To Whom?
Awake upon a couch of pain,
I see a star betwixt the trees;
Across yon darkening field of cane,
Comes slow and soft the evening breeze.
My curtain's folds are faintly stirred;
And moving lightly in her rest,
I hear the chirrup of a bird,
That dreameth in some neighboring nest.
Last night I took no note of these --
How it was passed I scarce can say;
'T was not in prayers to Heaven for ease,
'T was not in wishes for the day.
Impatient tears, and passionate sighs,
Touched as with fire the pulse of pain, --
I cursed, and cursed the wildering eyes
That burned this fever in my brain.
Oh! blessings on the quiet hour!
My thoughts in calmer current flow;
She is not conscious of her power,
And hath no knowledge of my woe.
Perhaps, if like yon peaceful star,
She looked upon my burning brow,
She would not pity from afar,
But kiss me as the breeze does now.
poem by Henry Timrod
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Warm Summer Breeze
The trees whisper in the breeze
The forest peaceful, quiet, and serene.
The warm breeze like a soft caress,
Momentarily eliminating all stress.
Without delay it carries on
Leaving the place in silence when it's gone.
A summer day, a summer breeze,
Softly whispered through the trees.
The summer breeze, softly it comes,
Quickly it leaves,
Causing soft whispers in the trees.
It came and soon left, a warm summer breeze.
poem by Theo Townend
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Morning Star
IN the black pool of the midnight Lu has slung the morning star,
And its foam in rippling silver whitens into day afar
Falling on the mountain rampart piled with pearl above our glen,
Only you and I, beloved, moving in the fields of men.
In the dark tarn of my spirit, love, the morning star, is lit;
And its halo, ever brightening, lightens into dawn in it.
Love, a pearl-grey dawn in darkness, breathing peace without desire;
But I fain would shun the burning terrors of the mid-day fire.
Through the faint and tender airs of twilight star on star may gaze,
But the eyes of light are blinded in the white flame of the days,
From the heat that melts together oft a rarer essence slips,
And our hearts may still be parted in the meeting of the lips.
What a darkness would I gaze on when the day had passed the west,
If my eyes were dazed and blinded by the whiteness of a breast?
Never through the diamond darkness could I hope to see afar
Where beyond the pearly rampart burned the purer evening star.
poem by George William Russell
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Sweet Evening Breeze
I was loud and a little sad
She was visiting from atlanta, georgia
She had come to spend the summer with her dad
I thought she was very pretty
We would kiss and hold hands
Every night by the football field
Her body was tan
From the afternoons by the public swimming pool
Chorus:
Sweet evening breeze
Blows around my thoughts and memories
As I lie here today
And drink my tea
I can still see
Sweet evening breeze
I saw her in a coffee shop
In a big hotel down in austin, texas
She had cut her long hair off
And replaced it with
Blue eyes of sadness
Still acted like we were kids
And she told me that she had to marry
And she asked me if I did
Still remember
Chorus:
Sweet evening breeze
Blows around my thoughts and memories
As I lie here today
And drink my tea
I can still see
Sweet evening breeze
How redundant the future can be
These days of old are very, very
Ridiculous for me to see
When I think about the real gone stories
And how time holds the winning hand
I can tell by the lines on our faces
And the young cant understand
That they look at me
When they look at themselves
Chorus:
Oh, sweet evening breeze
Blows around my thoughts and memories
As I lie here today
And drink my tea
I can still see
Sweet evening breeze
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song
WE sail toward evening’s lonely star
That trembles in the tender blue;
One single cloud, a dusky bar,
Burnt with dull carmine through and through,
Slow smouldering in the summer sky,
Lies low along the fading west.
How sweet to watch its splendors die,
Wave-cradled thus and wind-caressed!
The soft breeze freshens, leaps the spray
To kiss our cheeks, with sudden cheer;
Upon the dark edge of the bay
Lighthouses kindle, far and near,
And through the warm deeps of the sky
Steal faint star-clusters, while we rest
In deep refreshment, thou and I,
Wave-cradled thus and wind-caressed.
How like a dream are earth and heaven,
Star-beam and darkness, sky and sea;
Thy face, pale in the shadowy even,
Thy quiet eyes that gaze on me!
O realize the moment’s charm,
Thou dearest! we are at life’s best,
Folded in God’s encircling arm,
Wave-cradled thus and wind-caressed.
poem by Celia Thaxter
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So Quiet In Here
Foghorns blowing in the night
Salt sea air in the morning breeze
Driving cars all along the coastline
This must be what its all about
Oh this must be what its all about
This must be what paradise is like
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
The warm look of radiance on your face
And your heart beating close to mine
And the evening fading in the candle glow
This must be what its all about
Oh this must be what its all about
This must be what paradise is like
So quiet in here. so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, yeah, so peaceful in here
All my struggling in the world
And so many dreams that dont come true
Step back, put it all away
It dont matter, it dont matter anymore
Oh this must be what paradise is like
This must be what paradise is like
Its so quiet in here, so peaceful in here
Its so quiet in here, so peaceful in here
A glass of wine with some friends
Talking into the wee hours of the dawn
Sit back and relax your mind
This must be, this must be, what its all about
This must be what paradise is like
Oh this must be what paradise is like
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
Big ships out in the night
And were floating across the waves
Sailing for some other shore
Where we can be what we wanna be
Oh this must be what paradise is like
This must be what paradise is like
Baby its so quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, you can hear, its so quiet
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evening
OH ! soothing hour, when glowing day,
Low in the western wave declines,
And village murmurs die away,
And bright the vesper planet shines;
I love to hear the gale of Even
Breathing along the new-leaf'd copse,
And feel the freshening dew of Heaven,
Fall silently in limpid drops.
For, like a friend's consoling sighs,
That breeze of night to me appears;
And, as soft dew from Pity's eyes,
Descend those pure celestial tears.
Alas ! for those who long have borne,
Like me, a heart by sorrow riven,
Who, but the plaintive winds, will mourn,
What tears will fall, but those of Heaven ?
poem by Charlotte Smith
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An Evening Thought
WRITTEN AT SEA
IF sometimes in the dark blue eye,
Or in the deep red wine,
Or soothed by gentlest melody,
Still warms this heart of mine,
Yet something colder in the blood,
And calmer in the brain,
Have whispered that my youth's bright flood
Ebbs, not to flow again.
If by Helvetia's azure lake,
Or Arno's yellow stream,
Each star of memory could awake,
As in my first young dream,
I know that when mine eye shall greet
The hillsides bleak and bare,
That gird my home, it will not meet
My childhood's sunsets there.
Oh, when love's first, sweet, stolen kiss
Burned on my boyish brow,
Was that young forehead worn as this?
Was that flushed cheek as now?
Were that wild pulse and throbbing heart
Like these, which vainly strive,
In thankless strains of soulless art,
To dream themselves alive?
Alas! the morning dew is gone,
Gone ere the full of day;
Life's iron fetter still is on,
Its wreaths all torn away;
Happy if still some casual hour
Can warm the fading shrine,
Too soon to chill beyond the power
Of love, or song, or wine!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Spring Evening Chant
Let the breeze blow,
Let the river flow,
In the spring evening
Let the moon come slow.
The music of the fallen leaves around
Or when they rolling on the forest ground,
Does it remind you the song
I've sung in a whispering sound?
The bird comes back to its nest,
And the sun sets down in the west,
The wrapper of the sky is disappeared,
Still I find in my mind unrest.
Let the breeze blow inside our mind's hollow,
Let the river flow and carry our heart's sorrow,
In the spring evening
Let the moon pass its way slow.
poem by Riffat Samad
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The Nightingale
WHEN twilight's grey and pensive hour
Brings the low breeze, and shuts the flower,
And bids the solitary star
Shine in pale beauty from afar;
When gathering shades the landscape veil,
And peasants seek their village-dale,
And mists from river-wave arise,
And dew in every blossom lies;
When evening's primrose opes, to shed
Soft fragrance round her grassy bed;
When glow-worms in the wood-walk light
Their lamp, to cheer the traveller's sight;
At that calm hour, so still, so pale,
Awakes the lonely Nightingale;
And from a hermitage of shade
Fills with her voice the forest-glade.
And sweeter far that melting voice,
Than all which through the day rejoice;
And still shall bard and wanderer love
The twilight music of the grove.
Father in Heaven! oh! thus when day
With all its cares hath passed away,
And silent hours waft peace on earth,
And hush the louder strains of mirth;
Thus may sweet songs of praise and prayer
To Thee my spirit's offering bear;
Yon star, my signal, set on high,
For vesper-hymns of piety.
So may thy mercy and thy power
Protect me through the midnight hour;
And balmy sleep and visions blest
Smile on thy servant's bed of rest.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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At William Maclennan's Grave
Here where the cypress tall
Shadows the stucco wall,
Bronze and deep,
Where the chrysanthemums blow,
And the roses--blood and snow--
He lies asleep.
Florence dreameth afar;
Memories of foray and war,
Murmur still;
The Certosa crowns with a cold
Cloud of snow and gold
The olive hill.
What has he now for the streams
Born sweet and deep with dreams
From the cedar meres?
Only the Arno's flow,
Turbid, and weary, and slow
With wrath and tears.
What has he now for the song
Of the boatmen, joyous and long,
Where the rapids shine?
Only the sound of toil,
Where the peasants press the soil
For the oil and wine.
Spirit-fellow in sooth
With bold La Salle and Duluth,
And La Vérandrye,--
Nothing he has but rest,
Deep in his cypress nest
With memory.
Hearts of steel and of fire,
Why do ye love and aspire,
When follows
Death--all your passionate deeds,
Garnered with rust and with weeds
In the hollows?
God that hardened the steel,
Bid the flame leap and reel,
Gave us unrest;
We act in the dusk afar,
In a star beyond your star,
His behest.
'We leave you dreams and names
Still we are iron and flames,
Biting and bright;
Into some virgin world,
Champions, we are hurled,
Of venture and fight.'
Here where the shadows fall,
From the cypress by the wall,
Where the roses are--
Here is a dream and a name,
There, like a rose of flame,
Rises--a star.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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September Blue
Your head spins round on a monday
And the daylight's in your eyes
How you laughed and cursed tomorrow
Now he's standing by your side
You touched the stars at midnight
The whole world seem to shout 'hello'
Now your throat is tired and heavy
And only one can go
I'll be all right though i may cry
The tears that flow they always dry
It's just that i would rather be with you now
And every time i see that star
I will say a prayer for you
Now and forever september blue
I'll be all right though i may cry
The tears that flow they always dry
It's just that i would rather be with you now
And every time i see that star
I will say a prayer for you
Now and forever september blue
'cos i'll always love you
September blue
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sadness
Shine not on me, oh, moon! with the weak light
Of thy still beauty, mocking the turmoil
Of this tumultuous and jarring world,
With thy serenity, as if it were
Thy satellite, and thou didst deem it scorn
To let her passions move thee. I am sad—
And how may I have fellowship with thee,
Thou thing of perfect brightness? If the clouds
That sometimes pass athwart thy lovely brow
And shadow it as with a pensive thought,
Were round about thee now, with thy mild veil,
I would not turn from gazing;—but away,—
Thou art too brilliant for a tearful eye!
And mine is dim in sympathy and shame,
For the heart-broken, and the guilty ones,
Of my star-banner'd land.
The blessed breeze!
How most deliciously its coolness comes
With its soft stealing touch, to charm away
The slow, dull fever of my heavy brow;
And as I close beneath it, my wet lids,
To dry away their tears.—Yet is't not strange
How lightly it e'en bears its load of sighs!
Why, 't is from the soft south—the guilty south!
Where those who should lift up a free clear brow
To the pure light of Heaven, go bending down
The clouded forehead, ‘neath the heavy shame
Of painful fetters, to the very grave.
How, then, light thing of music, how canst thou
Come thus, all gladness, from the burial-place
Of the heart's best affections? Didst thou not
A moment check the fluttering of thy wings
To listen to the voice of woman's grief,
Lamenting for her lost ones? Hence with thee!—
Thou seem'st to me as thou wert made of sighs,
And the beseeching breath of woman's prayers,
Poured out to hearts that knew not how to feel!
Woe for man's selfishness! I will go in
And cover up my brow in the dull light,
As with a mourner's garment.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Heart of a Boy
To Mrs. Guy Wyndham
The heart of a boy is full of light,
Naked of self, quite pure and clean,
No shadows lurk in it: it is bright
Where God Himself hath been.
I looked in a boy's heart and saw
How its desire was white desire,
Burning upward, as winds might draw
The flame of a candle higher.
What was the heart's desire that burned
Like a white candle stirred in a breeze?
Power or glory or honour earned?
Love that is more than these?
The heart of a boy has but one goal.
The flying Danger smiles as she flies,
Makes her own of him, heart and soul,
With the lure of her lovely eyes.
The boy's heart now is set on a star,
A sword for the weak against the strong,
A young knight riding forth to the War
Who dies to right the wrong.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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In The Grass.
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat now in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat now in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
The two of them in the wood, below me there by the rill;
He with the light on his brow, she in the shadow still;
And a cloud so white goes over the blue on the gleaming hill.
My nest in the grass was good: they deemed that none might see —
Ah God in heaven! my eyes looked out of the hell in me,
As his arm went round her waist, and his lips where mine might be —
Touched hers, as her face drew up like a flower in the light to his —
Touched hers, as I felt her soul shine out in a dream of bliss;
While mine with the pangs of hell was alive in a world like this!
I dared not move, nor could I shut my eyes to it all;
And still they clung and kissed: I heard the waterfall,
I heard the warm wind sing till the day began to pall.
And then they rose, the twain who had taken my life from me;
I did not rise, but lay where none might hear or see,
In the grass in the dark and sobbed, 'Would God that the end might be!'
The years have come since then, and the years have gone but I,
Though the fever of death was strong upon me, did not die;
And though I am old and weak as upon my couch I lie,
'Tis as if I saw it all — sat still in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat still in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Tree And The Breeze
Have you ever noticed how the trees sway with the breeze?
It's as if they were dancing in rhythm with a mellow tune
Have you ever notice how a tree is home to a bird's nest...
where the birds rest?
It's as if the tree were a peaceful and relaxed get-away
From where their troubles stray
But then the tree also has another side
In which it can take the birds for a bit of a ride
It is its party side...
when a pile of birds get together in one tree...
to sing along to the breeze as back and forth it sways the tree
The tree's stuck in the ground
Every day its life's the same
But the breeze
Now that's a different story
The breeze is free
It goes and comes as it pleases
The tree it seizes
Have you ever noticed half the things a tree does are caused by the breeze?
poem by Amy Parkinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I catch my falling star
When I catch my falling star
Many friends will be there to tell where all my past years are
When I catch my falling star
I will take with me songs of glory repertoire
When does fall my star from the skies
Let no tears fall on checks from loving eyes
When does fall my star from the skies
The birds will sing and trees indulge in breeze free of human sighs
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Thoughts of Home
I watched them from the window, thy children at their play,
And I thought of all my own dear friends, who were far, oh, far away,
And childish loves, and childish cares, and a child’s own buoyant gladness
Came gushing back again to me with a soft and solemn sadness;
And feelings frozen up full long, and thoughts of long ago,
Seemed to be thawing at my heart with a warm and sudden flow.
I looked upon thy children, and I thought of all and each,
Of my brother and my sister, and our rambles on the beach,
Of my mother’s gentle voice, and my mother’s beckoning hand,
And all the tales she used to tell of the far, far English land;
And the happy, happy evening hours, when I sat on my father’s knee,
Oh! many a wave is rolling now betwixt that seat and me!
And many a day has passed away since, I left them o’er the sea,
And I have lived a life since then of boyhood’s thoughtless glee;
Yet of the blessed times gone by not seldom would I dream,
And childhood’s joy, like faint far stars, in memory’s heaven would gleam,
And o’er the sea to those I loved my thoughts would often roam,
But never knew I until now the blessings of a home!
I used to think when I was there that my own true home was here,
But home is not in land or sky, but in those whom each holds dear.
The evening’s cooling breeze is fanning my temples now,
But then my frame was languid, and heated was my brow,
And I longed for England’s cool, and for England’s breezes then,
But now I would give full many a breeze to be back in the heat again.
But when cold strange looks without, and proud high thoughts within,
Are weaving round my heart the woof of selfishness and sin;
When self begins to roll a far, a worse and wider sea
Of careless and unloving thoughts between those friends and me,
I will think upon these moments, and call to mind the day
When I watched them from the window, thy children at their play.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love Song
Once in the world’s first prime,
When nothing lived or stirred,
Nothing but new-born Time,
Nor was there even a bird –
The Silence spoke to a Star,
But do not dare repeat
What it said to its love afar:
It was too sweet, too sweet.
But there, in the fair world’s youth,
Ere sorrow had drawn breath,
When nothing was known but Truth,
Nor was there even death,
The Star to Silence wed,
And the Sun was priest that day,
And they made their bridal-bed
High in the Milky Way.
For the great white star had heard
Her silent lover’s speech;
It needed no passionate word
To pledge them each to each.
O lady fair and far,
Hear, oh, hear, and apply!
Thou the beautiful Star –
The voiceless silence, I.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Your Eyes
My heart always cries
When I picture your eyes
Singing love with silent song.
Shining like dew
In the fire of the sun
Haunting me all day long.
Rainbows and you
Hide where distant dreams belong
Sparkling but out of view.
Why did it end
When the note i did send
Flew with Cupids' dart
Blew your world apart.
Sweetest sonnet at twilight hour
And laid upon it dawns' fragrant flower.
Arriving
The rhyme for your sighs
Reviving lost tears in your eyes.
When we made love
With the rhythm of the rain
Tap dancing on your window pane
Your eyes burned starlight
Into my brain
In dreams I return to again and again
Sweet birdsong i hear
Through avenues of pain
Your eyes call me back
Through midnight forest I run
My colours fade to black
Then kissed awake by morning sun.
But clouds still drift across my soul
Lovelight departed, I tumble and roll
And lie waiting alone
In this world of disguise
I look up at starred night
For just one glimpse
Of your eyes.
poem by Kevin East
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Sonnet: On seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weep at a tale of distress
She wept.--Life's purple tide began to flow
In languid streams through every thrilling vein;
Dim were my swimming eyes--my pulse beat slow,
And my full heart was swell'd to dear delicious pain.
Life left my loaded heart, and closing eye;
A sigh recall'd the wanderer to my breast;
Dear was the pause of life, and dear the sigh
That call'd the wanderer home, and home to rest.
That tear proclaims--in thee each virtue dwells,
And bright will shine in misery's midnight hour;
As the soft star of dewy evening tells
What radiant fires were drown'd by day's malignant pow'r,
That only wait the darkness of the night
To cheer the wand'ring wretch with hospitable light.
poem by William Wordsworth
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