eUtopia
The Strings strummed for eternity
Her cold voice singing a melody
The hums and blend to the wind
'Twas like all was turned unsinned.
Ecstasy to me it merely brought
In my thoughts I barely sought
She was embodied; Illuminating form
Free as the breeze, strong as storm.
When night abound, the moon beckoned
The stars arise, unknownly reckoned
Mine Hands laid still to common grace
Crimson petals to thine pale face.
Joy to me was of no more place
Merry I was to newly crazed.
Melting to my eternal gaze,
Now with her, I spent my days.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Far Away
Thine presence yet unfading in my thoughts
Thine voice I merely hear in echo
The comfort mine mere imagination brought
Thine bright illuminating halo
A glimpse to the sky, thy beauty lies
A view in blizzards, thy image formed
A peek in the fireplace, Memory stays
A stare on waters, thy reflection showed
How much of you mine thoughts are bothered
Thy memory was never in serenity
Upon the nights, mine dreams be shattered
To completely fade after eternity.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Twas Called Destiny
Day after day of our depart
Felt like souls were so apart
torn the bleeding of gloomy heart
'twas none false rather an art
Lie mine glimpse of her and thoughts
'twas not blue but evergreen
thus I realize 'twas thy-naught
mine dearest, Dulcinea, Queen
I-naught God to change that part
Our lives' novel yet to start
Sought mine princess, eye's of mine darling
evergreen, yet blood & immortal beating
Mine notorious canvas painted smile
barely truth, yet never a wile
the actress shalt never be the character
The beating's integration'll never dissever
As long as hands weren't held to hands
you'd hear my cry in thine dream lands
My beseech'Hey juliet! wanna be thine romeo! '
Listen close, for 'twas beating like stereo
Blind, I'm stepping my way to thee
Shoe by shoe, to my dream come true
Again if vision meet, 'twas no serendipity
'twasn't just fortunate, it's our destiny.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grace, 'Tis a Charming Sound
Grace, ’tis a charming sound,
Harmonious to mine ear;
Heaven with the echo shall resound,
And all the earth shall hear.
Grace first contrived the way
To save rebellious man;
And all the steps that grace display
Which drew the wondrous plan.
Grace first inscribed my name
In God’s eternal book;
’Twas grace that gave me to the Lamb,
Who all my sorrows took.
Grace led my roving feet
To tread the heavenly road;
And new supplies each hour I meet,
While pressing on to God.
Grace taught my soul to pray
And made mine eyes o’erflow;
’Twas grace which kept me to this day,
And will not let me go.
Grace all the work shall crown,
Through everlasting days;
It lays in heaven the topmost stone,
And well deserves the praise.
O let Thy grace inspire
My soul with strength divine
My all my powers to Thee aspire,
And all my days be Thine.
poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: We Can See God
The Sun looks like Thine heart afilled with joy;
0 God, the Rain is like Thine compassion;
The Moon appears like Thine face as when coy;
The Galaxies are like divine Mansion.
The quadrillion stars look like Heaven's eyes;
The thunder seems to be Thine angry voice;
The Lightning is Thine pow'r of sample size,
The songs of birds akin Thine happy noise.
The verdure spring looks like Thine beauteous face;
The winter cold is Thine heart's discontent;
The summer’s yield is sign of Thine own pace;
The autumn’s wind appears to be Thine vent.
The earth is footstool for Thine lovely feet;
Thine Replica is Mother Nature sweet.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Never Giving Up
Barely conscious
Or hardly caring which way
I face the World,
I take a bolder step,
Traveling steadily
Against the wind
That is sometimes too strong,
An air so cold
That it numbs my senses
Until I feel myself
Turned inside out…
II try to keep the direction
I have set for
So that somehow,
I will arrive somewhere
As I know the path
I have followed
Has brought me
To a better place,
A freer state of mind
Where I will truly
Become myself!
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Verses, On The Death Of The Same Lady
LIKE a poor ghost the night I seek;
ts hollow winds repeat my sighs;
The cold dews mingle on my cheek
With tears that wander from mine eyes.
The thorns that still my couch molest,
Have robb'd these heavy eyes of sleep;
But though deprived of tranquil rest,
I here at last am free to weep.
Twelve times the moon, that rises red
O'er yon tall wood of shadowy pine,
Has fill'd her orb, since low was laid
My Harriet! that sweet form of thine!
While each sad month, as slow it pass'd,
Brought some new sorrow to deplore;
Some grief more poignant than the last,
But thou canst calm those griefs no more.
No more thy friendship soothes to rest
This wearied spirit tempest-toss'd;
The cares that weigh upon my breast
Are doubly felt since thou art lost.
Bright visions of ideal grace
That the young poet's dreams inflame,
Were not more lovely than thy face;
Were not more perfect than thy frame.
Wit, that no sufferings could impair,
Was thine, and thine those mental powers
Of force to chase the fiends that tear
From Fancy's hands her budding flowers.
O'er what, my angel friend, thou wert,
Dejected Memory loves to mourn;
Regretting still that tender heart,
Now withering in a distant urn.
But ere that wood of shadowy pine
Twelve times shall yon full orb behold,
This sickening heart, that bleeds for thine,
My Harriet!—may like thine be cold!
poem by Charlotte Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Jane: The Keen Stars Were Twinkling
I.
The keen stars were twinkling,
And the fair moon was rising among them,
Dear Jane.
The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them
Again.
II.
As the moon's soft splendour
O'er the faint cold starlight of Heaven
Is thrown,
So your voice most tender
To the strings without soul had then given
Its own.
III.
The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later
To-night;
No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter
Delight.
IV.
Though the sound overpowers,
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
A tone
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling
Are one.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Melody
Melody
By: Adam M. Snow
O' Melody, names like the angel's song;
music swaying around thine love
but of thy love my days be long;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
I long to hear thy voice, thy angelic voice
soothes away my hearts desire.
But it be that of love's choice
echoing upon thy voice.
Can thee forever love a lonely man such as I,
or do thee live on knowing not that of love,
or do thee walk passed and curse myself to die?
This feeling, this love O' Melody I cannot deny.
Let me hear thy choir of thy song;
a voice so deep calming the soul.
Let thy voice and passion be strong;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
Sing; let thy voice be heard across the Earth.
Let it pierce thy shadows.
Let the world see a new found birth
and the wonders its worth.
O' Melody, a song I longed after
to cleanse my immortal soul,
to feel the joy and laughter
and be with you hereafter.
O' Melody, names like the angel's song;
music swaying around thine love
but of thy love my days be long;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
O' Melody, play thy music for I love thee.
Thy lyrics be true thy heart,
Thy song be thy key
to set all souls free.
Let me hear thy choir of thy song;
a voice so deep calming the soul.
Let thy voice and passion be strong;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A flower for the night [2]
In the garden we sat watching the stars,
talking softly, intimately while she smoked
and the cigarette glowed red
with her perfume and its flavour
mixing on the evening air
and around us there were flowers
opening everywhere
and some had large cups, others hanged
with petals in strings
in different hues from white, pink,
red to crimson, violet and blue.
There is a flower (whose name I know)
who showed me the most beautiful petals
and bloomed one night
in a bed besides me
in sheer nudity
with perfection in ever aspect of her body
while the full moon rose almost silver white
on a cloudless night
she was soft, firm and tender
and her lips sweet and hot
and I could not resist her,
the intimacy, the tenderness
and the love that she brought.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fortune-Teller
Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever 'twas told, by the new-moon's light,
To a young maiden, shining as newly.
But, for the world, let no one be nigh,
Lest haply the stars should deceive me,
Such secrets between you and me and the sky
Should never go farther, believe me.
If at that hour the heavens be not dim,
My science shall call up before you
A male apparition -- the image of him
Whose destiny 'tis to adore you.
And if to that phantom you'll be kind,
So fondly around you he'll hover,
You'll hardly, my dear, any difference find
'Twixt him and a true living lover.
Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight,
He'll kneel, with a warmth of devotion --
An ardour, of which such an innocent sprite
You'd scarcely believe had a notion.
What other thoughts and events may arise,
As in destiny's book I've not seen them,
Must only be left to the stars and your eyes
To settle, ere morning, between them.
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Verses IV
On the Death of the same Lady, written in Sept. 1794.
LIKE a poor ghost the night I seek;
Its hollow winds repeat my sighs;
The cold dews mingle on my cheek
With tears that wander from mine eyes.
The thorns that still my couch molest,
Have robb'd these heavy eyes of sleep;
But though deprived of tranquil rest,
I here at last am free to weep.
Twelve times the moon, that rises red
O'er yon tall wood of shadowy pine,
Has fill'd her orb, since low was laid
My Harriet! that sweet form of thine!
While each sad month, as slow it pass'd,
Brought some new sorrow to deplore;
Some grief more poignant than the last,
But thou canst calm those griefs no more.
No more thy friendship soothes to rest
This wearied spirit tempest-toss'd;
The cares that weigh upon my breast
Are doubly felt since thou art lost.
Bright visions of ideal grace
That the young poet's dreams inflame,
Were not more lovely than thy face;
Were not more perfect than thy frame.
Wit, that no sufferings could impair,
Was thine, and thine those mental powers
Of force to chase the fiends that tear
From Fancy's hands her budding flowers.
O'er what, my angel friend, thou wert,
Dejected Memory loves to mourn;
Regretting still that tender heart,
Now withering in a distant urn.
But ere that wood of shadowy pine
Twelve times shall yon full orb behold,
This sickening heart, that bleeds for thine,
My Harriet!--may like thine be cold!
poem by Charlotte Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Triumph Of Heavenly Love Desired
Ah! reign, wherever man is found!
My spouse, beloved and divine!
Then I am rich, and I abound,
When every human heart is thine.
A thousand sorrows pierce my soul,
To think that all are not thine own:
Ah! be adored from pole to pole;
Where is thy zeal? arise; be known!
All hearts are cold, in every place,
Yet earthly good with warmth pursue;
Dissolve them with a flash of grace,
Thaw these of ice, and give us new!
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Snow-White Lily
There was a snow-white lily
Grew by a cottage door:
Such a white and wonderful lily
Never was seen before.
The earth and the ether brought it
Sustenance, raiment, grace,
And the feet of the west wind sought it,
And smiled in its smiling face.
Tall were its leaves and slender,
Slender and tall its stem;
Purity, all its splendour,
Beauty, its diadem.
Still from the ground it sprouted,
Statelier year by year,
Till loveliness clung about it,
And was its atmosphere.
And the fame of this lily was bruited
'Mong men ever more and more;
They came, and they saw, and uprooted
Its life from the cottage door.
For they said, ``'Twere shame, 'twere pity,
It here should dwell half despised.
We must carry it off to the city,
Where lilies are loved and prized.''
The city was moved to wonder,
And burst into praise and song,
And the multitude parted asunder
To gaze on it borne along.
Along and aloft 'twas uplifted,
From palace to palace led;
Men vowed 'twas the lily most gifted
Of lilies living or dead.
And wisdom, and wealth, and power,
Bowed down to it more and more:-
Yet it never was quite the same flower
That bloomed by the cottage door.
For no longer the night-dews wrought it
Raiment, and food, and grace;
Nor the feet of the west wind sought it,
To dance in its dimpling face.
'Twas pursued by the frivolous rabble,
With poisonous lips and eyes;
They drenched it with prurient babble,
And fed it with fulsome lies.
Thus into the lily there entered
The taint of the tainted crew,
Till itself in itself grew centred,
And it flattery drank like dew.
Then tongues began words to bandy
As to whose might the lily be.
``'Tis mine,'' said the titled dandy;
Said the plutocrat, ``'tis for me.''
Thus over the lily they wrangled,
Making the beautiful base,
Till its purity seemed all mangled,
And its gracefulness half disgrace.
Next they who had first enthroned it,
And blatantly hymned its fame,
Now, curdling their smiles, disowned it,
And secretly schemed its shame.
The lily began to wither,
Since the world was no longer sweet;
And hands that had brought it thither,
Flung it into the street.
A sensitive soul and tender
The flung-away lily found:
He had seen it in hours of splendour,
So he lifted it from the ground.
He carried it back to the garden
Where in olden days it grew,
And he knelt, and prayed for it pardon
From the sun, and the breeze, and the dew.
Then the breeze, since it knows no malice,
And the sun that detesteth strife,
And the dew whose abode is the chalice,
Would have coaxed back the lily to life.
But the lily would not waken,
Nor ever will waken more;
And feet and fame have forsaken
Its place by the cottage door.
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gertrude, Or Fidelity Till Death
Dark lowers our fate,
And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;
But nothing, till that latest agony
Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose
This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house,
In the terrific face of armed law,
Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be,
I never will forsake thee.
-Joanna Baillie
HER hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes rais'd,
The breeze threw back her hair;
Up to the fearful wheel she gaz'd–
All that she lov'd was there.
The night was round her clear and cold,
The holy heaven above,
Its pale stars watching to behold
The might of earthly love.
'And bid me not depart,' she cried,
'My Rudolph, say not so!
This is no time to quit thy side,
Peace, peace! I cannot go.
Hath the world aught for me to fear,
When death is on thy brow?
The world!–what means it?–mine is here–
I will not leave thee now.
'I have been with thee in thine hour
Of glory and of bliss;
Doubt not its memory's living power
To strengthen me thro' this!
And thou, mine honour'd love and true,
Bear on, bear nobly on!
We have the blessed heaven in view,
Whose rest shall soon be won.'
And were not these high words to flow
From woman's breaking heart?
Thro' all that night of bitterest woe
She bore her lofty part;
But oh! with such a glazing eye,
With such a curdling cheek–
Love, love! of mortal agony,
Thou, only thou, should'st speak!
The wind rose high–but with it rose
Her voice, that he might hear:
Perchance that dark hour brought repose
To happy bosoms near;
While she sat striving with despair
Beside his tortured form,
And pouring her deep soul in prayer
Forth on the rushing storm.
She wiped the death-damps from his brow
With her pale hands and soft,
Whose touch upon the lute-chords low
Had still'd his heart so oft.
She spread her mantle o'er his breast,
She bath'd his lips with dew,
And on his cheek such kisses press'd
As hope and joy ne'er knew.
Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!
She had her meed–one smile in death–
And his worn spirit pass'd.
While ev'n as o'er a martyr's grave
She knelt on that sad spot,
And, weeping, bless'd the God who gave
Strength to forsake it not!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Face The Storm
i am he who plowed and who swept,
that held your tears in trembling hands.
that carved your voice into the willow,
that whispered to stars in your name.
i am she whose back twas arched,
who brought you from the land unknown.
who suckled your hunger and filled you with awe,
who held your hand on walks of amazement.
and i am the tint and the hue of change,
the anvil and the forge....
that brought you from the shores of webbed feet,
to the ache inside the howl of the moon.
i am the lover that took your longing,
and entered your secret garden...
i am the wind that blew the curtains,
the sweat that glistened on your body.
now i am the urn, the casket, and the flowers,
words spoken in silent mourning...
but whose soul lies in perfect rest,
and whose is left to face the storm?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lord William
No eye beheld when William plunged
Young Edmund in the stream,
No human ear but William's heard
Young Edmund's drowning scream.
Submissive all the vassals own'd
The murderer for their Lord,
And he, the rightful heir, possessed
The house of Erlingford.
The ancient house of Erlingford
Stood midst a fair domain,
And Severn's ample waters near
Roll'd through the fertile plain.
And often the way-faring man
Would love to linger there,
Forgetful of his onward road
To gaze on scenes so fair.
But never could Lord William dare
To gaze on Severn's stream;
In every wind that swept its waves
He heard young Edmund scream.
In vain at midnight's silent hour
Sleep closed the murderer's eyes,
In every dream the murderer saw
Young Edmund's form arise.
In vain by restless conscience driven
Lord William left his home,
Far from the scenes that saw his guilt,
In pilgrimage to roam.
To other climes the pilgrim fled,
But could not fly despair,
He sought his home again, but peace
Was still a stranger there.
Each hour was tedious long, yet swift
The months appear'd to roll;
And now the day return'd that shook
With terror William's soul.
A day that William never felt
Return without dismay,
For well had conscience kalendered
Young Edmund's dying day.
A fearful day was that! the rains
Fell fast, with tempest roar,
And the swoln tide of Severn spread
Far on the level shore.
In vain Lord William sought the feast
In vain he quaff'd the bowl,
And strove with noisy mirth to drown
The anguish of his soul.
The tempest as its sudden swell
In gusty howlings came,
With cold and death-like feelings seem'd
To thrill his shuddering frame.
Reluctant now, as night came on,
His lonely couch he prest,
And wearied out, he sunk to sleep,
To sleep, but not to rest.
Beside that couch his brother's form
Lord Edmund seem'd to stand,
Such and so pale as when in death
He grasp'd his brother's hand;
Such and so pale his face as when
With faint and faltering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge
He left his orphan son.
'I bade thee with a father's love
My orphan Edmund guard--
Well William hast thou kept thy charge!
Now take thy due reward.'
He started up, each limb convuls'd
With agonizing fear,
He only heard the storm of night--
'Twas music to his ear.
When lo! the voice of loud alarm
His inmost soul appals,
What ho! Lord William rise in haste!
The water saps thy walls!
He rose in haste, beneath the walls
He saw the flood appear,
It hemm'd him round, 'twas midnight now,
No human aid was near.
He heard the shout of joy, for now
A boat approach'd the wall,
And eager to the welcome aid
They crowd for safety all.
My boat is small, the boatman cried,
This dangerous haste forbear!
Wait other aid, this little bark
But one from hence can bear.
Lord William leap'd into the boat,
Haste--haste to yonder shore!
And ample wealth shall well reward,
Ply swift and strong the oar.
The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Went light along the stream,
Sudden Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.
The boatman paus'd, methought I heard
A child's distressful cry!
'Twas but the howling wind of night
Lord William made reply.
Haste haste--ply swift and strong the oar!
Haste haste across the stream!
Again Lord William heard a cry
Like Edmund's drowning scream.
I heard a child's distressful scream
The boatman cried again.
Nay hasten on--the night is dark--
And we should search in vain.
Oh God! Lord William dost thou know
How dreadful 'tis to die?
And can'st thou without pity hear
A child's expiring cry?
How horrible it is to sink
Beneath the chilly stream,
To stretch the powerless arms in vain,
In vain for help to scream?
The shriek again was heard. It came
More deep, more piercing loud,
That instant o'er the flood the moon
Shone through a broken cloud.
And near them they beheld a child,
Upon a crag he stood,
A little crag, and all around
Was spread the rising flood.
The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Approach'd his resting place,
The moon-beam shone upon the child
And show'd how pale his face.
Now reach thine hand! the boatman cried
Lord William reach and save!
The child stretch'd forth his little hands
To grasp the hand he gave.
Then William shriek'd; the hand he touch'd
Was cold and damp and dead!
He felt young Edmund in his arms
A heavier weight than lead.
The boat sunk down, the murderer sunk
Beneath the avenging stream;
He rose, he scream'd, no human ear
Heard William's drowning scream.
poem by Robert Southey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At Last My Heart Smile
as sun sets down into earths bed
the sky is filled with blazing red
behold the moon as it rise to the sky
for the night has come as time pass by
Into this place i watch them move
a solitary soul in this lonely room
the sky, stars and the moon embrace
i can see a glimpse of smile in my face
As the night cold wind whisper in my ears
i listen to my soul, i hear it sing
i gaze to the moon, star and sky
all wounds are healed, at last my heart smile
poem by Gilbert Tapales
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At Currabwee
Every night at Currabwee
Little men with leather hats
Mend the boots of Faery
From the tough wings of the bats.
So my mother told to me,
And she is wise you will agree. .
Louder than a cricket's wing
All night long their hammer's glee
Times the merry songs they sing
Of Ireland glorious and free.
So I heard Joseph Plunkett say,
You know he heard them but last May.
And when the night is very cold
They warm their hands against the light
Of stars that make the waters gold
Where they are labouring all the night.
So Pearse said, and he knew the truth,
Among the stars he spent his youth.
And I, myself, have often heard
Their singing as the stars went by,
For am I not of those who reared
The banner of old Ireland high,
From Dublin town to Turkey's shores,
And where the Vardar loudly roars?
poem by Francis Ledwidge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blanche
Breeze! brisk breeze! that movest with the morn!
Breeze! lithe breeze! that creepest through the corn!
Breeze! O breeze! that fannest the forlorn!
Oh linger by the lattice of sweet Blanche of mine!
Breeze! coy breeze! that loiterest for noon!
Breeze! true breeze! that hast a tryst with June!
Breeze! kind breeze! I beg of thee a boon!
Oh peep in through the lattice of poor Blanche of mine!
Breeze! fleet breeze! that goest with the day!
Breeze! dear breeze! that hastenest away!
Breeze! breeze! breeze! I beg of thee to stay,
And breathe upon the pillow of pale Blanche of mine!
Breeze! night-breeze! that wailest on the wold!
Breeze! lost breeze! that wanderest in the cold!
Breeze! dread breeze! oh flit not by the mould
Which shelters what is left me of lost Blanche of mine!
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Your Voice
I stood for the longest time,
staring out at the night,
taking in the way the moon
burns in the blackness.
I felt the warmth of the
summer breeze against my body,
as thoughts of you washed over me.
And I wondered how your mere voice
could move me more than the stars
and how thoughts of you
could touch me like a warm wind.
I want us to be like the
brightest stars in the sky,
our light moving over each other
and spinning out some magic
in the darkness.
And I want to keep this
wonderful spark of life
that I feel every time
I hear your voice.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!