Au Jardin
O you away high there,
you that lean
From amber lattices upon the cobalt night,
I am below amid the pine trees,
Amid the little pine trees, hear me!
'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?
Well, there's no use your loving me
That way, Lady;
For I've nothing but songs to give you.
I am set wide upon the world's ways
To say that life is, some way, a gay thing,
But you never string two days upon one wire
But there'll come sorrow of it.
And I loved a love once,
Over beyond the moon there,
I loved a love once,
And, may be, more times,
But she danced like a pink moth in the shrubbery.
Oh, I know you women from the 'other folk',
And it'll all come right,
O' Sundays.
'The jester walked in the garden.'
Did he so?
poem by Ezra Pound
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Related quotes
The Jester of Joy
I am the Jester of Joy,
A nomad of peace,
From the Land of Not.
Entertainer of souls,
A servant to man.
I am the Jester of Joy,
Mine is to spread joy through the world.
I make they who smile, laugh,
They who sulk, smile,
And I can try the tears of they who cry.
I am the Jester of Joy,
I reach out to touch at least one person,
To touch their heart with love.
I strive to touch for at least a moment,
To fill their life with joy.
I am the Jester of Joy,
And I have dream,
Of the world seeing as I do,
Through the eyes of joy,
For the better world it would be.
I am the Jester of Joy,
This is my purpose, my life, me.
For I am a servant to man,
Entertainer of souls,
The Jester of Joy.
poem by Steven SRS
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On the Garden Wall
Oh, once I walked a garden
In dreams. 'Twas yellow grass.
And many orange-trees grew there
In sand as white as glass.
The curving, wide wall-border
Was marble, like the snow.
I walked that wall a fairy-prince
And, pacing quaint and slow,
Beside me were my pages,
Two giant, friendly birds.
Half swan they were, half peacock.
They spake in courtier-words.
Their inner wings a charriot,
Their outer wings for flight,
They lifted me from dreamland.
We bade those trees good-night.
Swiftly above the stars we rode.
I looked below me soon.
The white-walled garden I had ruled
Was one lone flower--the moon.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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A Love Story
once I loved you
it may yesterday or today
never write
we never go to meet
but still we loved
again we need to meet
how many times we need to meet
how many times you meet me
how many times we loved
how many times we walked together
you loved me or my songs
those days are never again
a love song never to again
never to return this love
never to walk to this......
this song I write from my heart
home is where my heart to pain
this ink it is my pains
and still this heart never to beat for you
and they make a miss of words
and still you love to sit here alone
and still you know
this rose not for you
poem by Thampi KEE
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Mockingbirdsing
Mockingbirds sing
Sing me what the Lord was singing
On the day He made the water
The color of the blues
Sing me that song
Sing me to till the heavens rising
On the day He made the water
The color of my baby's eyes
Love her in the ways you want to be loved
Love her in the ways she wants to be loved
Love her in the ways you want to be loved
But the way I'm loving her
It must not be enough
Cause in the way she cries
It only tears me up
I feel dead inside and dying
And if you give up
Don't give up on love
Don't give up on love
The rivers they run
They run until they get too tired
Until they run behind the houses
And they become a creek
When I was a child
I ran until the creek became a river
When it turned into the ocean
I wondered why He'd made it so deep
Love her in the ways you want to be loved
Love her in the ways you want to be loved
Love her in the ways you want to be loved
But the way I'm loving her
Must not be enough
Cause the way she cries
It only tears me up
I feel dead inside and dying
Don't give up
Cause in a way she's crying
It only tears me up
I feel dead inside and dying
Give up
Don't give up on love
Don't give up on love
Love her in the ways you want to be loved
Love her in the ways you want to be loved
Love her in the ways you want to be loved
Sometimes it ain't enough
Sometimes it ain't enough
But don't give up on love
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guenevere
I was a queen, and I have lost my crown;
A wife, and I have broken all my vows;
A lover, and I ruined him I loved: --
There is no other havoc left to do.
A little month ago I was a queen,
And mothers held their babies up to see
When I came riding out of Camelot.
The women smiled, and all the world smiled too.
And now, what woman's eyes would smile on me?
I still am beautiful, and yet what child
Would think of me as some high, heaven-sent thing,
An angel, clad in gold and miniver?
The world would run from me, and yet am I
No different from the queen they used to love.
If water, flowing silver over stones,
Is forded, and beneath the horses' feet
Grows turbid suddenly, it clears again,
And men will drink it with no thought of harm.
Yet I am branded for a single fault.
I was the flower amid a toiling world,
Where people smiled to see one happy thing,
And they were proud and glad to raise me high;
They only asked that I should be right fair,
A little kind, and gowned wondrously,
And surely it were little praise to me
If I had pleased them well throughout my life.
I was a queen, the daughter of a king.
The crown was never heavy on my head,
It was my right, and was a part of me.
The women thought me proud, the men were kind,
And bowed right gallantly to kiss my hand,
And watched me as I passed them calmly by,
Along the halls I shall not tread again.
What if, to-night, I should revisit them?
The warders at the gates, the kitchen-maids,
The very beggars would stand off from me,
And I, their queen, would climb the stairs alone,
Pass through the banquet-hall, a loathed thing,
And seek my chambers for a hiding-place,
And I should find them but a sepulchre,
The very rushes rotted on the floors,
The fire in ashes on the freezing hearth.
I was a queen, and he who loved me best
Made me a woman for a night and day,
And now I go unqueened forevermore.
A queen should never dream on summer eves,
When hovering spells are heavy in the dusk: --
I think no night was ever quite so still,
So smoothly lit with red along the west,
So deeply hushed with quiet through and through.
And strangely clear, and deeply dyed with light,
The trees stood straight against a paling sky,
With Venus burning lamp-like in the west.
I walked alone amid a thousand flowers,
That drooped their heads and drowsed beneath the dew,
And all my thoughts were quieted to sleep.
Behind me, on the walk, I heard a step --
I did not know my heart could tell his tread,
I did not know I loved him till that hour.
Within my breast I felt a wild, sick pain,
The garden reeled a little, I was weak,
And quick he came behind me, caught my arms,
That ached beneath his touch; and then I swayed,
My head fell backward and I saw his face.
All this grows bitter that was once so sweet,
And many mouths must drain the dregs of it.
But none will pity me, nor pity him
Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Coerced Coexistance
I'll take you on a ride
as a part-owner to my pain
our ideals they collide
coerced coexistence
I fought the world today - postpone my birth again
we stumble on and one - but bound to die alone
pine - I'm selling my soul today
pine - I need some sympathy
this infiltrates my brain
"in the sunshine the sun is mine"
pitiless wanderer
close your eyes and bow your head
grotesque thoughts in a line
threw my wings nto the blazing sun
smile stretched on old trees
eternal Brining jester masque
don't hurt a fly they all sing
we're just ants in a great big play
commercialize-infect-annihilate-progress
visualize-inhale-pretend-betray
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Loving Tree
Three women walked upon a road,
And the first said airily,
“Of all the trees in all the world
Which is the loving tree?”
The second said, “My eyes have seen
No tree that is not fair;
But the Orange tree is the sweetest tree,
The loving blood is there.”
And the third said, “In the green time
I knew a loving tree
That gave a drink of the blood-red milk,
It was the Mulberry.”
Then the first one said, “Of all the trees
No sweetest can I name;
Ask her who yonder slowly comes—
That woman lean and lame.”
Grief like a hideous suckling hung
Along her hollow breast,
Pain was upon her as she walked,
And as she stooped to rest.
“Why will you question so?” she said,
“Is it to mock at me?
For how should I, who walk in Hell,
Know of a loving tree?
“My eyes are not as woman's eyes,
They hope not east or west:
Dull Famine my bed-mate is,
And Loneliness my guest.
“ 'Tis not the most delicious flower
That leaves the scent of Spring,
Nor is it yet the brightest bird
That loads his heart to sing.
“A tree may dance in the white weather
Or dream in a blue gown,
A tree may sing as a sweetheart
To bid the stars come down:
“Some trees are slim and lovable
And some are sleek and strong,
But the tree that has the cripple's heart
Will know the cripple's song.
“The sweetest death is the red death
That comes up nakedly,
And the tree that has the foiled heart
It is the loving tree.
“While ever lip shall seek for lip,
While ever light shall fall,
The tree that has the ruined heart
Is tenderest of all.
“Oh, ye may have your men to kiss,
And children warm to hold,
But the heart that had the hottest love
Was never yet consoled.”
The women three walked on their way,
Their shamed eyes could see
How well the tree with the foiled heart
Is still the loving tree.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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Memories
I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Verisimilitude of Grandiose IV: Backyard Rendezvous
Puncture the vermilion bleeding and find
The veracity in torment that buried your feet
Among the Venus Traps and asphodels
Of the immaculate Garden of Eden
And do not be deceived by the serpent's lure
That you are among the stained-glass butterflies
For you are banished amid their psychedelic eyes
In your untainted hues they have surmised
What putrid medley of a garden you are!
If I can proffer a veritable escape goat
I will immolate the assuage of sedations for
A revelry is a revelry, a carousal is a carousal, and
Honesty, sincerity, love or the deficiency thereof,
Is not invited in the garden rendezvous
So come, in your best tuxedo and best masque
Clandestine a sympathy for a poor picador
And engage in a preposterous charade
But never show it to anyone
Not even a tatterdemalion flower on the wall
Or a woebegone harried jester
Because you do not want to be a tea bag
Or a gnat among the butterflies
In this soigné and mirthful garden tryst.
And if you can, ingest the redolent
Of conceit, deceit, and defeat
In the verisimilitude of grandiosity;
Indeed, life is an ubiquitous backyard rendezvous.
poem by Norman Santos
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In The Winter Garden
Winter has visited our garden my love
Trees have been stripped bare and flowers wilt
A frost has been laid upon the ground
Even the birds have taken to flight, away
Amid the silence of the morning I walk
Through our garden which we nurtured
How solemn it now looks without colour
The summer seems but a distant memory
How beautiful it looked back then
How beautiful it will look once more
But now in the mornings drab light
With barren trees and wilted flowers
I walk upon the hardened earth
Which feels like stone beneath my feet
We talked of planting a fruit tree
For flavour and shade in years to come
Now that is an idea in waiting
Till winter has passed, and spring returns
Winter is here in our garden my love
As I watch the vapour of my breath rise
I say your name, a love for all time
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Mystery Obscured
Far away from nothing,
The trees in the sky is what I see.
I hear the wind - it's coming,
Stirring up the pine trees.
I hear the ocean behind -
Smell salt in the air.
The wind it finally reaches me,
Mixing pine with salt air.
The sky is steely grey,
The sun obscured by clouds.
It casts a mysterious light,
On trees and ocean alike.
poem by Aimee Nell
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Brandon: Our Love Dog
You'll never be forgotton,
my dear pal of ours
many years ago of
poems you inspired
me to write.
Seven Happy years
you were with us,
so much tender
loving care we
gave to you.
Brandon you had special
magic about you,
can't explain, somehow
when I touched you,
all of my pain and sorrow
went away.
You were our love dog,
no doubt you were loved,
by all, as you also loved all.
So many bad things happened
to you on our walks, three
dog attacks, but once just me,
still have scar on my hand.
Remember the day, you were
hit by a car,
that really saved your life.
We took you to the
vet that night,
ex-rays showed a
pin from surgery in
your side, that had
been lodged, if not
removed you would
have died from
punture wounds,
the pin should have
been removed long
ago.
It was placed there
before we got you,
so one bad thing led
to a good thing.
You had a cat friend down
the street, that loved
you also, she would rub
against you with so
tender loving care.
Brandon our love dog
so many kisses you
gave us.
you used to dare
us to get your
biscuit, you would stare
at us, when we
tried to get
it you growled,
this went on
and on, till
finally you ate it.
Sometimes you would
go to hall closet
with your biscuit
I didn't know
where you were,
as I walked by
the closet you
would growl, it
was so funny.
Moths you loved
to chase, you
ate them so
many, even wrote
a poem called
the moth hound.
One very sad day,
in our life we
took you to the
vet for very
last time, you were so sick,
food you once loved,
you now refused,
pain you had all
through your frail
little body.
On Friday night,
June 13,1997 you
had such a hard
time breathing
you had to sleep
sitting up.
Seven happy years
you were with us,
so much tender
loving care you
had for us and we
for you.
On Saturday June 14,1997
while most Americans,
were remembering flag day,
we were saying
goodbye to our
true faithful friend.
Amy and I waited
in that fateful room
with you, saying our
last goodbyes to you.
The Vet entered the room,
asked us if we were
ready, are you ever ready
to say goodbye
to a love one.
Seven years with us,
but only 30 seconds and
you were gone.
We touched you and felt
life leaving your
beautiful little body.
Ten years later,
we still miss you
little guy and
love you very much,
our very own
love dog.
wrote 2-14-07
In A Northern Wood
FRAGRANT are the cedar-boughs stretching green and level,
Feasting-halls where waxwings flit at their spicy revel,
But O the pine, the questing pine, that flings its arms on high
To search the secret of the sun and escalade the sky!
Rueful hemlocks, gaunt and old, with boughs a-droop, despairing,
Clutch for touch of mother-earth; the while the pine is daring
To rock the stars amid its cones and lull them with its croon,
And snare the silver eagle that is nested in the moon.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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I'm Wondering
Jimmy was your sweetie pie
Your precious one
And I knew you used to love
The very ground he walked upon
One day, Jim's papa told him
Things were looking down
And they packed up everything
They owned and left this little old town
Each tear I dried for you,
The closer our lives grew,
I fell in love it's true
And you say you love me, too
Well, don't you know I'm wondering
Little girl, I'm wondering
How can I make you love me
A little more than you loved him?
Ooh,Baby I'm wondering
Little girl, I'm wondering
How can I make you love me
A little more than you loved him?
Oh baby
But, baby I'm wondering
Little girl, I'm wondering
How can I make you love me
A little more than you loved him?
Oh baby I'm wondering,
Little girl, I'm wondering
How can I make you love me
A little more than you loved Jim?
The day you see his face again
Or hear his voice
I don't want to be a loser
If you have to make a choice
Like a puppet to a string
To you, girl, I'm attached
And I know I'd be in trouble
If he came and took you back
I feel so insecure
In my mind, I can picture
Losing you for sure
And the pain I can't endure
Oh baby I'm wondering
Little girl, I'm wondering
How can I make you love me
A little more than you loved him?
Oh baby I'm wondering,
Sure enough, I'm wondering
How can I make you love me
A little more than you loved Jim?
Ooh Baby
I can't stop loving you, baby,
I can't stop loving you , no
I can't stop loving you, baby
I feel so insecure
In my mind, I
Can picture
Losing you for sure
And the pain I can't endure
Baby, I'm worried,
Really, really worried
I wanna make you happy
Really truly happy
Oh baby I'm wondering,
Little girl, I'm wondering
How can I make you love me
A little more than you loved him?
Oh baby I'm wondering
Little girl, I'm wondering ...
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Penelope
Love, like a wind, shook wide your blosmy eyes,
You trembled, and your breath came sobbing-wise
For that you loved me.
You were so kind, so sweet, none could withhold
To adore, but that you were so strange, so cold;
For that you loved me.
Like to a box of spikenard did you break
Your heart about my feet. What words you spake!
For that you loved me.
Life fell to dust without me; so you tried
All carefullest ways to drive me from your side,
For that you loved me.
You gave yourself as children give, that weep
And snatch back, with--'I meant you not to keep!'
For that you loved me.
I am no woman, girl, nor ever knew
That love could teach all ways that hate could do
To her that loved me.
Have less of love, or less of woman in
Your love, or loss may even from this begin--
That you so love me.
For, wild Penelope, the web you wove
You still unweave, unloving all your love;
Is this to love me,
Or what rights have I that scorn could deny?
Even of your love, alas, poor Love must die,
If so you love me!
poem by Francis Thompson
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Early Works - Wind
Listen to the wind,
the wind in the trees.
Listen to the wind,
the wind from the sea.
Where is my love,
my love from the summer
lost on the wind
and gone from me?
Remember my love
how we walked in the meadows,
remember my love
how we walked by the sea.
Once we loved,
we loved that summer,
but never again
my love shall I see.
Date unknown
poem by David Harris
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The Little Garden
A little garden on a bleak hillside
Where deep the heavy, dazzling mountain snow
Lies far into the spring. The sun's pale glow
Is scarcely able to melt patches wide
About the single rose bush. All denied
Of nature's tender ministries. But no, --
For wonder-working faith has made it blow
With flowers many hued and starry-eyed.
Here sleeps the sun long, idle summer hours;
Here butterflies and bees fare far to rove
Amid the crumpled leaves of poppy flowers;
Here four o'clocks, to the passionate night above
Fling whiffs of perfume, like pale incense showers.
A little garden, loved with a great love!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Flower to Flower
I came across one flower
While walking in a garden
It saw me and gave a smile
I too smiled and walked
Each day in garden I smiled
One day I gazed at flower
At its plant and roots closely
I observed its dance in wind
And its dance made me sing
It made me smile all my time
Everyday I went to flower
Smiled with it and came back
My days went like seconds
Nights passed like years
Flower made me its lover
So I wrote songs on its dance
On its lovely beautiful smile
All about its charming beauty
And my state of dying slowly
In which I am smiling daily
One day I saw flower singing
In the garden while jogging
Song reveled its moving off
From my garden to a house
Of loved one from its past
I smiled on all my songs
While writing a new song
Its song of flower to flower
Which I gave to my flower
When departing from my lover
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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