Curfew
I.
Solemnly, mournfully,
Dealing its dole,
The Curfew Bell
Is beginning to toll.
Cover the embers,
And put out the light;
Toil comes with the morning,
And rest with the night.
Dark grow the windows,
And quenched is the fire;
Sound fades into silence,--
All footsteps retire.
No voice in the chambers,
No sound in the hall!
Sleep and oblivion
Reign over all!
II.
The book is completed,
And closed, like the day;
And the hand that has written it
Lays it away.
Dim grow its fancies;
Forgotten they lie;
Like coals in the ashes,
They darken and die.
Song sinks into silence,
The story is told,
The windows are darkened,
The hearth-stone is cold.
Darker and darker
The black shadows fall;
Sleep and oblivion
Reign over all.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Related quotes
Silence Is...
Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists
poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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Peace
The red-rose flush fades slowly in the west.
The golden water, basking in the light,
Pales to clear amber and to silver white.
The velvet shadow of a flame-crowned crest
Lies dark and darker on its shining breast,
Till lonely mere and isle and mountain-height
Grow dim as dreams in tender mist of night,
And all is tranquil as a babe at rest.
So still! So calm! Will our life's eve come thus?
No sound of strife, of labour or of pain,
No ring of woodman's axe, no dip of oar.
Will work be done, and night's rest earned, for us?
And shall we wake to see sunrise again?
Or shall we sleep, to see and know no more?
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Dark Times Will Come
The darker things seem to be, the more we think of Eternity,
Knowing there’s a day ahead, without all the fear and dread,
A day that simply has no end, a day without night my friend,
That time we look forward to, should strengthen me and you.
Present things we see at hand, men cannot fully understand,
Yet we have knowledge of, the Plan of our Savior up above,
A plan that’s not shaken by, fallen man, whatever he may try,
Attempting rule on his own, dismissing God’s Eternal Throne.
And all the while, as man tries, he is lead by the father of lies,
Believing not in God at all, he seduces mankind to further fall,
Leading man in all his ways, only into even much darker days,
On to be judged by the Lord, the very one man tries to ignore.
But, for all those who believe, from Eternal God, they receive,
His special measure of grace, during the darker times we face,
As darker times come to fulfill, God’s Purpose and God’s Will,
He holds us during every test, while in His Hand we safely rest.
And we will be delivered from, that darker hour, soon to come,
Removed to be with our Lord, as His Wrath on earth is poured,
Destroying all the dark of night, to usher in God’s Eternal Light,
As Righteousness is restored, by the Reign of Christ, our Lord.
(Copyright ©03/2009)
An Evening
TO break the stillness of the hour
There is no sound, no voice, no stir;
Only the croak of frogs,—the whirr
Of crickets hidden in leaf and flower.
The clear-cut outlines of a spire
Spring from a mass of eucalypt
Sharply against the sky,—still tipped
With one last gleam of lingering fire.
So solemnly the shadows creep;
On dovelike wings Night flutters down;
Lights twinkle in the little town;
The valley lies in quiet sleep.
So comes the dark, so fades the light,
On all those leagues of tossing sea
That lie between my home and me,
And glimmer to the stars all night.
And so, belovèd, silently
In thine own land the shadows fall
On grassy lawn, and garden-wall,
On shining sand, and troubled sea,—
On paths thy feet shall never tread,—
On fields thine eyes shall never see,—
And on thy new home, strange to me,
That silent City of the Dead!
Yea, stillness rests, O Tried and True,
On hand and heart, on lips and eyes!
On thee eternal silence lies,
On thee is utter darkness too.
We lost too much in losing thee,
Yet we who knew and loved thee best,
Wish thee an everlasting rest,
Night came on thee so quietly.
Peace with the Shadows! Peace to all
Who work and weep, who pray and wait;
Till we and thou are one with Fate,
And on us too, the Night shall fall!
poem by Dora Wilcox
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Hey Clown, Meet With Me
Hey clown,
The whole community
Now under deep slumber
What are you looking at mid night?
You too go for a deep sleep,
No where you will get the truth
Only dark, deeper you go darker the things appeared.
More logic more confusion, no rules,
Everything is breaking everywhere
Randomness is the only rule,
The unruly kingdom where I reign
I am the king of all the kings
Meet with me, I am the biggest truth
The truth of the truths, the most untruth,
The juxtaposition, the ironical paradox
The wonder, the most bewildering box,
Hey clown, go for a sound, deep sleep.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Night
I love to hear the silence of the night.
That time, when distance draws so near,
and memories come, and far sounds,
undisturbed, so close.
For night is dark and only self is true.
A self whose rest and past, are
only breaths away.
Yet for some,
the night may haunt and fear,
its conscience time, when curtains
closed are drawn.
So too, ones inner self and past,
to joy or fright, the
inner spirits will.
It is a blessed thing this night.
Was it not night when Christ came home,
and balanced Judas evil deed.
And blessed night,
when monks now rise and pray,
and Nicodemus,
for lack of sleep,
came home.
The lady of the night came too,
her stumbling led her home.
In the darkness of the well
the Magi saw the stars in day,
and in the psyche dwells our heart.
O Blessed night,
for rolling back the stone,
the angels let in light,
and finished night.
Night no more.
The silence of the night is deeply rich,
and homeward bound, we rest,
and sound our hope
and lasting joy,
dwells here,
in shadows of the night.
poem by Bernard Kennedy
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Doll's House
The music comes on with the lights,
the little opera of emptiness begins, the little
dance of no one there —
just the rooms exhibited,
furniture in them like ideas,
a stage set waiting for action out of the blue.
But no,
even the fire in the hearth is neon, warms no one,
the drawers in the painted chests,
are filled with nothing,
the tables loaded with miniature, fake, repasts.
It’s night outside, about to snow, the dollhouse lights are on:
you’re in the dark,
watching the dollhouse like a thief,
pilfering its pockets for a clue to your own life,
wafted over by smells of cooking, and silence.
Inside the dark
a flute starts to play, imaginary people come in at the door:
invited to stay, they take off their coats,
tea is made in a miniature pot — oh,
it’s good I hear you say, let’s have crumpets too, and we put them on,
you and I, they’re almost crumbs but we toast them,
and what kind of jam do you want, I say, on top of the butter,
and you say raspberry,
and I give it to you, reader,
I give it to you and we both eat.
Outside the big house it’s snowing.
Applied frost creeps up the sides of the doll house windows,
the fake fireplace glows electric,
our toy dog sleeps on the rug —
a hush falls over this small house inside the big house,
we sleep in it…
I sleep, you sleep, he sleeps, she sleeps…
it sleeps, the real,
a sleep so delicious, we can dream in it,
as in a delirium, without sound…
windows opening into windows,
shoes never walked in at the door
that we slip on.
poem by Ioanna Carlsen
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Dealing Dreams
Dont you feel so very pointless here
In the feelings of the rain
The violence of the sun?
I must confess that I feel graciously
To be of the rain
And hotter than the sun
What do you do?
What do you say
When the blood spill is of your loved one
And the kremlins of the world fall around you?
Were dealing dreams, yeah
Were dealing dreams
Were dealing structures that grow cold in our hearts
Oh fearful, crying people
Food is by the river
Watching, but not swimming
It takes energy not to get used to it
Fall into this place
Where everything rolls together and dies
This crying kingdom she is now
Forever will she be
The silence of a (? )
Were dealing dreams, yeah
Were dealing dreams
Were dealing structures that grow cold in our hearts, yeah
Were dealing dreams, yeah
Were dealing dreams
Were dealing structures that grow cold in our hearts
Were dealing dreams
Structures that grow cold in our hearts, yeah
Were dealing dreams
Were dealing dreams, ah yes, ah yes, dreams
Structures that grow cold
Structures that grow cold
Structures that grow cold in our hearts
Dont you feel so very pointless here
In the feelings of the rain
The violence of the sun?
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Abandoned
The moonlight touched the sombre waters white.
Beneath the bridge 'twas darker. Was she cold?
She shivered. Her poor shawl was worn and old,
And she was desolate, and it was night.
The slow canal crept onward; to her sight
It seemed to beckon, and the lapping told
Of rest and quiet sleep: how sweet to fold
The hands from toil and close the eyes from light,
And so shut out all memory, and go
There where men sleep, and dreams, perhaps, are not.
O never any dreams, she murmured; so,
Longing for sleep, the sleep that comes with death,
She fell, she felt the water, and forgot
All, save the drowning agony of breath.
poem by Arthur Symons
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a Poem Of Silence
Silence is a beautiful thing.
no other sound is as great as silence.
Silence is the sound of nothing,
but it is still a sound.
even if a sound is great and amazing,
nothing can top the blissfulness of silence.
not the sound of wind on grass,
not the sound of laughter,
nothing is as beautiful as silence.
silence is a sound, but it is so much
better than any other sound.
What created such a far-off winner?
I love silence, silence is the best.
Never there will be a time that there
will be
a greater sound
than silence.
poem by Llew N. Rmail
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Room
[Cream]
In the white room
With black curtains
Near the station
Black country roof
No gold pavements
Tired starlings
Silver horses
Ran down moonbeams
In your dark eyes
Dawn light smiles
On you leaving
My contentment
I'll wait in this place
Were the sun never shines
Wait in this places
Where the shadows
Run from themselves
You said no strings
Could secure you
At the station
Platform ticket
Restless diesels
Goodbye windows
I walked in
To such a sad time
At the staiton
As I walked out
Felt my own need
Just beginning
I'll wait in the queue
When the trains come back
Lie with you
Where the shadows
Run from themselves
At the party
She was kindness
In the hard crowd
Consolation
For the old wound
Now forgotten
Yellow tigers
Crouched in jungles
In her dark eyes
She's just dressing
Goodbye windows
Tired starlings
I'll sleep in this place
With the lonely crowd
Lie in the dark
Where the shadows
Run from themselves
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tell-tale Heart
Lead vocal: arthur brown
You should have seen him
Lying alone in helpless silence in the night
You should have seen him
You would have seen his eye reflecting in the light
So for the old man
Ashes to ashes, earth to earth and dust to dust
No one will see me
No one with guilt to share, no secret soul to trust
And he wont be found at all
Not a trace to mark his fall
Nor a stain upon the wall
Louder and louder
Till I could tell the sound was not within my ears
You should have seen me
You would have seen my eyes grow white and cold with fear
Heard all the things in heaven and earth
Ive seen many things in hell
But his vultures eye of a cold pale blue
Is the eye if the devil himself
Take me away now
But let the silence drown the beating of his heart
I cant go on
Let me be free from wretched sea that I can not see
Please let me be free
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fear
Shadows in the dark
Keep me up awake
So i sleep with the light on
Lock the door behind you
Bolt the windows tight
Silence can be deadly
Especially at night
You scare me half to death
Bolting down the stairs
I'm so scared
But no one even cares
Noises stir at night
I jump right out of bed
Running down the stairs
Everyone is dead
I wake up from this nightmare
Drenched in cold sweat
Fearing you and everything
Is my one and only regret
poem by Tiana Webb
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Silence
Silence
There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave—under the deep, deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;
No voice is hush’d—no life treads silently,
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,
That never spoke, over the idle ground:
But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox or wild hyæna calls,
And owls, that flit continually between,
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan—
There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Sleepy Mom
Mom is waking in a room
Her heart and soul full of gloom,
Now in the hall of the house,
Not everything is guiet as a mouse
She can't sleep silence, nor do anything with the children
She is sad and crying in sadness, silence;
The pain in her heart violent.
She is weak from walking the hell all night
Wanting to sleep in silence with all her might
She can't do anything but sleep with her children in bed,
Silence; time and time again.
Until you know what you can do and can't do,
Your children won't be safe without you
You can keep them away from the big bad wolf
You can keep a watch on them from any danger,
whether from a friend or from a stranger,
You can sleep in silence now,
Be happy and take a bow,
Protect me from the dark or from a bomb,
you have down your job.
poem by Keith Scott
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. Finale
The hour was late; the fire burned low,
The Landlord's eyes were closed in sleep,
And near the story's end a deep,
Sonorous sound at times was heard,
As when the distant bagpipes blow.
At this all laughed; the Landlord stirred,
As one awaking from a swound,
And, gazing anxiously around,
Protested that he had not slept,
But only shut his eyes, and kept
His ears attentive to each word.
Then all arose, and said 'Good Night.'
Alone remained the drowsy Squire
To rake the embers of the fire,
And quench the waning parlor light;
While from the windows, here and there,
The scattered lamps a moment gleamed,
And the illumined hostel seemed
The constellation of the Bear,
Downward, athwart the misty air,
Sinking and setting toward the sun.
Far off the village clock struck one.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Night Train To Lorca
Across the dark and dusty plain
Where scars of old dry rivers run
Night unfolds, a coal black shroud
Across the hard and stony ground
Distant stars shining bright
In the cavern of the night
All is still and silence screams
To the thunder of the lorca train
Flaming steal swift as wind
Wires hum the rails ring
Smokestack burning fiery sparks
Rise up to the stars
Towns asleep by empty roads
Churches rise from crooked roofs
Cloaked in darkness nothing stirs
Grow smaller darker disappear
See the moon so still and cold
A million stars that shed no warmth
Your nightmares all come out to play
In the silver light
Wait for sunrise in the east
Long shadows crawl across the plain
The ghosts of night will disappear
And lay your fears to rest
Steam hissed up, the hot coals glowed
The furnace blazed, the wheels they rolled
On tracks of iron, straight and cold
The silver moonlight danced
The flames are in the firemans eye
Orange in the engines glow
Gleaming pistons whirling cranks
Wait for dawn the roosters crow
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Kind of Falling
There is this kind of falling
that is free, and it does
not think of any floor
or end, the trip continues
down and down
and darker and darker
you close your hands
and put them on
the side of your
hips, and you keep
on waiting about the
expected
deadly impact, you want
it done
and done so quickly
for years this free falling
has been with you
and you are into this
feeling always
where to
and when and what
and why
it's been like this from
the beginning
no floors no ceiling
no walls now
and all the doors
are closed
except the windows of course
that you keep on seeing
there is the wind
that keeps on going and going
passing through and through
inside your heart
the freedom of falling
it is here always inside your heart
you are numb
and there is nothing difficult to understand
letting go and just this feeling of falling
the consolation is that
you are always on top of things
explains, thus, this falling
for why should i fall? i ask sometimes.
thanks God, i must be up here, and there is no end to this tunnel
let me see, let me see the light, with you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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