En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Laurentians

These mountains reign alone, they do not share
The transitory life of woods and streams;
Wrapt in the deep solemnity of dreams,
They drain the sunshine of the upper air.
Beneath their peaks, the huge clouds, here and there,
Take counsel of the wind, which all night screams
Through grey, burnt forests where the moonlight beams
On hidden lakes, and rocks worn smooth and bare.

These mountains once, throned in some primal sea,
Shook half the world with thunder, and the sun
Pierced not the gloom that clung about their crest;
Now with sealed lips, toilers from toil set free,
Unvexed by fate, the part they played being done,
They watch and wait in venerable rest.

poem by Frederick George Scott
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Arethusa

I.
Arethusa arose
From her couch of snows
In the Acroceraunian mountains,--
From cloud and from crag,
With many a jag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks,
With her rainbow locks
Streaming among the streams;--
Her steps paved with green
The downward ravine
Which slopes to the western gleams;
And gliding and springing
She went, ever singing,
In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her,
And Heaven smiled above her,
As she lingered towards the deep.

II.
Then Alpheus bold,
On his glacier cold,
With his trident the mountains strook;
And opened a chasm
In the rocks—with the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It unsealed behind
The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder
The bars of the springs below.
And the beard and the hair
Of the River-god were
Seen through the torrent’s sweep,
As he followed the light
Of the fleet nymph’s flight
To the brink of the Dorian deep.

III.
'Oh, save me! Oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,
For he grasps me now by the hair!'
The loud Ocean heard,
To its blue depth stirred,
And divided at her prayer;
And under the water
The Earth’s white daughter
Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended
With the brackish Dorian stream:—
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main
Alpheus rushed behind,--
As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

IV.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers
Sit on their pearled thrones;
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods,
Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams
Weave a network of coloured light;
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves
Are as green as the forest’s night:--
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword-fish dark,
Under the Ocean’s foam,
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts
They passed to their Dorian home.

V.
And now from their fountains
In Enna’s mountains,
Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted
Grown single-hearted,
They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep
In the cave of the shelving hill;
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below
And the meadows of asphodel;
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Beneath the Ortygian shore;--
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky
When they love but live no more.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Blue Ridge

STILL and calm,
In purple robes of kings,
The low-lying mountains sleep at the edge of the world.
The forests cover them like mantles;
Day and night
Rise and fall over them like the wash of waves.

Asleep, they reign.
Silent, they say all.
Hush me, O slumbering mountains -
Send me dreams.

poem by Harriet Monroe
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Mere Spectator for JT Ellison

Clouds of gunmetal grey amass
above the distant mountains peaks.
Loudly the voice of thunder speaks.
But I fear not this too will pass.

I watch the lightning bolts which soar.
Long streaks of incandescent blue.
Which pierce the storm clouds through and through.
Though I have seen it all before.

I am held captive by the sight.
I cannot tear my eyes away
I have to watch the interplay
of storm clouds lashed by spears of light.

I know the storm clouds will release
their burden of much needed rain
and then the skies will clear again.
I am content I feel at peace.

The rainfall will refresh the streams.
And they in turn increase the flow
of rivers running deep and slow.
Towards the sea where in my dreams.

I see the sun evaporate
raise water vapour to the skies.
The winds which blow will dissipate
the clouds which slowly rise.

And start the cycle once again.
All part of nature’s perfect plan
to irrigate the world of man.
There is no loss there is no gain.

The rain falls on the mountain sides.
Restarts its journey to the sea
It can move slow or speedily.
The ancient cycle still abides.

It was before the birth of man
and will be when man is no more
My role that of a spectator.
I contemplate because I can

and realise I ‘m powerless.
of no real significance.
I do not rate a second glance.
I am not part of the process.

The water cycles constantly
The way it was designed to do
There is no reason to review
a system working perfectly.

05/08/2009
http: blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Then There Are The Mountains

On a mountain's peak is there peace?
Mountains that overlook the quiet prairie.
Mountains that borders life in rural counties.
Mountains chiseled by years of wind and rain.
Mountain winds creep keeping all secrets.
Mountains a kin to the lower hills of death.
Mountains at the height of glamour baked in sunshine.
Mountains that reach for more majestic planes.
Mountains giving to the ridges, valleys and cliffs.
Mountains in spring the fulfillment of adventure and dream.
Mountains which can shelter one from storm.
Mountains an enduring symbol in poetry.
Mountains which inhabit the calls of the wild.
Mountains of spectacle, below the bending roads between.
Mountains embracing, magnifying the sounds of river.
Mountains the stellar monuments of time.

poem by William Blackman
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Where The Blue Mountains Lie

Some things we want are out of reach,
but I know where my dreams dwell,
far across the sea where the Blue Mountains lie
with their fingers touching the sky.

A world away from what I have,
a peaceful life in serenity hold
my dreams wait there for me
if I reach out and be bold.

Where the Blue Mountains lie
set against a mottled sky
where quiet is the order of the day
within the shadows of the mountains blue.

A place where my dreams
wait for me to gather them in
and start my life a new
under the shadows of the mountains blue.

14 June 2010

poem by David Harris
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The Burden of Time

Before the seas and mountains were brought forth,
I reigned. I hung the universe in space,
I capped earth's poles with ice to South and North,
And set the moving tides their bounds and place.

I smoothed the granite mountains with my hand,
My fingers gave the continents their form;
I rent the heavens and loosed upon the land
The fury of the whirlwind and the storm.

I stretched the dark sea like a nether sky
Fronting the stars between the ice-clad zones;
I gave the deep his thunder; the Most High
Knows well the voice that shakes His mountain thrones.

I trod the ocean caverns black as night,
And silent as the bounds of outer space,
And where great peaks rose darkly towards the light
I planted life to root and grow apace.

Then through a stillness deeper than the grave's,
The coral spires rose slowly one by one,
Until the white shafts pierced the upper waves
And shone like silver in the tropic sun.

I ploughed with glaciers down the mountain glen,
And graved the iron shore with stream and tide;
I gave the bird her nest, the lion his den,
The snake long jung~le-grass wherein to hide.

In lonely gorge and over hill and plain,
I sowed the giant forests of the world;
The great earth like a human heart in pain
Has quivered with the meteors I have hurled.

I plunged whole continents beneath the deep,
And left them sepulchred a million years;
I called, and lo, the drowned lands rose from sleep,
Sundering the waters of the hemispheres.

I am the lord and arbiter of man --
I hold and crush between my finger-tips
Wild hordes that drive the desert caravan,
Great nations that go down to sea in ships.

In sovereign scorn I tread the races down,
As each its puny destiny fulfils,
On plain and island, or where huge cliffs frown,
Wrapt in the deep thought of the ancient hills.

The wild sea searches vainly round the land
For those proud fleets my arm has swept away;
Vainly the wind along the desert sand
Calls the great names of kings who once held sway.

Yea, Nineveh and Babylon the great
Are fallen -- like ripe ears at harvest-tide;
I set my heel upon their pomp and state,
The people's serfdom and the monarch's pride.

One doom waits all -- art, speech, law, gods, and men,
Forests and mountains, stars and shining sun, --
The hand that made them shall unmake again,
I curse them and they wither one by one.

Waste altars, tombs, dead cities where men trod,
Shall roll through space upon the darkened globe,
Till I myself be overthrown, and God
Cast off creation like an outworn robe.

poem by Frederick George Scott
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The Storm Is Over

I was in a tunnel
And couldn't see the light
And whenever I'd look up
I couldn't see the sky
Sometimes when I'm standin'
It seems like I done walked for miles
And my heart could be cryin'
Dead in the middle of a smile
But then I climbed the hills
And saw the mountains
I hollered help 'cause I was lost
Then I felt the strong wind
Heard a small voice sayin'
The storm is over
(The storm is over now)
And I can see the sunshine
(Somewhere beyond the clouds)
I feel Heaven, yeah
(Heaven is over me)
Come on and set me free, whoa
Now in the midst of my battle
All hope was gone
Downtown in a rushed crowd
And felt all alone
And every now and then
I felt like I would lose my mind
I've been racin' for years
And still no finish line, oh
But then I climbed the hills
And saw the mountains (Mountains)
I hollered help 'cause I was lost
Then I felt the strong wind
And then a small voice sayin'
The storm is over
(The storm is over now)
And I can see the sunshine
(Somewhere beyond the clouds)
I can feel Heaven, yeah
(Heaven is over me)
Come on and set me free
Somehow my beginning stepped right in (Right in)
Then faith became my friend (My friend)
And now I can depend
On the voices of the wind
When it's sayin' (Sayin')
The storm is over
(The storm is over now)
And I can see the sunshine
(Somewhere beyond the clouds)
I can feel Heaven, yeah
(Heaven is over me)
Won't you come and set me free
Won't you set me free
The storm is over
(The storm is over now)
And I can see the sunshine
(Somewhere beyond the clouds)
I can feel Heaven, yeah
(Heaven is over me)
Won't you come and set me free
[Ad lib until fade

song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eternal Forests

Fate circles the moon of desire
We are the earth circling time
Her kiss has rivers with deer
Eagles fly over cliffs of granite
Lovers of ember centuries
Past the tears past the fears
The thunder of buffalo herds
Mountain streams like Eden
No armies or galleons
Oak grow as the mighty wind
Our bed has ancestry

Lovers share their dreams
When the land was open
No signs, no ownership
Meadows of stars shine
We are the future laughter
We are the dreams of warriors
They know they must die
They know they must be brave
Feel them in your bright kiss
Passion filled with battles
Feel their canoes along the waters

Your arms are their arms
Kiss your warriors that stand
They are dying for a way of life
Their blood cries from sacred ground
Your eyes like doves
Your dreams of fire and broken arrows
Hold me like a shaman of stolen land
Share your joy and sorrow
Ghost of sweet streams and feathers
Making love by quiet rivers
Warriors that once blessed the sky

The legions come with their chains
They bring reservations
They bring peace treatise with broken tongues
Love me on this hot bed of soul
The night has ancient eyes
Hear the wind bring tears of Cochise
See the shadows like war dances
See the broken wings of the hawk
We must kiss the future when morning rules
We must remember all their visions
Love is a circle of great seasons

Blend into me like a thousand full moons
Tecumseh sighs in the Ohio valley
Make them move west until they are gone
My love the land cries in your heart
These braves of the new world
Panther in the sky
Trail of tears in your loving thighs
We love in hidden valleys and cold mountains
Sacred burial grounds whisper
Let me hold your warrior soul
I am your lover here and now yet pierced

We are ancient lovers waiting for eternal forests

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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To The Bone

In the back of a record rack
Theres a old double pack
Twelve inches and black
With an old crumpled cover
But every track is stacked
And it takes me back
To the one who caused this melancholy mood
And every single groove
Cuts me to the bone
Yeah, she rocks me to the bone
I took her back to my bachelor flat
While the stereo played for two
She unwrapped her gift
And played me a riff
And said, this old record was just made for you
Then we danced to songs of passion and
The singers velvet tones
On the gramaphone
While the record played
She rocks me to the bone
Knocks me to the bone
Those those rock n roll romantic songs
Played all summer long
And she rocks me to the bone
Knocks me to the bone.
Yeah, she rocks me to the bone
Yeah, she rocks me to the bone
In dreams shes smiling in slow motion
Devouring all of my emotion
Angels singing rock n roll
While demons take away my soul
Voices sound, her image fades
Every time that record plays
She rocks me to the bone
Knocks me to the bone
In my back room theres an old 45
That we played all summer long
Shakin the beams so loud it covered up the screams
When lovers harmony went oh so wrong
And in every word emotion is torn
And blood flows down the drain
Like she opened up a vein
And cut me to the bone
Yeah, she rocks me to the bone
And now Im just a prisoner
In that stereo hi-fi jail
The needle pierced just like a nail
As she rocks me to the bone
Knocks me to the bone
Do do do do do do do
She rocks me to the bone
Yeah, she rocks me to the bone
Yeah, she rocks me to the bone

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To The Hollow Bastion Within

Take part of the darkest of fruits and see me lose my mind.
My spirit has found repose in Angst's bosom.

Will no one save me from the bludgeoning of this life?

Why am I so angry? Where is the cause? it is hiding deep within me.
My heart cannot see it's face, and mirrors don't work in the depths of darkness.

Why do I feel so empty? I wish nothingness was more discreet.
I'm tired of pretending; where is my redemption? Here, yes, but where?

Why must clouds veil mountains? Ironic, mountains are so much bigger too. But even clouds have their Mountains I suppose.

poem by Soren Valentine
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The Hurricane

Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh,
I know thy breath in the burning sky!
And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,
For the coming of the hurricane!

And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,
Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails;
Silent and slow, and terribly strong,
The mighty shadow is borne along,
Like the dark eternity to come;
While the world below, dismayed and dumb,
Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere
Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.

They darken fast; and the golden blaze
Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze,
And he sends through the shade a funeral ray--
A glare that is neither night nor day,
A beam that touches, with hues of death,
The clouds above and the earth beneath.
To its covert glides the silent bird,
While the hurricane's distant voice is heard,
Uplifted among the mountains round,
And the forests hear and answer the sound.

He is come! he is come! do ye not behold
His ample robes on the wind unrolled?
Giant of air! we bid thee hail!--
How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale;
How his huge and writhing arms are bent,
To clasp the zone of the firmament,
And fold at length, in their dark embrace,
From mountain to mountain the visible space.

Darker--still darker! the whirlwinds bear
The dust of the plains to the middle air:
And hark to the crashing, long and loud,
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!
You may trace its path by the flashes that start
From the rapid wheels where'er they dart,
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,
And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

What roar is that?--'tis the rain that breaks
In torrents away from the airy lakes,
Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,
And shedding a nameless horror round.
Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies,
With the very clouds!--ye are lost to my eyes.
I seek ye vainly, and see in your place
The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,
A whirling ocean that fills the wall
Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.
And I, cut off from the world, remain
Alone with the terrible hurricane.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Land of Golden Sunshine.

Behind the mountains,
Is a wonderful world of thy,
Full of light, life
And golden sunshine.
The sun rises from east,
And make my life bright,
Behind the mountains is where,
The golden sun lives,
With golden sunshine.

A part of world,
That is so wonderful,
So nice,
Is the world where golden sun shine.

Behind the mountains of dream,
Is a gateway.
For a wonderful living and life,
A place form where the sun rise.
A place of happiness,
A place of life.

The land of golden sun shine.

poem by Anurag Kumar
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Beautiful Aberfoyle

The mountains and glens of Aberfoyle are beautiful to sight,
Likewise the rivers and lakes are sparkling and bright;
And its woods were frequented by the Lady of the Lake,
And on its Lakes many a sail in her boat she did take.

The scenery there will fill the tourist with joy,
Because 'tis there once lived the bold Rob Roy,
Who spent many happy days with his Helen there,
By chasing the deer in the woods so fair.

The little vale of Aberfoyle and its beautiful river
Is a sight, once seen, forget it you'll never;
And romantic ranges of rock on either side
Form a magnificent background far and wide.

And the numerous lochs there abound with trout
Which can be had for the taking out,
Especially from the Lochs Chon and Ard,
There the angler can make a catch which will his toil reward.

And between the two lochs the Glasgow Water Works are near,
Which convey water of Loch Katrine in copious streams clear
To the inhabitants of the Great Metropolis of the West,
And for such pure water they should think themselves blest.

The oak and birch woods there are beautiful to view,
Also the Ochil hills which are blue in hue,
Likewise the Lake of Menteith can be seen far eastward,
Also Stirling Castle, which long ago the English beseiged very hard.

Then away to Aberfoyle, Rob Roy's country,
And gaze on the magnificent scenery.
A region of rivers and mountains towering majestically
Which is lovely and fascinating to see.

But no words can describe the beautiful scenery.
Aberfoyle must be visited in order to see,
So that the mind may apprehend its beauties around,
Which will charm the hearts of the visitors I'll be bound.

As for the clachan of aberfoyle, little remains but a hotel,
Which for accomodation which will suit the traveller very well.
And the bedding thereis clean and good,
And good cooks there to cook the food.

Then away to the mountains and lakes of bonnie Aberfoyle,
Ye hard-working sons and daughters of daily toil;
And traverse its heathery mountains and viewits lakes so clear,
When the face of Nature's green in the spring of the year.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Night

Fair is the wedded reign of Night and Day.
Each rules a half of earth with different sway,
Exchanging kingdoms, East and West, alway.

Like the round pearl that Egypt drunk in wine,
The sun half sinks i' the brimming, rosy brine:
The wild Night drinks all up: how her eyes shine!

Now the swift sail of straining life is furled,
And through the stillness of my soul is whirled
The throbbing of the hearts of half the world.

I hear the cries that follow Birth and Death.
I hear huge Pestilence draw his vaporous breath:
"Beware, prepare, or else ye die," he saith.

I hear a haggard student turn and sigh:
I hear men begging Heaven to let them die:
And, drowning all, a wild-eyed woman's cry.

So Night takes toll of Wisdom as of Sin.
The student's and the drunkard's cheek is thin:
But flesh is not the prize we strive to win.

Now airy swarms of fluttering dreams descend
On souls, like birds on trees, and have no end.
O God, from vulture-dreams my soul defend!

Let fall on Her a rose-leaf rain of dreams,
All passionate-sweet, as are the loving beams
Of starlight on the glimmering woods and streams.

poem by Sidney Lanier
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The German Student’s Love-Song

I.

BY the rush of the Rhine's broad stream,
Down whose rapid tide
We sailed as in some sweet dream
Sitting side by side;
By the depth of its clear blue wave
And the vine-clad hills,
Which gazed on its heart and gave
Their tribute rills;

By the mountains, in purple shade,
And those valleys green
Where our bower of rest was made,
By the world unseen;
By the notes of the wild free bird,
Singing over-head
When nought else in the sunshine stirr'd
Round our flowery bed;

By these, and by Love's power divine,
I have no thought but what is thine!
II.

By the glance of thy radiant eyes,
Where a glory shone
That was half of the summer skies
And half their own;
By the light and yet fervent hold
Of thy gentle hand,--
(As the woodbines the flowers enfold
With their tender band

By thy voice when it breathes in song,
And the echo given
By lips that to Earth belong,
Float up to Heaven;
By the gleams on thy silken hair
At the sunset hour,
And the breadth of they forehead fair
With its thoughtful power;

By these, and by Love's soul divine,
I have no hope but what is thine!
III.

By the beauty and stilness round
When the lake's lone shore
Scarce echoed the pleasant sound
Of the distant oar;
By the moonlight which softly fell
On all objects near,
And thy whisper seemed like a spell
In thy Lover's ear;

By the dreams of the restless past,
And the hope that came
Like sunshine in shadow cast
With thy gentle name;
By the beat of thy good true heart
Where pure thoughts have birth;
By thy tears, when Fate bade us part,
And thy smiles of mirth;

By these, and by Love's power divine,
I have no hope but what is thine!
IV.

By the gloom of those holy fanes
Where the light stream'd through
Dim orange and purple panes
On the aisles below;
By the ruin'd and roofless wall
Of that castle high,
With its turrets so grey and tall
In the clear blue sky;

By beauty, because its light
Should thy portion be,
And whatever is fair and bright
Seems a part of thee;
And by darkness and blank decay,
Because they tell
What the world would be, THOU away,
Whom I love so well;

By these, and by Love's power divine,
My heart, my soul, my life, are thine!

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Midnight in Camp

Night in the unslumbering forest! From the free,
Vast pinelands by the foot of man untrod,
Blows the wild wind, roaming rejoicingly
This wilderness of God;
And the tall firs that all day long have flung
Balsamic odors where the sunshine burned,
Chant to its harping primal epics learned
When this old world was young.

Beyond the lake, white, girdling peaks uplift
Untroubled brows to virgin skies afar,
And o'er the uncertain water glimmers drift
Of fitful cloud and star.
Sure never day such mystic beauty held
As sylvan midnight here in this surcease
Of toil, when the kind darkness gives us peace
Garnered from years of eld.

Lo! Hearken to the mountain waterfall
Laughing adown its pathway to the glen
And nearer, in the cedars, the low call
Of brook to brook again;
Voices that garish daytime may not know
Wander at will along the bosky steeps,
And silent, silver-footed moonlight creeps
Through the dim glades below.

Oh, it is well to waken with the woods
And feel, as those who wait with God alone,
The forest's heart in these rare solitudes
Beating against our own.
Close-shut behind us are the gates of care,
Divinity enfolds us, prone to bless,
And our souls kneel. Night in the wilderness
Is one great prayer.

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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The sun dosnt shine

No sun ever shines for me.
All I have is deep black clouds.
The sun is hidden somewhere.
Hidden along way not be found.

In the bleakness of deppression.
In my darkest hour.
I can see hell and black.

The sky is always grey.
So miserable and full of gloom.
Every day full of gloom.
Full of gloom and doom.

My sun dont shine its hidden.
Hidden far away.

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Lay Down Your Weary Tune

Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
Struck by the sounds before the sun,
I knew the night had gone.
The morning breeze like a bugle blew
Against the drums of dawn.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The ocean wild like an organ played,
The seaweeds wove its strands.
The crashin waves like cymbals clashed
Against the rocks and sands.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws.
The cryin rain like a trumpet sang
And asked for no applause.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The last of leaves fell from the trees
And clung to a new loves breast.
The branches bare like a banjo played
To the winds that listened best.
I gazed down in the rivers mirror
And watched its winding strum.
The water smooth ran like a hymn
And like a harp did hum.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wamberal

Just a shell, to which the seaweed glittering yet with greenness clings,
Like the song that once I loved so, softly of the old time sings -
Softly of the old time speaketh - bringing ever back to me
Sights of far-off lordly forelands - glimpses of the sounding sea!
Now the cliffs are all before me - now, indeed, do I behold
Shining growths on wild wet hillheads, quiet pools of green and gold.
And, across the gleaming beaches, lo! the mighty flow and fall
Of the great ingathering waters thundering under Wamberal!

Back there are the pondering mountains; there the dim, dumb ranges loom -
Ghostly shapes in dead grey vapour - half-seen peaks august with gloom.
There the voice of troubled torrents, hidden in unfathomed deeps,
Known to moss and faint green sunlight, wanders down the oozy steeps.
There the lake of many runnels nestles in a windless wild
Far amongst thick-folded forests, like a radiant human child.
And beyond surf-smitten uplands - high above the highest spur -
Lo! the clouds like tents of tempest on the crags of Kincumber!

Wamberal, the home of echoes! Hard against a streaming strand,
Sits the hill of blind black caverns, at the limits of the land.
Here the haughty water marches - here the flights of straitened sea
Make a noise like that of trumpets, breaking wide across the lea!
But behold, in yonder crescent that a ring of island locks
Are the gold and emerald cisterns shining moonlike in the rocks!
Clear, bright cisterns, zoned by mosses, where the faint wet blossoms dwell
With the leaf of many colours - down beside the starry shell.

Friend of mine beyond the mountains, here and here the perished days
Come like sad reproachful phantoms, in the deep grey evening haze -
Come like ghosts, and sit beside me when the noise of day is still,
And the rain is on the window, and the wind is on the hill.
Then they linger, but they speak not, while my memory roams and roams
Over scenes by death made sacred - other lands and other homes!
Places sanctified by sorrow - sweetened by the face of yore -
Face that you and I may look on (friend and brother) nevermore!

Seasons come with tender solace - time lacks neither light nor rest;
But the old thoughts were such ~dear~ ones, and the old days seem the best.
And to those who've loved and suffered, every pulse of wind or rain -
Every song with sadness in it, brings the peopled Past again.
Therefore, just this shell yet dripping, with this weed of green and grey,
Sets me thinking - sets me dreaming of the places far away;
Dreaming of the golden rockpools - of the foreland and the fall;
And the home behind the mountains looming over Wamberal.

poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Door To Be Opened!

horses burst through the gate,
gallop across the field,
heads held high and nostrils flared.
while owls whisper in dark gowned trees,
and the wind tugs at the mountains.
moonlight sifting through the clouds,
dogs bark from a distant door.
and the grass lies wet with desire,
waiting for the steps of the lover!

i built a small fire in the clearing,
took off my clothes and danced
to the hidden beat.
mumbling words that had no form,
while the sleeping swallow smiled.
reared back with primal instinct,
let forth the howl of want.
while ants played tiny drums,
and thunder clashed in perfect time.

down to the banks of the river,
where water courted stone....
and plunged into the icy depths...
a baptism of the senses.
back to the fire with eyes ablaze...
i too waited with longing.
for the scent, the sound, and the feel of flesh,
for the last door to be opened!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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