee away on Every sidet
For who dare touch the frowning form
His arm is witherd to its root
Lions Boars Wolves all howling flee
And every Tree does shed its fruit
And none can touch that frowning form
Except it be a Woman Old
She nails him down upon the Rock
And all is done as I have told
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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House Carpenter
Well met, well met, said an old true love
Well met, well met, said he
I just returned from the salt, salt sea
And its all for the love of thee
Come in, come in, my own true love
And have a seat by me
Its been three-fourths of a long, long year
Since together we have been
I cant come in and I cant sit down
For Ive only a moments time
They say youre married to a house carpenter
And your heart will never be mine
I couldve married the kings daughter fair
And she wouldve married me
But I have forsaken, her crowns of gold
And all for the love of thee
Now will you forsake your house carpenter
And come along with me
Ill take you where, the grass grows green
On the banks of the deep blue sea
Then she picked up her darling little babe
And kisses she gave it three
Saying stay right here you darling little babe
And keep your pop company
They had not been on the ship two weeks
Im sure it was not three
Til this true love began to weep and to mourn
And she wept most bitterly
Saying are you weeping for my silver and my gold?
Saying are you weeeping for my store?
Or are you weeping, for your house carpenter
Whose face youll never see no more?
I am not weeping for your silver and your gold
I am not weeping for your store
No I am weeping, for my darling little babe
Whose face ill never see no more
They had not been on the ship three weeks
Im sure it was not four
When there came a leak, in the bottom of the ship
And sank them for to rise no more
song performed by by Nickel Creek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those White Pearls Around Her Neck
those white pearls around her neck
all come from him
he was up her face
her tongue circling on his being
he begs and kneels
for more
till the much awaited explosion of love
gets in
on the mutual hunger
he gives her all the white pearls
she puts the circular lipstick
around his veins.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Incantation
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
A flung white glove
In a dark fight;
A white dove
On a wild black night.
A white door
In a dark lane;
A bright core
To bitter black pain.
A white hand
Waved from dark walls;
In a burnt black land
Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark
Where black ashes are;
In the smothering dark
One white star.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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The Ghost’s Petition
'There's a footstep coming: look out and see,'
'The leaves are falling, the wind is calling;
No one cometh across the lea.'—
'There's a footstep coming; O sister, look.'—
'The ripple flashes, the white foam dashes;
No one cometh across the brook.'—
'But he promised that he would come:
To-night, to-morrow, in joy or sorrow,
He must keep his word, and must come home.
'For he promised that he would come:
His word was given; from earth or heaven,
He must keep his word, and must come home.
'Go to sleep, my sweet sister Jane;
You can slumber, who need not number
Hour after hour, in doubt and pain.
'I shall sit here awhile, and watch;
Listening, hoping, for one hand groping
In deep shadow to find the latch.'
After the dark, and before the light,
One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping,
Who had watched and wept the weary night.
After the night, and before the day,
One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping—
Watching, weeping for one away.
There came a footstep climbing the stair;
Some one standing out on the landing
Shook the door like a puff of air—
Shook the door, and in he passed.
Did he enter? In the room centre
Stood her husband: the door shut fast.
'O Robin, but you are cold—
Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you
Look like a stray lamb from our fold.
'O Robin, but you are late:
Come and sit near me—sit here and cheer me.'—
(Blue the flame burnt in the grate.)
'Lay not down your head on my breast:
I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you
In the shelter that you love best.
'Feel not after my clasping hand:
I am but a shadow, come from the meadow
Where many lie, but no tree can stand.
'We are trees which have shed their leaves:
Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there;
Only I grieve for my wife who grieves.
'I could rest if you would not moan
Hour after hour; I have no power
To shut my ears where I lie alone.
'I could rest if you would not cry;
But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping—
Watching, weeping so bitterly.'—
'Woe's me! woe's me! for this I have heard.
Oh night of sorrow!—oh black to-morrow!
Is it thus that you keep your word?
'O you who used so to shelter me
Warm from the least wind—why, now the east wind
Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see.
'O my husband of flesh and blood,
For whom my mother I left, and brother,
And all I had, accounting it good,
'What do you do there, underground,
In the dark hollow? I'm fain to follow.
What do you do there?—what have you found?'—
'What I do there I must not tell:
But I have plenty: kind wife, content ye:
It is well with us—it is well.
'Tender hand hath made our nest;
Our fear is ended, our hope is blended
With present pleasure, and we have rest.'—
'Oh, but Robin, I'm fain to come,
If your present days are so pleasant;
For my days are so wearisome.
'Yet I'll dry my tears for your sake:
Why should I tease you, who cannot please you
Any more with the pains I take?'
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Chorus of Fire
O! golden Hereafter, thine every bright rafter
Will shake in the thunder of sanctified song;
And every swift angel proclaim an evangel,
To summon God’s saints to the glorified throng.
Refrain
O! chorus of fire,
That will burst from God’s choir,
When the loud hallelujahs leap up from the soul,
Till the flowers on the hills,
And the waves in the rills,
Shall tremble with joy in the music’s deep roll.
O! host without number, awaked from death’s slumber,
Who walk in white robes on the emerald shore;
The glory is o’er you, the throne is before you,
And weeping will come to your spirits no more.
Refrain
O! mansions eternal, in fields ever vernal,
Awaiting your tenantry ransomed from sin,
We’ll stand on your pavement, no more in enslavement,
With home-songs to Jesus Who welcomes us in.
Refrain
O! Jesus, our Master, command to beat faster
These weary life pulses that bring us to Thee,
Till, past the dark portal, we stand up immortal,
And sweep with hosannas the jasper lit sea.
Refrain
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
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The Golden Wedding Of Sterling And Sarah Lanier, September 27, 1868.
By the Eldest Grandson.
A rainbow span of fifty years,
Painted upon a cloud of tears,
In blue for hopes and red for fears,
Finds end in a golden hour to-day.
Ah, YOU to our childhood the legend told,
'At the end of the rainbow lies the gold,'
And now in our thrilling hearts we hold
The gold that never will pass away.
Gold crushed from the quartz of a crystal life,
Gold hammered with blows of human strife,
Gold burnt in the love of man and wife,
Till it is pure as the very flame:
Gold that the miser will not have,
Gold that is good beyond the grave,
Gold that the patient and the brave
Amass, neglecting praise and blame.
O golden hour that caps the time
Since, heart to heart like rhyme to rhyme,
You stood and listened to the chime
Of inner bells by spirits rung,
That tinkled many a secret sweet
Concerning how two souls should meet,
And whispered of Time's flying feet
With a most piquant silver tongue.
O golden day, -- a golden crown
For the kingly heads that bowed not down
To win a smile or 'scape a frown,
Except the smile and frown of Heaven!
Dear heads, still dark with raven hair;
Dear hearts, still white in spite of care;
Dear eyes, still black and bright and fair
As any eyes to mortals given!
Old parents of a restless race,
You miss full many a bonny face
That would have smiled a filial grace
Around your Golden Wedding wine.
But God is good and God is great.
His will be done, if soon or late.
Your dead stand happy in yon Gate
And call you blessed while they shine.
So, drop the tear and dry the eyes.
Your rainbow glitters in the skies.
Here's golden wine: young, old, arise:
With cups as full as our souls, we say:
'Two Hearts, that wrought with smiles through tears
This rainbow span of fifty years,
Behold how true, true love appears
True gold for your Golden Wedding day!'
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Sweet Wine
Sweet wine
Lets feast and dine
Sweet wine
Tickle my taste buds
Sweet wine
Sharpen my senses
Make them finer than fine
Sweet wine
Red and white stay in line
Till I give you the sign
That you are mine
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Painted Horse
(blackmore/gillan/glover/lord/paice)
Child on a painted horse
Streams that will run their course
Gone to a far away shore
Ooh, ooh, ah
My painted horse is weeping
Days of another kind
Frost gets a bruising vine
Why did the carpenter die
Ooh, ooh, ah
My painted horse is weeping
Sweet as a rose so fine
Peaceful as a final time
How old could the lion man cry
Ooh, ooh, ah
My painted horse is weeping
Thoughts of a winter moon
Warm in a distant room
Why did I fall asleep so soon
Ooh, ooh, ah
My painted horse is weeping
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking East
LITTLE white clouds, why are you flying
Over the sky so blue and cold?
Fair faint hopes, why are you lying
Over my heart like a white cloud's fold?
Slender green leaves, why are you peeping
Out of the ground where the snow yet lies?
Toying west wind, why are you creeping
Like a child's breath across my eyes?
Hope and terror by turns consuming,
Lover and friend put far from me,--
What should I do with the bright spring, coming
Like an angel over the sea?
Over the cruel sea that parted
Me from mine own, and rolls between;--
Out of the woful east, whence darted
Heaven's full quiver of vengeance keen.
Day teaches day, night whispers morning--
'Hundreds are weeping their dead, while thou
Weeping thy living--Rise, be adorning
Thy brows, unwidowed, with smiles.'--But how?
O, had he married me!--unto anguish,
Hardship, sickness, peril, and pain;
That on my breast his head might languish
In lonely jungle or scorching plain;
O, had we stood on some rampart gory,
Till he--ere Horror behind us trod--
Kissed me, and killed me--so, with his glory
My soul went happy and pure to God!
Nay, nay, Heaven pardon me! me, sick-hearted,
Living this long, long life-in-death:
Many there are far wider parted
Who under one roof-tree breathe one breath.
But we that loved--whom one word half broken
Had drawn together close soul to soul
As lip to lip--and it was not spoken,
Nor may be while the world's ages roll.
I sit me down with my tears all frozen:
I drink my cup, be it gall or wine:
For I know, if he lives, I am his chosen--
I know, if he dies, that he is mine.
If love in its silence be greater, stronger
Than million promises, sighs, or tears--
I will wait upon Him a little longer
Who holdeth the balance of our years.
Little white clouds, like angels flying,
Bring the spring with you across the sea--
Loving or losing, living or dying,
Lord, remember, remember me!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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