The Ballad of St. Barbara
(St Barbara is the patron saint of gunners, and those in danger
of sudden death.)
When the long grey lines came flooding upon Paris in the plain,
We stood and drank of the last free air we never could taste again:
They had led us back from the lost battle, to halt we knew not where
And stilled us: and our gaping guns were dumb with our despair.
The grey tribes flowed for ever from the infinite lifeless lands
And a Norman to a Breton spoke, his chin upon his hands.
'There was an end to Ilium; and an end came to Rome;
And a man plays on a painted stage in the land that he calls home;
Arch after arch of triumph, but floor beyond falling floor,
That lead to a low door at last; and beyond that is no door.'
And the Breton to the Norman spoke, like a small child spoke he,
And his sea-blue eyes were empty as his home beside the sea:
'There are more windows in one house than there are eyes to see,
There are more doors in a man's house, but God has hid the key:
Ruin is a builder of windows; her legend witnesseth
Barbara, the saint of gunners, and a stay in sudden death.'
It seemed the wheel of the world stood still an instant in its turning,
More than the kings of the earth that turned with the turning of Valmy mill:
While trickled the idle tale and the sea-blue eyes were burning,
Still as the heart of a whirlwind the heart of the world stood still.
'Barbara the beautiful
Had praise of tongue and pen:
Her hair was like a summer night
Dark and desired of men.
Her feet like birds from far away
That linger and light in doubt;
And her face was like a window
Where a man's first love looked out.
Her sire was master of many slaves,
A hard man of his hands;
They built a tower about her
In the desolate golden lands,
Sealed as the tyrants sealed their tombs,
Planned with an ancient plan,
And set two windows in the tower
Like the two eyes of a man.'
Our guns were set towards the foe; we had no word for firing.
Grey in the gateway of St Gond the Guard of the tyrant shone;
Dark with the fate of a falling star, retiring and retiring,
The Breton line went backward and the Breton tale went on.
'Her father had sailed across the sea
For the harbour of Africa
When all the slaves took up their tools
For the bidding of Barbara.
She smote the bare wall with her hand
And bade them smite again;
She poured them wealth of wine and meat
To stay them in their pain.
And cried through the lifted thunder
Of thronging hammer and hod
'Throw open the third window
In the third name of God.'
Then the hearts failed and the tools fell,
And far towards the foam,
Men saw a shadow on the sands
And her father coming home.'
Speak low and low, along the line the whispered word is flying,
Before the touch, before the time, we may not loose a breath:
Their guns must mash us to the mire and there be no replying,
Till the hand is raised to fling us for the final dice to death.
''There were two windows in your tower,
Barbara, Barbara,
For all between the sun and moon
In the lands of Africa.
Hath a man three eyes, Barbara,
A bird three wings,
That you have riven roof and wall
To look upon vain things?'
Her voice was like a wandering thing
That falters yet is free,
Whose soul has drunk in a distant land
Of the rivers of liberty.
'There are more wings than the wind knows
Or eyes that see the sun
In the light of the lost window
And the wind of the doors undone.
For out of the first lattice
Are the red lands that break
And out of the second lattice
Sea like a green snake,
But out of the third lattice
Under low eaves like wings
Is a new corner of the sky
And the other side of things.'
It opened in the inmost place an instant beyond uttering,
A casement and a chasm and a thunder of doors undone,
A seraph's strong wing shaken out the shock of its unshuttering,
That split the shattered sunlight from a light beyond the sun.
'Then he drew sword and drave her
Where the judges sat and said,
'Caesar sits above the gods,
Barbara the maid.
Caesar hath made a treaty
With the moon and with the sun,
All the gods that men can praise
Praise him every one.
There is peace with the anointed
Of the scarlet oils of Bel,
With the Fish God, where the whirlpool
Is a winding stair to hell,
With the pathless pyramids of slime,
Where the mitred negro lifts
To his black cherub in the cloud
Abominable gifts,
With the leprous silver cities
Where the dumb priests dance and nod,
But not with the three windows
And the last name of God.''
They are firing, we are falling, and the red skies rend and shiver us,
Barbara, Barbara, we may not loose a breath -
Be at the bursting doors of doom, and in the dark deliver us,
Who loosen the last window on the sun of sudden death.
'Barbara the beautiful
Stood up as queen set free,
Whose mouth is set to a terrible cup
And the trumpet of liberty.
'I have looked forth from a window
That no man now shall bar,
Caesar's toppling battle-towers
Shall never stretch so far.
The slaves are dancing in their chains,
The child laughs at the rod,
Because of the bird of the three wings,
And the third face of God.'
The sword upon his shoulder
Shifted and shone and fell,
And Barbara lay very small
And crumpled like a shell.'
What wall upon what hinges turned stands open like a door?
Too simple for the sight of faith, too huge for human eyes,
What light upon what ancient way shines to a far-off floor.
The line of the lost land of France or the plains of Paradise?
'Caesar smiled above the gods
His lip of stone was curled,
His iron armies wound like chains
Round and round the world,
And the strong slayer of his own
That cut down flesh for grass,
Smiled too, and went to his own tower
Like a walking tower of brass,
And the songs ceased and the slaves were dumb;
And far towards the foam
Men saw a shadow on the sands;
And her father coming home...
Blood of his blood upon the sword
Stood red but never dry.
He wiped it slowly, till the blade
Was blue as the blue sky.
But the blue sky split with a thunder-crack,
Spat down a blinding brand,
And all of him lay black and flat
As his shadow on the sand.'
The touch and the tornado; all our guns give tongue together,
St Barbara for the gunnery and God defend the right,
They are stopped and gapped and battered as we blast away the weather,
Building window upon window to our lady of the light.
For the light is come on Liberty, her foes are falling, falling,
They are reeling, they are running, as the shameful years have run,
She is risen for all the humble, she has heard the conquered calling,
St Barbara of the Gunners, with her hand upon the gun.
They are burst asunder in the midst that eat of their own flatteries,
Whose lip is curled to order as its barbered hair is curled...
Blast of the beauty of sudden death, St Barbara of the batteries!
That blow the new white window in the wall of all the world.
For the hand is raised behind us, and the bolt smites hard
Through the rending of the doorways, through the death-gap of the Guard,
For the cry of the Three Colours is in Conde and beyond
And the Guard is flung for carrion in the graveyard of St Gond,
Through Mondemont and out of it, through Morin marsh and on
With earthquake of salutation the impossible thing is gone,
Gaul, charioted and charging, great Gaul upon a gun,
Tip-toe on all her thousand years and trumpeting to the sun:
As day returns, as death returns, swung backwards and swung home,
Back on the barbarous reign returns the battering-ram of Rome.
While that the east held hard and hot like pincers in a forge,
Came like the west wind roaring up the cannon of St George,
When the hunt is up and racing over stream and swamp and tarn
And their batteries, black with battle, hold the bridgeheads of the Marne,
And across the carnage of the Guard, by Paris in the plain,
The Normans to the Bretons cried and the Bretons cheered again...
But he that told the tale went home to his house beside the sea
And burned before St Barbara, the light of the windows three,
Three candles for an unknown thing, never to come again,
That opened like the eye of God on Paris in the plain.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Barbara Ann
Ah, ba ba ba ba barbara ann
Ba ba ba ba barbara ann
Oh barbara ann, take my hand
Barbara ann
You got me rockin and a-rollin
Rockin and a-reelin
Barbara ann ba ba
Ba barbara ann
Went to a dance, lookin for romance
Saw barbara ann, so I thought Id take a chance
With barbara ann, barbara ann
Take my hand
You got me rockin and a-rollin
(oh! oh!)
Rockin and a-reelin
Barbara ann ba ba
Ba ba ba ba black sheep
Ba ba ba ba barbara ann
Ba ba ba ba barbara ann
Barbara ann, take my hand
Barbara ann
You got me rockin and a-rollin
Rockin and a-reelin
Barbara ann ba ba
Ba barbara ann
(lets go now!)
(ow!)
([...])
([...], carl.)
(hal, and his famous ashtray!)
([...])
(you smell like rocky. youre always scratchin it.)
(hey, come on!)
(scratch it, carl, scratch it, baby, right over there.
Down a little lower. down a little lower!)
(saw-- tried--)
Tried peggy sue
Tried betty lou
Tried mary lou
But I knew she wouldnt do
Barbara ann, barbara ann
Take my hand
Barbara ann
Take my hand
You got me rockin and a-rollin
Rockin and a-reelin
Barbara ann ba ba
Ba barbara ann
Ba ba ba ba barbara ann
Ba ba ba ba barbara ann
Barbara ann
Take my hand
Barbara ann
You got me rockin and a-rollin
Rockin and a-reelin
Barbara ann ba ba
Ba barbara ann
Barbara ann, barbara ann
Oh, barbara ann, barbara ann
Yeah, barbara ann, barbara ann
Barbara ann, barbara ann
You got me rockin and a-rollin
Rockin and a-reelin
Barbara ann ba ba
Ba barbara ann
(lets try that again. one more.)
You got me rockin and a-rollin
Rockin and a-reelin
Barbara ann ba ba
Ba barbara ann
(ha ha. lets try it one more time.)
You got me rockin and a-rollin
Rockin and a-reelin
Barbara ann ba ba
Ba barbara ann
(lets try it once more.)
(one more time. more artistic flavor.)
One more time
You got me rockin and a-rollin
Barbara ann
Woah
You got me rockin
You got me rollin
Oh, barbara ann
(thank you very much, folks.)
(thanks, dean.)
(yeah, its not bad.)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barbara Ann
Ba ba ba, ba barbara ann,
Ba ba ba, ba barbara ann,
Barbara ann, take my hand, barbara ann
Youve got me rockin and arollin
Rockin and areelin barbara ann
I went to a dance
Looking for romance
Saw barbara ann so I thought Id take a chance
With barbara ann, barbara ann
Youve got me rockin and arollin
Rockin and areelin barbara ann
Tried mary lou,
Tried peggy sue,
Tried freddie too
But I knew she wouldnt do
Like barbara ann, barbara ann
Youve got me rockin and arollin
Rockin and areelin barbara ann
Barbara ann, barbara ann...
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barbara
Orbison/melson
1960 recorded by joe melson
Barbara, bye bye wont be coming round tonite
Why did you tell me all those lies?
Barbara, although you say youre lonely, miss me so
Oh yeah, well thats the way it goes
Barbara, how could you, what did I do wrong?
Barbara, oh would you do the same again?
Barbara, bye bye, wont be coming round tonite
Why did you tell me all those lies?
Barbara, how could you, what did I do wrong?
Barbara, oh would you do the same again?
If I come back again, barbara dont cry
Hush your lips and dry your eyes
Guess Ill come around tonite
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barbara On Your Mind
Last night you called me barbara
As you lay fast asleep
And although Im not barbara
You wanted me to be
You whispered words I havent heard
In such a long, long time
Last night you said I love you
With barbara on your mind
Sometimes I find traces of her kisses on your skin
And strands of chestnut hair
That say youve been with her again
Little traces of her that it breaks my heart to find
Last night you called me darlin
With barbara on your mind
With barbara on your mind
You held me in your arms so tight
And lying there so close to you
I cried until day light
And though you think that I dont know
Im really not that blind
Last night you said I love you
With barbara on your mind
Last night you called me darlin
With barbara on your mind
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barbara Allen's Cruelty
IN Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin',
Made every youth cry Well-a-way!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man in to her then,
To the town where she was dwellin',
'O haste and come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.'
So slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtain by--
'Young man, I think you're dyin'.'
'O it 's I am sick and very very sick,
And it 's all for Barbara Allen.'
'O the better for me ye'se never be,
Tho' your heart's blood were a-spillin'!
'O dinna ye mind, young man,' says she,
'When the red wine ye were fillin',
That ye made the healths go round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allen?'
He turn'd his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin':
'Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allen!'
As she was walking o'er the fields,
She heard the dead-bell knellin';
And every jow the dead-bell gave
Cried 'Woe to Barbara Allen.'
'O mother, mother, make my bed,
O make it saft and narrow:
My love has died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.
'Farewell,' she said, 'ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.'
Barbara's Been a Bad Girl
Barbara's been a bad girl
Someone should have said
Then taken away her candy
And sent her straight to bed
Barbara grew up with people
Who would never scold
Who were always within reach
Without even being told
She starting meeting friends
Just to keep the blues away
Soom they moved in
And were there to stay
We never really knew little Barbara
When we met she'd already been sold
To friends who didn't care
She only wanted more and not to get old
Barbara had a bad time
Always trying to get more
For Barbara's friends came in bottles
From a prescription drug store
Barbara's been a bad girl
Someone shouold have said
Then taken away her pills
And pulled her out of bed
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Barabara Ann
A Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
Oh Barbara Ann take my hand
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
Barbara Ann
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
You got me rockin' and a rollin'
Rockin' and a reelin' Barbara Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Went to a dance looking for romance
Saw Barbara Ann so I thought I'd take a chance
Barbara Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Oh Barbara Ann take my hand
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
Barbara Ann
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
You got me rockin' and a rollin'
Rockin' and a reelin' Barbara Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Say Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Oh Barbara Ann take my hand
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
Barbara Ann
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
You got me rockin' and a rollin'
Rockin' and a reelin' Barbara Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Tried Betty Lou
Danced with Peggy Sue
Tried Mary Lou
But I knew she wouldn't do
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Oh Barbara Ann take my hand
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
Barbara Ann
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
You got me rockin' and a rollin'
Rockin' and a reelin' Barbara Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Oh Barbara Ann take my hand
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
Barbara Ann
(Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann)
You got me rockin' and a rollin'
Rockin' and a reelin' Barbara Ann
Bar bar bar bar Barbar Ann
Barbar Ann
Barbar Ann
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barbara Allen's Cruelty
In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merrye month of May,
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the town, where shee was dwellin;
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovelye Barbara Allen.
Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen.
So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.
He turnd his face unto her strait,
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my death-bed lying.
If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin:
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.
He turnd his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,
Adieu to Barbara Allen.
As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.
She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:
Laye downe, laye downe the corps, she sayd,
That I may look upon him.
With scornful eye she looked downe,
Her cheeke with laughter swellin;
That all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.
When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe,
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to morrowe.
Hard harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him,
When he was live and neare me!
She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him;
And sore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him.
Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.
poem by Thomas Percy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Barbara H.
For a small girl barbara sure has got a big crush
The kind that makes you want to break stuff
And blame it on a man you dont know
She came down to new york city in a big bus
Nine hours driving and you cant just stay home
So it doesnt matter which way you go
And now all day the radios been playing the same song
Cant shake that tune but its ok
Maybe the world isnt so small
Barbara knows it doesnt matter at all
And each day barbara wakes up in a bad way
Tells me quietly she has absolutely nothing to say
But I dont seem to mind
She says she wont listen to the band play
She hates songs that never seem to go away
Now neither will mine
And now all day the radios been playing the same song
Cant shake that tune but its ok
Maybe the world isnt so small
Barbara knows it doesnt matter at all
And now all day the radios been playing the same song
Cant shake that tune but its ok
Maybe the world isnt so small
Barbara knows it doesnt matter at all
Barbara knows
Barbara knows it doesnt matter at all
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barbara Frietchie
Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,
Fair as the garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall;
Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet,
Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
'Halt!' - the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
'Fire!' - out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.
She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.
'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country's flag,' she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word;
'Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on! he said.
All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet:
All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
And the Rebel rides on his raids nor more.
Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewalls' bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!
Peace and order and beauty draw
Round they symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Barbriallen
It was in the merry month of May
When green bugs were a-swelling
Sweet William on his death bed lay
For the love of Barbriallen
He sent his servant to the town
The place where she'd been dwelling
Say master dear has sent me here
If your name be Barbriallen
And slowly, slowly she got up
And slowly she went to him
And all she said when she got there
Young man I think you are dying
Oh, don't you remember the other day
When we where in a tavern
You drank your health to the ladies there
And you slided Barbriallen
He turned his face unto the wall
He turned his back upon her
Adieu, adieu to all my friends
Be kind to Barbriallen
She looked to the east, she looked to the west
She saw his corpse a-coming
Oh, put him down for me she cried
That I may gaze upon him
The more she looked, the more she grieved
She bursted it out in crying
Oh, pick me up and carry me home
For I feel like I am dying
They buried sweet Willy in the old church yard
And Barbara in the new one
From Willy's grave there grew a rose
From Barbara's a green briar
They grew and they grew on the old church wall
And could not grow no higher
And there they tied in a true love's knot
The rose bush and the briar
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Book I: The Vision of the King
Before the gods that made the gods
Had seen their sunrise pass,
The White Horse of the White Horse Vale
Was cut out of the grass.
Before the gods that made the gods
Had drunk at dawn their fill,
The White Horse of the White Horse Vale
Was hoary on the hill.
Age beyond age on British land,
Aeons on aeons gone,
Was peace and war in western hills,
And the White Horse looked on.
For the White Horse knew England
When there was none to know;
He saw the first oar break or bend,
He saw heaven fall and the world end,
O God, how long ago.
For the end of the world was long ago,
And all we dwell to-day
As children of some second birth,
Like a strange people left on earth
After a judgment day.
For the end of the world was long ago,
When the ends of the world waxed free,
When Rome was sunk in a waste of slaves,
And the sun drowned in the sea.
When Caesar's sun fell out of the sky
And whoso hearkened right
Could only hear the plunging
Of the nations in the night.
When the ends of the earth came marching in
To torch and cresset gleam.
And the roads of the world that lead to Rome
Were filled with faces that moved like foam,
Like faces in a dream.
And men rode out of the eastern lands,
Broad river and burning plain;
Trees that are Titan flowers to see,
And tiger skies, striped horribly,
With tints of tropic rain.
Where Ind's enamelled peaks arise
Around that inmost one,
Where ancient eagles on its brink,
Vast as archangels, gather and drink
The sacrament of the sun.
And men brake out of the northern lands,
Enormous lands alone,
Where a spell is laid upon life and lust
And the rain is changed to a silver dust
And the sea to a great green stone.
And a Shape that moveth murkily
In mirrors of ice and night,
Hath blanched with fear all beasts and birds,
As death and a shock of evil words
Blast a man's hair with white.
And the cry of the palms and the purple moons,
Or the cry of the frost and foam,
Swept ever around an inmost place,
And the din of distant race on race
Cried and replied round Rome.
And there was death on the Emperor
And night upon the Pope:
And Alfred, hiding in deep grass,
Hardened his heart with hope.
A sea-folk blinder than the sea
Broke all about his land,
But Alfred up against them bare
And gripped the ground and grasped the air,
Staggered, and strove to stand.
He bent them back with spear and spade,
With desperate dyke and wall,
With foemen leaning on his shield
And roaring on him when he reeled;
And no help came at all.
He broke them with a broken sword
A little towards the sea,
And for one hour of panting peace,
Ringed with a roar that would not cease,
With golden crown and girded fleece
Made laws under a tree.
The Northmen came about our land
A Christless chivalry:
Who knew not of the arch or pen,
Great, beautiful half-witted men
From the sunrise and the sea.
Misshapen ships stood on the deep
Full of strange gold and fire,
And hairy men, as huge as sin
With horned heads, came wading in
Through the long, low sea-mire.
Our towns were shaken of tall kings
With scarlet beards like blood:
The world turned empty where they trod,
They took the kindly cross of God
And cut it up for wood.
Their souls were drifting as the sea,
And all good towns and lands
They only saw with heavy eyes,
And broke with heavy hands,
Their gods were sadder than the sea,
Gods of a wandering will,
Who cried for blood like beasts at night,
Sadly, from hill to hill.
They seemed as trees walking the earth,
As witless and as tall,
Yet they took hold upon the heavens
And no help came at all.
They bred like birds in English woods,
They rooted like the rose,
When Alfred came to Athelney
To hide him from their bows
There was not English armour left,
Nor any English thing,
When Alfred came to Athelney
To be an English king.
For earthquake swallowing earthquake
Uprent the Wessex tree;
The whirlpool of the pagan sway
Had swirled his sires as sticks away
When a flood smites the sea.
And the great kings of Wessex
Wearied and sank in gore,
And even their ghosts in that great stress
Grew greyer and greyer, less and less,
With the lords that died in Lyonesse
And the king that comes no more.
And the God of the Golden Dragon
Was dumb upon his throne,
And the lord of the Golden Dragon
Ran in the woods alone.
And if ever he climbed the crest of luck
And set the flag before,
Returning as a wheel returns,
Came ruin and the rain that burns,
And all began once more.
And naught was left King Alfred
But shameful tears of rage,
In the island in the river
In the end of all his age.
In the island in the river
He was broken to his knee:
And he read, writ with an iron pen,
That God had wearied of Wessex men
And given their country, field and fen,
To the devils of the sea.
And he saw in a little picture,
Tiny and far away,
His mother sitting in Egbert's hall,
And a book she showed him, very small,
Where a sapphire Mary sat in stall
With a golden Christ at play.
It was wrought in the monk's slow manner,
From silver and sanguine shell,
Where the scenes are little and terrible,
Keyholes of heaven and hell.
In the river island of Athelney,
With the river running past,
In colours of such simple creed
All things sprang at him, sun and weed,
Till the grass grew to be grass indeed
And the tree was a tree at last.
Fearfully plain the flowers grew,
Like the child's book to read,
Or like a friend's face seen in a glass;
He looked; and there Our Lady was,
She stood and stroked the tall live grass
As a man strokes his steed.
Her face was like an open word
When brave men speak and choose,
The very colours of her coat
Were better than good news.
She spoke not, nor turned not,
Nor any sign she cast,
Only she stood up straight and free,
Between the flowers in Athelney,
And the river running past.
One dim ancestral jewel hung
On his ruined armour grey,
He rent and cast it at her feet:
Where, after centuries, with slow feet,
Men came from hall and school and street
And found it where it lay.
"Mother of God," the wanderer said,
"I am but a common king,
Nor will I ask what saints may ask,
To see a secret thing.
"The gates of heaven are fearful gates
Worse than the gates of hell;
Not I would break the splendours barred
Or seek to know the thing they guard,
Which is too good to tell.
"But for this earth most pitiful,
This little land I know,
If that which is for ever is,
Or if our hearts shall break with bliss,
Seeing the stranger go?
"When our last bow is broken, Queen,
And our last javelin cast,
Under some sad, green evening sky,
Holding a ruined cross on high,
Under warm westland grass to lie,
Shall we come home at last?"
And a voice came human but high up,
Like a cottage climbed among
The clouds; or a serf of hut and croft
That sits by his hovel fire as oft,
But hears on his old bare roof aloft
A belfry burst in song.
"The gates of heaven are lightly locked,
We do not guard our gain,
The heaviest hind may easily
Come silently and suddenly
Upon me in a lane.
"And any little maid that walks
In good thoughts apart,
May break the guard of the Three Kings
And see the dear and dreadful things
I hid within my heart.
"The meanest man in grey fields gone
Behind the set of sun,
Heareth between star and other star,
Through the door of the darkness fallen ajar,
The council, eldest of things that are,
The talk of the Three in One.
"The gates of heaven are lightly locked,
We do not guard our gold,
Men may uproot where worlds begin,
Or read the name of the nameless sin;
But if he fail or if he win
To no good man is told.
"The men of the East may spell the stars,
And times and triumphs mark,
But the men signed of the cross of Christ
Go gaily in the dark.
"The men of the East may search the scrolls
For sure fates and fame,
But the men that drink the blood of God
Go singing to their shame.
"The wise men know what wicked things
Are written on the sky,
They trim sad lamps, they touch sad strings,
Hearing the heavy purple wings,
Where the forgotten seraph kings
Still plot how God shall die.
"The wise men know all evil things
Under the twisted trees,
Where the perverse in pleasure pine
And men are weary of green wine
And sick of crimson seas.
"But you and all the kind of Christ
Are ignorant and brave,
And you have wars you hardly win
And souls you hardly save.
"I tell you naught for your comfort,
Yea, naught for your desire,
Save that the sky grows darker yet
And the sea rises higher.
"Night shall be thrice night over you,
And heaven an iron cope.
Do you have joy without a cause,
Yea, faith without a hope?"
Even as she spoke she was not,
Nor any word said he,
He only heard, still as he stood
Under the old night's nodding hood,
The sea-folk breaking down the wood
Like a high tide from sea.
He only heard the heathen men,
Whose eyes are blue and bleak,
Singing about some cruel thing
Done by a great and smiling king
In daylight on a deck.
He only heard the heathen men,
Whose eyes are blue and blind,
Singing what shameful things are done
Between the sunlit sea and the sun
When the land is left behind.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Ballad of the White Horse (1911)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Study of Barbara
In the easy heave
and lazy reclination
of their cashmere lake,
Barbara's buoy. Yet
despite the talc
daubed on at dawn,
beneath both eyes by noon
the scar of night
burns Barbara through.
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 10: Sudden Death
'Number four—the girl who died on the table—
The girl with golden hair—'
The purpling body lies on the polished marble.
We open the throat, and lay the thyroid bare . . .
One, who held the ether-cone, remembers
Her dark blue frightened eyes.
He heard the sharp breath quiver, and saw her breast
More hurriedly fall and rise.
Her hands made futile gestures, she turned her head
Fighting for breath; her cheeks were flushed to scarlet,—
And, suddenly, she lay dead.
And all the dreams that hurried along her veins
Came to the darkness of a sudden wall.
Confusion ran among them, they whirled and clamored,
They fell, they rose, they struck, they shouted,
Till at last a pallor of silence hushed them all.
What was her name? Where had she walked that morning?
Through what dark forest came her feet?
Along what sunlit walls, what peopled street?
Backward he dreamed along a chain of days,
He saw her go her strange and secret ways,
Waking and sleeping, noon and night.
She sat by a mirror, braiding her golden hair.
She read a story by candlelight.
Her shadow ran before her along the street,
She walked with rhythmic feet,
Turned a corner, descended a stair.
She bought a paper, held it to scan the headlines,
Smiled for a moment at sea-gulls high in sunlight,
And drew deep breaths of air.
Days passed, bright clouds of days. Nights passed. And music
Murmured within the walls of lighted windows.
She lifted her face to the light and danced.
The dancers wreathed and grouped in moving patterns,
Clustered, receded, streamed, advanced.
Her dress was purple, her slippers were golden,
Her eyes were blue; and a purple orchid
Opened its golden heart on her breast . . .
She leaned to the surly languor of lazy music,
Leaned on her partner's arm to rest.
The violins were weaving a weft of silver,
The horns were weaving a lustrous brede of gold,
And time was caught in a glistening pattern,
Time, too elusive to hold . . .
Shadows of leaves fell over her face,—and sunlight:
She turned her face away.
Nearer she moved to a crouching darkness
With every step and day.
Death, who at first had thought of her only an instant,
At a great distance, across the night,
Smiled from a window upon her, and followed her slowly
From purple light to light.
Once, in her dreams, he spoke out clearly, crying,
'I am the murderer, death.
I am the lover who keeps his appointment
At the doors of breath!'
She rose and stared at her own reflection,
Half dreading there to find
The dark-eyed ghost, waiting beside her,
Or reaching from behind
To lay pale hands upon her shoulders . . .
Or was this in her mind? . . .
She combed her hair. The sunlight glimmered
Along the tossing strands.
Was there a stillness in this hair,—
A quiet in these hands?
Death was a dream. It could not change these eyes,
Blow out their light, or turn this mouth to dust.
She combed her hair and sang. She would live forever.
Leaves flew past her window along a gust . . .
And graves were dug in the earth, and coffins passed,
And music ebbed with the ebbing hours.
And dreams went along her veins, and scattering clouds
Threw streaming shadows on walls and towers.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Help me...
I am tired of knocking the windows and the doors,
Using my mighty limbs and legs and feeling the sadness,
At my heart, pushing the window as hard as I can,
People never hear my calling as they dip in their own,
Problems of puzzles that they have and I do not want to give up,
As I want to go out, then a hand pulled the knob to open up,
The closed window for me to fly out,
I am a butterfly, whose home is not a house.
I am lost in a house and trying to escape,
Just like this butterfly, we knock the same windows,
When we are clouded with worries and sorrows,
Not knowing that we need a hand to free us,
Banging again and again on the same window,
Blindly wishing for the window to be permeable,
Not knowing the needed help is available,
when the emotion is lost and the love is expired,
opportunities are erased and scarcity is established,
We do behave like this butterfly,
thinking the wrong as the right way.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fear
A lantern light from deeper in the barn
Shone on a man and woman in the door
And threw their lurching shadows on a house
Near by, all dark in every glossy window.
A horse's hoof pawed once the hollow floor,
And the back of the gig they stood beside
Moved in a little. The man grasped a wheel,
The woman spoke out sharply, 'Whoa, stand still!'
'I saw it just as plain as a white plate,'
She said, 'as the light on the dashboard ran
Along the bushes at the roadside-a man's face.
You must have seen it too.'
'I didn't see it.
Are you sure--'
'Yes, I'm sure!'
'-it was a face?'
'Joel, I'll have to look. I can't go in,
I can't, and leave a thing like that unsettled.
Doors locked and curtains drawn will make no difference.
I always have felt strange when we came home
To the dark house after so long an absence,
And the key rattled loudly into place
Seemed to warn someone to be getting out
At one door as we entered at another.
What if I'm right, and someone all the time-
Don't hold my arm!'
'I say it's someone passing.'
'You speak as if this were a travelled road.
You forget where we are. What is beyond
That he'd be going to or coming from
At such an hour of night, and on foot too.
What was he standing still for in the bushes?'
'It's not so very late-it's only dark.
There's more in it than you're inclined to say.
Did he look like--?'
'He looked like anyone.
I'll never rest to-night unless I know.
Give me the lantern.'
'You don't want the lantern.'
She pushed past him and got it for herself.
'You're not to come,' she said. 'This is my business.
If the time's come to face it, I'm the one
To put it the right way. He'd never dare-
Listen! He kicked a stone. Hear that, hear that!
He's coming towards us. Joel, go in-please.
Hark!-I don't hear him now. But please go in.'
'In the first place you can't make me believe it's--'
'It is-or someone else he's sent to watch.
And now's the time to have it out with him
While we know definitely where he is.
Let him get off and he'll be everywhere
Around us, looking out of trees and bushes
Till I sha'n't dare to set a foot outdoors.
And I can't stand it. Joel, let me go!'
'But it's nonsense to think he'd care enough.'
'You mean you couldn't understand his caring.
Oh, but you see he hadn't had enough-
Joel, I won't-I won't-I promise you.
We mustn't say hard things. You mustn't either.'
'I'll be the one, if anybody goes!
But you give him the advantage with this light.
What couldn't he do to us standing here!
And if to see was what he wanted, why
He has seen all there was to see and gone.'
He appeared to forget to keep his hold,
But advanced with her as she crossed the grass.
'What do you want?' she cried to all the dark.
She stretched up tall to overlook the light
That hung in both hands hot against her skirt.
'There's no one; so you're wrong,' he said.
'There is.-
What do you want?' she cried, and then herself
Was startled when an answer really came.
'Nothing.' It came from well along the road.
She reached a hand to Joel for support:
The smell of scorching woollen made her faint.
'What are you doing round this house at night?'
'Nothing.' A pause: there seemed no more to say.
And then the voice again: 'You seem afraid.
I saw by the way you whipped up the horse.
I'll just come forward in the lantern light
And let you see.'
'Yes, do.-Joel, go back!'
She stood her ground against the noisy steps
That came on, but her body rocked a little.
'You see,' the voice said.
'Oh.' She looked and looked.
'You don't see-I've a child here by the hand.'
'What's a child doing at this time of night--?'
'Out walking. Every child should have the memory
Of at least one long-after-bedtime walk.
What, son?'
'Then I should think you'd try to find
Somewhere to walk--'
'The highway as it happens-
We're stopping for the fortnight down at Dean's.'
'But if that's all-Joel-you realize-
You won't think anything. You understand?
You understand that we have to be careful.
This is a very, very lonely place.
Joel!' She spoke as if she couldn't turn.
The swinging lantern lengthened to the ground,
It touched, it struck it, clattered and went out.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cornelia
I am a massive fan of the actress, Cornelia Frances;
Any TV or theatre show, her presence really enhances.
Since I was fourteen, of hers, I’ve been a very big fan;
To watch her on TV, home, from school, I quickly ran.
In ‘The Young Doctors’, she played the fiery Sister Scott;
Viewers loved her, but her on-screen nursing staff did not!
She ruled the hospital wards with a cast iron fist;
There wasn’t a single trick that she ever missed!
But, through it all, she struck me as a very warm person;
Someone so very different, from her on-screen version.
When I’ve seen her interviewed, as herself, on TV,
She’s exactly the sort of person, I imagined she’d be.
The next Australian TV series, in which I caught her,
Was as Barbara, in the soap opera ‘Sons and Daughters.’
From this, there were many memorable scenes for me,
Especially those ones involving Barbara’s mother, Dee.
As Barbara, she was, yet again, a lady who was very strong;
Someone who would cope, even when things went very wrong.
To those Barbara liked, she would always extend a warm hand,
But, equally, she was very derisive, to those she couldn’t stand.
When any visitors turned up at the Hamilton household,
They received a welcome, which was either warm or cold.
At people, who she hated, she would stand, and coldly glare,
But with people she liked, she’d wrap her arm around theirs.
The people, who she liked, she would very warmly receive,
But the ones, she hated, she very bluntly asked to leave.
With husband, Gordon, Barbara had a very close bond;
Of each other, they always appeared to be so very fond.
For many years, she’s played Morag in ‘Home and Away’;
She keeps coming and going, but I wish she would stay!
Morag is a top judge, at the local criminal justice court,
So, it’s no surprise to learn, she’s the ‘tough-cookie’ sort.
Cornelia has always had such very expressive eyes,
And she strikes me as someone, who is also very wise.
When she’s with others, I notice every little hug; every little touch;
Her obvious warmth is one of the reasons, why I like her so much.
She’s nearly thirty years older than me: old enough to be my mum!
I’ve heard she has a really great sense of humour, and is great fun.
I can imagine that she’s like a mother to younger members of cast;
That they shared many wonderful times, and had a right old blast!
To meet Cornelia in person, is something which I’d really love to do,
And, for me, it really would be one of my biggest dreams come true.
I can imagine that I’d feel pretty nervous, and feel really rather shy,
But, I hope that I’d be brave enough, to approach her and say ‘hi! ’
Many years ago, in Westcliff-On-Sea, she was in panto,
But I lacked confidence back then, and so I didn’t go.
I really do greatly regret not going to see her now,
And really wish that I could put that right somehow.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Well, she managed to - Barbara was capable of doing practically anything if she set her mind to it. In retrospect, I'm not surprised that Barbara managed to get collect calls through.
The House Of Dust: Part 02: 02: The Fulfilled Dream
More towers must yet be built—more towers destroyed—
Great rocks hoisted in air;
And he must seek his bread in high pale sunlight
With gulls about him, and clouds just over his eyes . . .
And so he did not mention his dream of falling
But drank his coffee in silence, and heard in his ears
That horrible whistle of wind, and felt his breath
Sucked out of him, and saw the tower flash by
And the small tree swell beneath him . . .
He patted his boy on the head, and kissed his wife,
Looked quickly around the room, to remember it,—
And so went out . . . For once, he forgot his pail.
Something had changed—but it was not the street—
The street was just the same—it was himself.
Puddles flashed in the sun. In the pawn-shop door
The same old black cat winked green amber eyes;
The butcher stood by his window tying his apron;
The same men walked beside him, smoking pipes,
Reading the morning paper . . .
He would not yield, he thought, and walk more slowly,
As if he knew for certain he walked to death:
But with his usual pace,—deliberate, firm,
Looking about him calmly, watching the world,
Taking his ease . . . Yet, when he thought again
Of the same dream, now dreamed three separate times,
Always the same, and heard that whistling wind,
And saw the windows flashing upward past him,—
He slowed his pace a little, and thought with horror
How monstrously that small tree thrust to meet him! . . .
He slowed his pace a little and remembered his wife.
Was forty, then, too old for work like this?
Why should it be? He'd never been afraid—
His eye was sure, his hand was steady . . .
But dreams had meanings.
He walked more slowly, and looked along the roofs,
All built by men, and saw the pale blue sky;
And suddenly he was dizzy with looking at it,
It seemed to whirl and swim,
It seemed the color of terror, of speed, of death . . .
He lowered his eyes to the stones, he walked more slowly;
His thoughts were blown and scattered like leaves;
He thought of the pail . . . Why, then, was it forgotten?
Because he would not need it?
Then, just as he was grouping his thoughts again
About that drug-store corner, under an arc-lamp,
Where first he met the girl whom he would marry,—
That blue-eyed innocent girl, in a soft blouse,—
He waved his hand for signal, and up he went
In the dusty chute that hugged the wall;
Above the tree; from girdered floor to floor;
Above the flattening roofs, until the sea
Lay wide and waved before him . . . And then he stepped
Giddily out, from that security,
To the red rib of iron against the sky,
And walked along it, feeling it sing and tremble;
And looking down one instant, saw the tree
Just as he dreamed it was; and looked away,
And up again, feeling his blood go wild.
He gave the signal; the long girder swung
Closer to him, dropped clanging into place,
Almost pushing him off. Pneumatic hammers
Began their madhouse clatter, the white-hot rivets
Were tossed from below and deftly caught in pails;
He signalled again, and wiped his mouth, and thought
A place so high in the air should be more quiet.
The tree, far down below, teased at his eyes,
Teased at the corners of them, until he looked,
And felt his body go suddenly small and light;
Felt his brain float off like a dwindling vapor;
And heard a whistle of wind, and saw a tree
Come plunging up to him, and thought to himself,
'By God—I'm done for now, the dream was right . . .'
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart Of Stone
A broken wing, and a broken bone
Of a bird, that met a stone
Lied helpless And was bit despair
Looked above If god was there.
Short of food And short of breath
Was silently waiting For his death
Asked his wings If they could fly.
Yes they said why don't you try
He gathered his strength and wiped his tears.
And soon he stood Without his fears
His eyes stared at the Dark blue sky
But just then when he was about to fly
they grabbed his neck they grabbed it hard
with all his strength he could move a yard
and yes those hands did hurt his bone
he had met a heart of stone
some ugly hands and a beautiful bird.
He cried for help But no one heard.
His wings were flawed And his muscles were stiff.
He begged them to throw him off a cliff
oh dumb bird, don't you get,
look at you, it's a stone you met.
To this, the half dead bird replied
So what, if I die
Just for once I ll meet the air.
And also see if god was there.
Stories of wisdom, that were once told
But now this world had been so cold.
He wished if those blind eyes could see.
The bird was dead though his soul was free.
poem by Kanav Justa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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