En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Cab Lamps

The crescent moon and clock tower are fair above the wall
Across the smothered lanes of ’Loo, the stifled vice and all,
And in the shadow yonder—like cats that wait for scraps—
The crowding cabs seem waiting—for you and me, perhaps.

The cab lamps are watching as they watched for you and me,
The cab lamps are a-watching and they watch unblinkingly.
The sea breeze in Macleay Street and star-angels over all,
But the slinking cabs of darkness keep their watch beside the wall.

Oh! the years we slipped like months—and the months like a day—
When our cabs slid from the stand—touched the kerb and sped away—
Oh! the cloak on girlish shoulders—Oh! the theatres and light!
And the private rooms and supper that were all in a night!

Oh! the rickshaw in Colombo! And the flat that no one knew,
Where the cab lamps watched Haymarket—London cabs for me and you.
Oh! the gay run “Home” by Paris when the world was ours to play
And the wild run back by Frisco that seems all in a day.

Oh! the cab lamps and rose curtains, when the lie called love seemed true,
While an honest wife and husband suffered by the lanes of ’Loo.
Oh! the health and strength and beauty and the money with its power—
And those two good lives we ruined that was all in an hour.

But the night policeman’s coming with a sharp suspicious eye,
And he’d shift us “quick and lively” to the sweet by and by.
So we’ll seek our frowsy bedroom, if the old hag lets us through—
Where our folks died broken-hearted in the cruel lanes of ’Loo.

The cab lamps are watching as they watched across the sea,
The cab lamps are watching, and they watch for you and me.
For you and me they waited, when the thing called love seemed true,
But the bull’s-eye of our midnight must not flash on me—and you.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M.

They have watered the street,
It shines in the glare of lamps,
Cold, white lamps,
And lies
Like a slow-moving river,
Barred with silver and black.
Cabs go down it,
One,
And then another,
Between them I hear the shuffling of feet.
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks.
The city is squalid and sinister,
With the silver-barred street in the midst,
Slow-moving,
A river leading nowhere.

Opposite my window,
The moon cuts,
Clear and round,
Through the plum-coloured night.
She cannot light the city:
It is too bright.
It has white lamps,
And glitters coldly.

I stand in the window and watch the
moon.
She is thin and lustreless,
But I love her.
I know the moon,
And this is an alien city.

poem by Amy Lowell
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Impression de Nuit ( London )

See what a mass of gems the city wears
Upon her broad live bosom! row on row
Rubies and emeralds and amethysts glow.
See! that huge circle like a necklace, stares
With thousands of bold eyes to heaven, and dares
The golden stars to dim the lamps below,
And in the mirror of the mire I know
The moon has left her image unawares.

That's the great town at night: I see her breasts,
Pricked out with lamps they stand like huge black towers.
I think they move! I hear her panting breath.
And that's her head where the tiara rests.
And in her brain, through lanes as dark as death,
Men creep like thoughts...The lamps are like pale flowers

poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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5. Cobbles Tales

Cobbled streets and carriage wheels
Black handsome cabs for hire
Market traders making deals
Beside the watch mans fire

Rats and urchins fight for scraps
Along the cobbles edge
A monkey dancing gets some claps
Whilst eating rotten veg

A beggar sitting in his rags
With crutch and patch on eye
Asks gentle folk who carry bags
For coin as they pass by

Darkness fall’s the gas lamps lit
They cast a subdued glow
The peelers watch with trungeon drawn
For all the thieves they know

If the cobbles tale’s could tell
Of passer’s by who frown
I’m sure we’d have a real account
For our dear old London town

poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Rays are not barred

You are beyond the reach.
I am behind the ditch.
Can we shake hands?

You are upon a tower.
I am on the floor.
Can we hear words?

You are in, door shut.
I am out, in wait.
Can we cross our glances?

You are in a cave.
A new moon night.
Can I search for you?

You are ashore.
I am with no oar.
Can I sail to you?

We are lamps, burning.
Lamps kept apart.
Their rays are yet meeting.

We are not separated
Our union is absolute.
Barrier has no fence.
5.11.2000, Pmdi

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Lamp-lighting By Nurses

By lamps, you light although daylight,
You light the world of darkened lives
Of ailing patients and dying,
Giving them hope of life quite bright!

The lamps you hold by hand today
Affirm your wish to toil always,
Relieving pain and sufferings
Of sick, diseased brethren all day!

Like ‘Lady with the lamp’ you show
Your heart has love and compassion
For mankind sick and afflicted;
To God, the Healer, you thus bow!

The lamps will show the world around
That nurses are a noble lot
Who sacrifice their lives and time
To make everybody’s health sound!

May nurses fill the world with cheer!
Like Nightingale, serve sick always;
Your work is more than gold, aye, dear!
Be bold but kind to human race!

Fondly dedicated to the ‘I Batch’
Of IRT SON students and staff

poem by John Celes
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The Festival Of Lights

Rows of lamps lit up the place.
My home was also covered with lights.
You feared the darkness leaving a trace...
Few candles at the gate would make it right!

Set out for lamps to meet the need of your eyes,
I walked through a world of darker night;
Where amidst noise, the plea of silence had to die
And starved faces with trembling hands stood upright.

While lighting up the facade, we remained unaware
About the darkness within, we didn't care.

poem by Kingshuk Chakraborty
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I'm Watching You (A Mutant Romance)

Well it's ten o'clock
Jewel Jewel, and it's time to see you
Scan around the block
Oh, you Jewel in the monitor screen
I can usually find you near 42nd and 8th
A whore in a doorway (yeah)
I think I've found you Jewel, wit my T.V. beam
You know it's funny, the light in the night,
does something to your face
And the way you look, reminds me of a girl I used to want
in Junior High
The smile on your lips, and the shape of your hips,
excites me, and it makes me want to touch you
You're a whore for sure, but that's O.K.
Because I'm nothing, just another dirty spy with a T.V. eye
I can't stand it when you find a man, I wonder what he's sayin'
Does he tell you about his wife and kids at home?
Is he like me?
The one whose watching you in the night, in the night
Watching you in the night, in the night, in the night
Well you're back on the street, and I can love you
As a man can love a woman
and you know I'm here, but you think of me as a steel
machine
But, I'm watching you, all night
And, I'm watching you, all night long
I'm watching you, all night
I'm watching you, all night long
I'm watching you, all night ........

song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Watching You

Well it's ten o'clock
Jewel jewel, and it's time to see you
Scan around the block
Oh, you jewel in the monitor screen
I can usually find you near 42nd and 8th
A whore in a doorway (yeah)
I think i've found you jewel, wit my t.v. beam
You know it's funny, the light in the night,
Does something to your face
And the way you look, reminds me of a girl i used to want
In junior high
The smile on your lips, and the shape of your hips,
Excites me, and it makes me want to touch you
You're a whore for sure, but that's o.k.
Because i'm nothing, just another dirty spy with a t.v. eye
I can't stand it when you find a man, i wonder what he's sayin'
Does he tell you about his wife and kids at home?
Is he like me?
The one whose watching you in the night, in the night
Watching you in the night, in the night, in the night
Well you're back on the street, and i can love you
As a man can love a woman
And you know i'm here, but you think of me as a steel
Machine
But, i'm watching you, all night
And, i'm watching you, all night long
I'm watching you, all night
I'm watching you, all night long
I'm watching you, all night ........

song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watching Me Fall

I've been watching me fall for it seems like years
Watching me grow small, i watch me disappear
Slipping out my ordinary world, out my ordinary eyes
Yeah slipping out the ordinary me into someone else's life
Into someone else's life...
There's a thin white cold new moon and the snow is coming down
And the neon bright tokyo lights flicker through the crowd
I've been drifting around for hours and i'm lost and i'm tired
When a whisper in my ear insatiable breathes
"why don't you follow me inside?..."
Yeah the room is small, the room is bright
Her hair is black, the bed is white
And the night is always young
Is always young... always young
The night is always young...
Yeah i've been seeing them strip to the bone in the mirror on the wall
Seeing her swallow him whole like it's not me at all
She holds out her hands and i follow her down to my knees
And the sucking inside insatiable smiles
"you will forget yourself in me..."
Yeah the room is small, the room is bright
Her eyes are black, the bed is white
And the night is always young
And the night goes on and on
And the night is always young
And the night is never over and over and over and over and over...
And this it's gone
And this it's gone
Yeah then it's gone
Yeah it's a cruel mean cold new day and outside the snow is still coming down
And in the blood red tokyo bed i watch me coming round
She pulled him down for hours
Deeper than i've ever been
And as i fall in the mirror on the wall
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
Yeah i've been watching me go for it must be years
Watching me get slow, i watch me disappear
And one day, yeah i know, i won't come back at all...
And always over and over in his ordinary eyes
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watching Me Watching You

I sit by the cutting on the beaconsfield line.
Hes watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
At the cocktail party with a bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by.
And they move so smooth without even trying.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesnt speak.
I have to look the other way.
But curiosity gets the better part of me and I peek:
Got two drinks in his hand --- see his lips move ---
What the hells he trying to say.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching
The trains go by.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me watching him watching.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Watch on the Kerb

Night-Lights are falling;
Girl of the street,
Go to your calling
If you would eat.
Lamplight and starlight
And moonlight superb,
Bright hope is a farlight,
So watch on the kerb.
Watch on the kerb,
Watch on the kerb;
Hope is a farlight;
Then watch on the kerb.

Comes a man: call him —
Gone! he is vext;
Curses befall him,
Wait for the next!
Fair world and bright world,
Life still is sweet —
Girl of the night-world,
Watch on the street.

Dreary the watch is:
Moon sinks from sight,
Gas only blotches
Darkness with light;
Never, Oh, never
Let courage go down;
Keep from the river,
Oh, Girl of the Town!

poem by Henry Lawson
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Advent

This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year
And still their flame is strong.
'Watchman, what of the night?' we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred:
'No speaking signs are in the sky,'
Is still the watchman's word.

The Porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
The prize is slow to win.
'Watchman, what of the night?' But still
His answer sounds the same:
'No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame.'

One to another hear them speak
The patient virgins wise:
'Surely He is not far to seek'—
'All night we watch and rise.'
'The days are evil looking back,
The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
But watch and wait for Him.'

One with another, soul with soul,
They kindle fire from fire:
'Friends watch us who have touched the goal.'
'They urge us, come up higher.'
'With them shall rest our waysore feet,
With them is built our home,
With Christ.'—'They sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb.'

There no more parting, no more pain,
The distant ones brought near,
The lost so long are found again,
Long lost but longer dear:
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived that rest,
With them our good things long deferred,
With Jesus Christ our Best.

We weep because the night is long,
We laugh for day shall rise,
We sing a slow contented song
And knock at Paradise.
Weeping we hold Him fast, Who wept
For us, we hold Him fast;
And will not let Him go except
He bless us first or last.

Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go
Till daybreak smite our wearied sight
And summer smite the snow:
Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say, 'Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away.'

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Summer Song

THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!

There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Brooding Grief

A yellow leaf from the darkness
Hops like a frog before me.
Why should I start and stand still?

I was watching the woman that bore me
Stretched in the brindled darkness
Of the sick-room, rigid with will
To die: and the quick leaf tore me
Back to this rainy swill
Of leaves and lamps and traffic mingled before me.

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Fragment: Satan Broken Loose

A golden-winged Angel stood
Before the Eternal Judgement-seat:
His looks were wild, and Devils' blood
Stained his dainty hands and feet.
The Father and the Son
Knew that strife was now begun.
They knew that Satan had broken his chain,
And with millions of daemons in his train,
Was ranging over the world again.
Before the Angel had told his tale,
A sweet and a creeping sound
Like the rushing of wings was heard around;
And suddenly the lamps grew pale--
The lamps, before the Archangels seven,
That burn continually in Heaven.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Within my own life, I read all the beloved novels by lamps of vegetable oil; I saw the Standard Oil invading my own village, I saw gas lamps in the Chinese shops in Shanghai; and I saw their elimination by electric lights.

quote by Hu Shih
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 11

As I walked through the lamplit gardens,
On the thin white crust of snow,
So intensely was I thinking of my misfortune,
So clearly were my eyes fixed
On the face of this grief which has come to me,
That I did not notice the beautiful pale colouring
Of lamplight on the snow;
Nor the interlaced long blue shadows of trees;
And yet these things were there,
And the white lamps, and the orange lamps, and the lamps of lilac were there,
As I have seen them so often before;
As they will be so often again
Long after my grief is forgotten.
And still, though I know this, and say this, it cannot console me.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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4. The Watchers

Who’s watching the watchers?
Who watch all we do
Or are they not watched?
I haven’t a clue

They watch all our calls
And check household bills
Watch what we’re spending
By what’s on the tills

The watchers have cameras
To watch while we’re shopping
Then monitor movement
When traffic starts stopping

Who’s watching the watchers?
I haven’t a clue
When they’ve finished watching
Then what do they do?

poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Angels

Take this man to prison, the man heard herod say,
And then four squads of soldiers came and carried him away.
Chained up between two watchmen, peter tried to sleep,
But beyond the walls an endless prayer was lifting for his keep.
Then a light cut through the darkness of a lonely prison cell,
And the chains that bound the man of God just opened up and fell,
And running to his people before the break of day,
There was only one thing on his mind, only one thing to say:
Angels watching over me, every move I make,
Angels watching over me!
Angels watching over me, every step I take,
Angels watching over me!
God only knows the times my life was threatened just today.
A reckless car ran out of gas before it ran my way.
Near misses all around me, accidents unknown,
Though I never see with human eyes the hands that lead me home.
But I know theyre all around me all day and through the night.
When the enemy is closing in, I know sometimes they fight
To keep my fight from falling, Ill never turn away.
If youre asking whats protecting me then youre gonna hear me say:
Got his angels watching over me, every move I make,
Angles watching over me!
Angels watching over me, every step I take,
Angels watching over me....
Angels watching over me....
Angels watching over me.
Got his angels watching over me, every move I make,
Angels watching over me!
Angels watching over me, every step I take,
Angels watching over me!
Angels watching over me,
Angels watching over me,
Angels watching over me,
Angels watching over me!
Though I never see with human eyes the hands that lead me home....

song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Macleay Street and Red Rock Lane

Macleay Street looks to Mosman,
Across the other side,
With brave asphalted pavements
And roadway clean and wide.
Macleay Street hath its mansions,
Its grounds and greenery;
Macleay Street hath its terraces
As terraces should be.

Red Rock Lane looks to nowhere,
With pockets into hell;
Red Rock Lane is a horror
Of heat and dirt and smell.
Red Rock Lane hath its brothels,
Of houses one in three;
Red Rock Lane hath its corner pubs
As fourth-rate pubs should be.

Macleay Street, cool and quiet,
Is marked off from the town,
And standing in the centre
The tall arc lamps look down.
The jealous closed cabs vanish
That stole from out the row,
Fair women stroll bareheaded,
And theatre parties go.

Red Rock Lane, hot with riot,
Hides things that none should know;
The furtive couples vanish
Through doorways dark and low.
Lust, thievery, drink and madness
In one infernal stew—
And Mrs Johnson, raving,
Walks out—bareheaded too.

Macleay Street hath its swindles,
But on a public scale;
Macleay Street hath its razzles
Until the night grows pale.
Macleay Street hath its scandals,
But—only this is plain,
That nothing is a scandal
Down there in Red Rock Lane.

Macleay Street looks to Mosman
In morning’s rosy glow,
And freshly to the city
The summer-suited go
While wild-eyed, foul and shaking,
Red Rock Lane wakes again.
This morning at the Central
They’re fining Red Rock Lane.

The Central says “the risin’”,
“Seven days”, or what you will;
Macleay Street says, “Drive slowly”
When any one is ill.
The law sends Black Maria
When Red Rock Lane is dead.
But doctors come in motor cars
When Macleay Street’s got a head.

The grey-faced, weedy parents
Sunk in Red Rock Lane holes—
They worry, pinch, and perish
To save their children’s souls.
The fairy of Macleay Street
Shall never soil her hands—
Her Pa is independent,
Or high up in “the Lands”.

And—well, there seems no moral,
And nothing more to tell,
But because of that fierce sympathy
Of souls to souls in hell;
And because of that wild kindness
To souls in sordid pain,
My soul I’d rather venture
With some in Red Rock Lane.

poem by Henry Lawson
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