In The Winter Woods
WINTER forests mutely standing
Naked on your bed of snow,
Wide your knotted arms expanding
To the biting winds that blow,
Nought ye heed of storm or stress,
Stubborn, silent, passionless.
Buried is each woodland treasure,
Gone the leaves and mossy rills,
Gone the birds that filled with pleasure
All the valleys and the hills;
Ye alone of all that host
Stand like soldiers at your post.
Grand old trees, the words ye mutter,
Nodding in the frosty wind,
Wake some thoughts I cannot utter,
But which haunt the heart and mind,
With a meaning, strange and deep,
As of visions seen in sleep.
Something in my inmost thinking
Tells me I am one with you,
For a subtle bond is linking
Nature's offspring through and through,
And your spirit like a flood
Stirs the pulses of my blood.
While I linger here and listen
To the crackling boughs above,
Hung with icicles that glisten
As if kindling into love,
Human heart and soul unite
With your majesty and might.
Horizontal, rich with glory,
Through the boughs the red sun's rays
Clothe you as some grand life-story
Robes an aged man with praise,
When, before his setting sun,
Men recount what he has done.
But the light is swiftly fading,
And the wind is icy cold,
And a mist the moon is shading,
Pallid in the western gold;
In the night-winds still ye nod,
Sentinels of Nature's God.
Now with laggard steps returning
To the world from whence I came,
Leave I all the great West burning
With the day that died in flame, .
And the stars, with silver ray,
Light me on my homeward way.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Related quotes
Commingle of seasons and love
As i ventured back to love,
A new dawn and a whole new world through my eyes seen,
I felt the tranquil beauty of nature,
I 'am in love again,
Nature seems to show likeness,
The passerine birds sings in joy,
Daffodils and lilies bloomers, dazzled and waved,
The sun shone her warmth on me,
Its spring time,
I ventured to explore the beauty of nature,
The sun rosed up and fell again,
The birds sang and was silent,
The world sleeps,
The stars displayed glitterness,
The winds blew strong and disappeared,
The moon's always wane,
The greeness tends to fade,
The leaves feel off the trees,
I ventured through all these in love with her and nature,
Everywhere i look around is white,
The sun's shinning weak,
Its all white and cold in here,
Spring's gone, summer's gone, autumn's gone,
Winter is here to stay,
Silence, quietness and a gentle breeze,
In the cold light of the day i am,
The ponds freezes and solidifies,
Love sings wintry songs,
With a cold shoulder she tapped goodbye,
I breath the dewy air,
As dewdrops fell on me,
I am frosty, benumbed,
The air in me wreak coldness,
And so is the moment without her,
As i stand alone,
Flowers died, birds don't nests,
The living are indoors,
I am the only one outside,
Lost in wilderness,
In the fields of cold winter,
Mourning the love lost.
poem by Sukkum Chang
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An Autumn Evening
Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.
The chilly purple air is threaded through
With silver from the rising moon afar,
And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blue
In the southwest glimmers a great gold star
Above the darkening druid glens of fir
Where beckoning boughs and elfin voices stir.
And so I wander through the shadows still,
And look and listen with a rapt delight,
Pausing again and yet again at will
To drink the elusive beauty of the night,
Until my soul is filled, as some deep cup,
That with divine enchantment is brimmed up.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Summer
Some men there are who find in nature all
Their inspiration, hers the sympathy
Which spurs them on to any great endeavor,
To them the fields and woods are closest friends,
And they hold dear communion with the hills;
The voice of waters soothes them with its fall,
And the great winds bring healing in their sound.
To them a city is a prison house
Where pent up human forces labour and strive,
Where beauty dwells not, driven forth by man;
But where in winter they must live until
Summer gives back the spaces of the hills.
To me it is not so. I love the earth
And all the gifts of her so lavish hand:
Sunshine and flowers, rivers and rushing winds,
Thick branches swaying in a winter storm,
And moonlight playing in a boat's wide wake;
But more than these, and much, ah, how much more,
I love the very human heart of man.
Above me spreads the hot, blue mid-day sky,
Far down the hillside lies the sleeping lake
Lazily reflecting back the sun,
And scarcely ruffled by the little breeze
Which wanders idly through the nodding ferns.
The blue crest of the distant mountain, tops
The green crest of the hill on which I sit;
And it is summer, glorious, deep-toned summer,
The very crown of nature's changing year
When all her surging life is at its full.
To me alone it is a time of pause,
A void and silent space between two worlds,
When inspiration lags, and feeling sleeps,
Gathering strength for efforts yet to come.
For life alone is creator of life,
And closest contact with the human world
Is like a lantern shining in the night
To light me to a knowledge of myself.
I love the vivid life of winter months
In constant intercourse with human minds,
When every new experience is gain
And on all sides we feel the great world's heart;
The pulse and throb of life which makes us men!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Available Light
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
The restless wind
Has seen all things
In every kind of light
Rising with the full moon
To go howling through the night
The sleepless wind
Has heard all things
Between the sea and sky
In the canyons of the city
You can hear the buildings cry
Oh the wind can carry
All the voices of the sea
Oh the wind can carry
All the echoes home to me
Run with wind and weather
To the music of the sea
All four winds together
Cant bring the world to me
Chase the wind around the world
I want to look at life --- in the available light
Play of light
A photograph
The way I used to be
Some half-forgotten stranger
Doesnt mean that much to me
Trick of light
Moving picture
Moments caught in flight
Make the shadows darker
Or the colors shine too bright
Oh the light can carry
All the visions of the sea
Oh the light can carry
All the images to me
Run to light from shadow
Sun gives me no rest
Promise offered in the east
Broken in the west
Chase the sun around the world
I want to look at life --- in the available light
All four winds together
Cant bring the world to me
Shadows hide the play of light
So much I want to see
Chase the light around the world
I want to look at life --- in the available light
Ill go with the wind
Ill stand in the light
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter Wonderland
There are strange and mysterious sounds
When the winds of winter blow,
The long nights are crystal clear and cold,
And the fields and meadows are covered with snow.
The stars are frosty against the sky,
And the wind's whistle is shrill,
As the snow blows against the house
And drifts against the hill.
Yet, I like to see during the winter
A white carpet on the ground,
To plod aimlessly in the deep snow,
where deer tracks abound.
I like to feel the stillness
Of a crisp winter's night,
Watching a full moon rise over the horizon,
Exposing a winter wonderland beautiful and bright.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Indian Summer Sky
In the ocean
Cut, swim, deep the sky
Like there, I dont know why
In the forest, theres a clearing
I run there towards the light
Sky...
Its a blue sky
In the earth a hole dig deep, decide
If I could, I would
Up for air to swim against the tide
Hey, hey, hey
Up toward the sky
Its a blue sky
To lose along the way
The spark that set the flame
To flicker and to fade
On this the longest day
So wind blow through to my heart
So wind blow through my soul
So wind blow through to my heart
So wind blow through my soul
So wind blow through to my heart...
You give yourself to this the longest day
You give yourself, you give it all away
Two rivers run too deep
The seasons change and so do i
The light that strikes the tallest trees
Will light a way for i
Will light a way
Up toward the sky
Its a blue sky
To lose along the way
The spark that set the flame
To flicker and to fade
On this the longest day
So wind go through to my heart
So wind blow through my soul
So wind go through to my heart
So wind blow through my soul
So wind go through to my heart
So wind blow through my soul
So wind go through to my heart...
You give yourself to this the longest day
You give yourself, you give it all away
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a Mountain
To thee, O father of the stately peaks,
Above me in the loftier light -- to thee,
Imperial brother of those awful hills
Whose feet are set in splendid spheres of flame,
Whose heads are where the gods are, and whose sides
Of strength are belted round with all the zones
Of all the world, I dedicate these songs.
And if, within the compass of this book,
There lives and glows ONE verse in which there beats
The pulse of wind and torrent -- if ONE line
Is here that like a running water sounds,
And seems an echo from the lands of leaf,
Be sure that line is thine. Here, in this home,
Away from men and books and all the schools,
I take thee for my Teacher. In thy voice
Of deathless majesty, I, kneeling, hear
God's grand authentic Gospel! Year by year,
The great sublime cantata of thy storm
Strikes through my spirit -- fills it with a life
Of startling beauty! Thou my Bible art
With holy leaves of rock, and flower, and tree,
And moss, and shining runnel. From each page
That helps to make thy awful volume, I
Have learned a noble lesson. In the psalm
Of thy grave winds, and in the liturgy
Of singing waters, lo! my soul has heard
The higher worship; and from thee, indeed,
The broad foundations of a finer hope
Were gathered in; and thou hast lifted up
The blind horizon for a larger faith!
Moreover, walking in exalted woods
Of naked glory, in the green and gold
Of forest sunshine, I have paused like one
With all the life transfigured: and a flood
Of light ineffable has made me feel
As felt the grand old prophets caught away
By flames of inspiration; but the words
Sufficient for the story of my Dream
Are far too splendid for poor human lips!
But thou, to whom I turn with reverent eyes --
O stately Father, whose majestic face
Shines far above the zone of wind and cloud,
Where high dominion of the morning is --
Thou hast the Song complete of which my songs
Are pallid adumbrations! Certain sounds
Of strong authentic sorrow in this book
May have the sob of upland torrents -- these,
And only these, may touch the great World's heart;
For, lo! they are the issues of that grief
Which makes a man more human, and his life
More like that frank exalted life of thine.
But in these pages there are other tones
In which thy large, superior voice is not --
Through which no beauty that resembles thine
Has ever shone. THESE are the broken words
Of blind occasions, when the World has come
Between me and my Dream. No song is here
Of mighty compass; for my singing robes
I've worn in stolen moments. All my days
Have been the days of a laborious life,
And ever on my struggling soul has burned
The fierce heat of this hurried sphere. But thou,
To whose fair majesty I dedicate
My book of rhymes -- thou hast the perfect rest
Which makes the heaven of the highest gods!
To thee the noises of this violent time
Are far, faint whispers; and, from age to age,
Within the world and yet apart from it,
Thou standest! Round thy lordly capes the sea
Rolls on with a superb indifference
For ever; in thy deep, green, gracious glens
The silver fountains sing for ever. Far
Above dim ghosts of waters in the caves,
The royal robe of morning on thy head
Abides for ever! Evermore the wind
Is thy august companion; and thy peers
Are cloud, and thunder, and the face sublime
Of blue mid-heaven! On thy awful brow
Is Deity; and in that voice of thine
There is the great imperial utterance
Of God for ever; and thy feet are set
Where evermore, through all the days and years,
There rolls the grand hymn of the deathless wave.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Hamilton
WILD and wet, and windy wet falls the night on Hamilton,
Hamilton that seaward looks unto the setting sun,
Lady of the patient face, lifted everlastingly,
Veiled and hushed and mystical as a cloistered nun.
O the days, the cruel days creeping over Hamilton
Like a train of haggard ghosts, homeless and accursed,
Moaning for a fleet o’ dream silver-sailed and wonderful,
Moaning for a sorrow’s sake, the fairest and the first.
O the moon, the lonely moon, leaning low on Hamilton,
Thro’ the years that sunder us the dead come back, come back,
Scent of white eucrephia stars blown on winds of Memory,
Glint and gleam of fagus gold adown the torrent’s track.
Half my heart is buried there, buried high on Hamilton,
Lonely is the sepulchre with never stone for sign,
Where the nodding myrtle-plumes stand like sable sentinels
And the ruddy rimony wreathes the hooded pine.
Half my heart is yearning yet, yearning yet for Hamilton,
Hamilton beyond the surge of sobbing Southern main,
O the croon of wistful winds calling, calling, calling me,
Where the mottled mountain thrush is singing in the rain.
We shall ne’er go back again, back again to Hamilton,
Heart o’ me, our track is toward the heart of burning day,
Hills beyond the call of hills beaconing and beckoning—
Westward, westward winds the track, a thread of dusky grey.
poem by Marie E J Pitt
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North Wind in October
In the golden glade the chestnuts are fallen all;
From the sered boughs of the oak the acorns fall:
The beech scatters her ruddy fire;
The lime hath stripped to the cold,
And standeth naked above her yellow attire:
The larch thinneth her spire
To lay the ways of the wood with cloth of gold.
Out of the golden-green and white Of the brake the fir-trees stand upright
In the forest of flame, and wave aloft
To the blue of heaven their blue-green tuftings soft.
But swiftly in shuddering gloom the splendours fail,
As the harrying North-wind beareth
A cloud of skirmishing hail
The grieved woodland to smite:
In a hurricane through the trees he teareth,
Raking the boughs and the leaves rending,
And whistleth to the descending
Blows of his icy flail.
Gold and snow he mixeth in spite,
And whirleth afar; as away on his winnowing flight
He passeth, and all again for ahile is bright.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Night
Earth! thou art lovely, when the sinking sun
Hath bathed the clouds in his departing flush,
And, with the moon-lit evening, hath begun
The voiceless, and yet spirit-calming hush,
That thrills around the heart, till tear-drops rush,
Unbidden and uncall'd for, to the eye;
When, save the music of the fountain's gush,
Or the far wailing of the night-bird's cry,
Unbroken silence hangs o'er earth, and wave, and sky.
But now the majesty of midnight storm
Is gathering, in its grandeur, o'er the sky;
The deep black clouds in mustering squadrons form,
And the low, fitful blast, that passes by,
Hath a strange fearful thrilling—like the sigh
Of a sick slumberer; even that hath died,
And in their quiet sleep the waters lie,
As though the winds ne'er curl'd them in its pride,
Or shook the still bent leaves that hang above the tide.
How steadily that ebon mass moves on!
Stretching across the sky in one dark line,
Like a huge wall of blackness; there do none
Of the thin silvery vapours hang supine,
Or those bright clouds that sometimes seem to twine
A coronal to grace the brow of night;
Stars in Orion's studded baldric shine,
In all their wonted brightness; and the light
Of an unclouded moon half dims the dazzled sight.
The tempest hurries onward—how the flash
Of the red lightning leaps from cloud to cloud!
The gathering thunder bursts in one wild crash,
And sinks a moment—then, returning loud,
Seems bounding o'er the sky, as if 't were proud
Of its own potency. We need not now,
A sharer in the thoughts that round us crowd;
The soul is its own world, and the deep glow
Of the rapt spirit seeks no fellowship below.
The wildness of the storm hath pass'd; the rain
Drips from the wet leaves only, and the sky,
With its deep azure beauty, gleams again
Through the rent clouds; the sunken wind swells by,
With a low sobbing; and the clouds, heap'd high,
With the rich moonbeams’ streaming flood of light
Pour'd full upon them, swell before the eye
Like distant snow-clad mountains. Night! O night!
Thou art most glorious! most beautifully bright!
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Twilight In The North
O THE long northern twilight between the day and the night,
When the heat and the weariness of the world are ended quite:
When the hills grow dim as dreams, and the crystal river seems
Like that River of Life from out the Throne where the blessèd walk in white.
O the weird northern twilight, which is neither night nor day,
When the amber wake of the long-set sun still marks his western way:
And but one great golden star in the deep blue east afar
Warns of sleep, and dark, and midnight--of oblivion and decay.
O the calm northern twilight, when labor is all done,
And the birds in drowsy twitter have dropped silent one by one:
And nothing stirs or sighs in mountains, waters, skies,--
Earth sleeps--but her heart waketh, till the rising of the sun.
O the sweet, sweet twilight, just before the time of rest,
When the black clouds are driven away, and the stormy winds suppressed:
And the dead day smiles so bright, filling earth and heaven with light,--
You would think 't was dawn come back again--but the light is in the west.
O the grand solemn twilight, spreading peace from pole to pole!--
Ere the rains sweep o'er the hillsides, and the waters rise and roll,
In the lull and the calm, come, O angel with the palm--
In the still norther twilight, Azrael, take my soul.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Song V: Through the Trouble and Tangle
Love is enough: through the trouble and tangle
From yesterday's dawning to yesterday's night
I sought through the vales where the prisoned winds wrangle,
Till, wearied and bleeding, at end of the light
I met him, and we wrestled, and great was my might.
O great was my joy, though no rest was around me,
Though mid wastes of the world were we twain all alone,
For methought that I conquered and he knelt and he crowned me,
And the driving rain ceased, and the wind ceased to moan,
And through clefts of the clouds her planet outshone.
O through clefts of the clouds 'gan the world to awaken,
And the bitter wind piped, and down drifted the rain,
And I was alone--and yet not forsaken,
For the grass was untrodden except by my pain:
With a Shadow of the Night had I wrestled in vain.
And the Shadow of the Night and not Love was departed;
I was sore, I was weary, yet Love lived to seek;
So I scaled the dark mountains, and wandered sad-hearted
Over wearier wastes, where e'en sunlight was bleak,
With no rest of the night for my soul waxen weak.
With no rest of the night; for I waked mid a story
Of a land wherein Love is the light and the lord,
Where my tale shall be heard, and my wounds gain a glory,
And my tears be a treasure to add to the hoard
Of pleasure laid up for his people's reward.
Ah, pleasure laid up! Haste then onward and listen,
For the wind of the waste has no music like this,
And not thus do the rocks of the wilderness glisten:
With the host of his faithful through sorrow and bliss
My Lord goeth forth now, and knows me for his.
poem by William Morris
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Middle Harbour
Lonely wonder, delight past hoping!
Sky-line broken by stirring trees,
Grey rocks hither and shoreward sloping,
Silent bracken about my knees.
Dusky scrub where the sunlight splashes,
Glimmer of waters barely seen
Here the hope that was dust and ashes
Leaps and flashes in flames of green.
Through the boughs that are still before me,
Misty blue of the harbour hills;
Mighty Spirit of Earth who bore me,
Here the peace of thy love distils.
Fools have harried me; hell has driven,
Bidding me toil for its fading shows:
Back I spring to your arms, forgiven,
Back to the truth that a dreamer knows.
Gold and glory and fleeting pleasure
Pass in dust or as melting cloud:
You can dower with eternal treasure
Heart uplifted and head unbowed.
Arms outstretched, and the hill-top hushes;
Long deep breath, and the whole scene fades;
Sweeping homeward, my soul outrushes,
My heart the heart of the world invades.
Fleshly trammels no longer bind me,
Joyous, forgetting that such things be;
Time and space have been left behind me,
Brother of stars, I am soaring, free.
Cramped no more, I exult, extended,
All I think of I hold within;
Secret surety of vision splendid
Makes me one with my lordly kin.
Out of the vast I return, and slowly
Into the prison of sense I glide,
Yet the splendour is gone not wholly,
Yet the love and the peace abide.
Soft wind rustles the leaves, and brightly
Wavers the light on the ferns and trees;
Water-ripples are laughing lightly,
Played upon by the sun and breeze.
There the robin, a friendly fellow,
Clings to a sapling stem and waits
Just where I noted his breast of yellow
Ere I ventured beyond the gates.
Only a moment, as clocks can reckon,
Dwells the soul at that height of heights;
Ah, but I know why the wood-gods beckon,
Why the stars are as beacon lights.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cruel Winds of Winter
Got up this morning, no sun in my eyes,
The house is so cold, no warmth to the fire,
My love is gone, he took all my desire,
And cruel winds of winter howled all night.
My love could warm me in the coldest time,
Bring the light of day to the darkest night,
As tears of my sorrow fall from my eyes,
The cruel winds of winter cry in delight.
Pull on my coat, keep the chill from my side,
I walk by the sea, the salt stings my eye,
The caps are all gray, like clouds in the sky,
And with those cruel winds of winter, I cry.
As tears of my sorrow fall to the sand,
My love is not here to warn my cold hand,
He’s gone like the sun from this harsh, gray land,
And only the wind seems to understand.
This endless winter has replaced his light,
My sweet love gone, no warmth in my sight,
I drift lost and lonely, no sleep I find,
Still those winds cry with me deep in the night.
My heart so heavy, life has no delight,
And the cruel winds of winter, torment my night.
poem by Teresa Dearing
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As Many Stars
AS many stars as are aglow
Deep in the hollows of the night
As many as the flowers that blow
Beneath the kindling light;
As many as the birds that fly
Unpiloted across the deep;
As many as the clouds on high,
And all the drops they weep;
As many as the leaves that fall
In autumn, on the withering lea,
When wind to thundering wind doth call,
And sea calls unto sea;
As many as the multitude
Of quiet graves, where mutely bide
The wicked people and the good,
Laid softly side by side;--
So many thoughts, so many tears,
Such hosts of prayers, are sent on high,
Seeking, through all Man's perished years,
A love that will not die.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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First Ray of Sun
First ray of sun
Travels to the earth
From high skies
Light of day begins to shine
Sun rises slowly, far in the sky
Goes higher and higher
As time trickles
Mountains are the first
To see the rising beauty
Sky is full with rainbow colors
Dark shades of night
Not to be seen
Every heart sighs in relief
Fills with joy when sees the light
Light and colors inspires every life,
Give a meaning to love and desire
Birds keep chirping
Wind keeps flowing
Mist is lost with the advent of heat
Evaporates to the sky above
Leaves on trees
Make a gentle sound
Their rumbling and mumbling
Make their presence felt all around
Thoughts of life
Keep coming to my mind
Touching the heart endless times
Beauty of nature
Brings words in my mind
I wish every soul to feel and hear
What I think?
Mountains and rivers never complain
Gentle breeze keeps on blowing
Mist is lost with the advent of heat
Evaporates to the sky above
Leaves on trees make a gentle sound
Their rumbling and mumbling
Make their presence felt all around
A full bright day has just begun
Cheering every face on the earth alike
Nature is the gift of god to mankind
I wish every life enjoys it fully
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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And Thou Art One
And Thou art One--One with th' eternal hills,
And with the flaming stars, and with the moon,
Translucent, cold. The sentinel of noon
That clothes the sky in robes of light and fills
The earth with warmth, the flowering fields, the rills,
The waving trees, the south wind's elfin rune,
Are One with Thee. All nature is in tune
With Thee, O Father, God--and if one wills
To humbly walk the fragrant, leaf-strewn path
And kneel in reverence 'neath the vaulted sky,
Hearing the hymnals of the waving trees
And prayers of the soughing winds--what hath
He less of heaven in him than we, who cry,
"God in our creeds doth dwell and not in these?"
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wind
The calendar-dated joy
The alarm waking breath
The nine-month expectation
The delicacy of a rose
The coarseness of a leaf
The destined seasons
The place of the dayspring
Harmattan's and winter's dry and chill
Autumn, as the leaves leave home and hit the ground
The trees say goodbye as you fall
Summer, your sun's glory days
Rain, God's crying ways, your pain aches
Spring, the flowers they bloom and so do you
Music, the hemoglobin of my heart
The acoustic guitar, the violin...
Words, spoken few, written more
Three words that makes all the difference
Killed some, healed some, made some
God, my lifetime dated lover
The life-timed goodbye, death
Leaves the soil wetter
Turns the light on for those it takes
Dims the lamp for those behind
The winds, ah, the winds
The North wind brought you in nine months
And pours on you the grace to live
And shines on you the light that will guide you back North
The East wind, brought love your way
Hope you loved deeply and truly?
The healing, the rising of your sun
The making of the you, you are
The West wind, it sets your sun
The pain, the love lost, the darkness
The loss, the aching sea, the grief
The South wind, the calender-dated end
Pulling down the poster of the nine-month gift
Ending the sojourn on the countryside
The last string of the violin
The last note of a song
Did you dance while the song was playing?
Did you hear the music or at least feel your heart beat
Me, you, we, are waiting for a purpose to rise
The calender-dated joy
Your wedding day, graduation, golden anniversary
Are you happy today?
Were you with joy as each wind blew
I wasn't, I'm not...I'm wrong
Each wind plays a song
Tells a story...listen...its the story of life
And there's a hand offering to dance
To dance, oh, to dance with you
To the song of all songs
To sway with you as each wind blows
To be your joy every day in your calendar
He's the one who cried the rain
That you may blossom in summer
Who wants to keep you warmer than warm in winter's cruel
And when the South wind blows its last
The winds have stopped
Plays the last note of that beautiful song
He named...your life.
poem by Jenim Dibie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dawn Wind
The Fifteenth Century
At two o'clock in the morning, if you open your window and
listen,
You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun.
And the trees in the shadow rustle, and the trees in the moonlight
glisten,
And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is
done.
So do the cows in the field. They graze for an hour and lie down,
Dozing and chewing the cud; or a bird in the ivy wakes,
Chirrups one note and is still, and the restless Wind stares on,
Fidgeting far down the road, till, softly, the darkness breaks.
Back comes the Wind full strength with a blow like an angel's
wing,
Gentle but waking the world, as he shouts: "The Sun! The
Sun!"
And the light floods over the fields and the birds begin to sing,
And the Wind dies down in the grass. It is day and his work
is done.
So when the world is asleep, and there seems no hope of her
waking
Out of some long, bad dream that makes her mutter and moan,
Suddenly, all men arise to the noise of fetters breaking,
And every one smiles at his neighbor and tells him his soul is
his own!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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A Season of Cold
old man winters wrath is upon us now
arctic winds howl 'neath frosty boughs
snowy frozen vistas glisten like stars
chimneys have become smoking cigars
a cold sun rises with welcome rays
whitewashing time in a bright glaze
pothole footprints are scattered about
like deserted hoofprints marking a route
leafless trees line the hills and skies
barren and lifeless in there disguise
under a whitened full moon I shiver
while I traverse crystalline slivers
of frigid nether regions all around
where February prizes her crown
poem by Doug Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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