Song
Where, from the eye of day,
The dark and silent river
Pursues through tangled woods a way
O'er which the tall trees quiver;
The silver mist, that breaks
From out that woodland cover,
Betrays the hidden path it takes,
And hangs the current over!
So oft the thoughts that burst
From hidden springs of feeling,
Like silent streams, unseen at first,
From our cold hearts are stealing:
But soon the clouds that veil
The eye of Love, when glowing,
Betray the long unwhispered tale
Of thoughts in darkness flowing!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Related quotes
Streams Of Thoughts
the streams of thoughts are like the locks of the hair
of a woman
flowing with the air one windy day
tonight these streams of thoughts flow like a river
to the sea
to your mouth to the door of your heart
this time
the exit is unknown hidden by the consonants of your
words.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evening bells toll in the temple
Evening bells toll in the temple
Birds flatter their wings
the merchant sails off by a distant river
A child weeps
graveyards become cool in the breeze
crown of light falls down in darkness
On the palm sorrowful days clot
the sky breaks down through
the roof of dream
Domestic past settles down on
eyelids at regular intervals of night
fishes move up
in silent watery green
There is the hum of raga gandhara
in darkness
time takes root through the river current
the silent tree of breast revives
Flowing river, yellow waves
water builds up the banks
the lost boat of
hunger, conflict and hesitation
floats in.
Translated from the Assamese by Pradip Khataniar
poem by Prem Narayan Nath
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Untitled pieces III
Untitled pieces III
My feet hanging from the roof,
I sit staring at the sky,
Some stars twinkling far away,
The moon drowned in the dark,
The trees so silent-leaves motionless,
Strike a chord-the music begins!
I see my shadow evolve in the field,
Much longer - much darker than me,
Reminding me of those golden days,
Much shorter-much happier than today,
A joy in my heart-a bunch of friends,
Sang songs of life-brought life in life!
The breeze brings in a scent of solitude,
The silent trees have lulled the birds asleep,
The motionless leaves have hidden the fruits,
The faint moon has emptied the sky,
There is a void in the air,
As I reflect on my toy of thoughts.
Will I be lost like those fruits in the dark?
Will I be drowned like the moon in solitude?
Will I be silent like those trees?
Will I be motionless like those leaves?
The night is devilish bringing thoughts of end,
Like those twinkling stars passing into nothingness.
poem by Saket Suman
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Dusk
The silence broken, shrieks a far off hawk
As darkness starts to fall it leads alone to night
As cloudless dusk shows Venus first
In a dazzling display of early light
The orange sky spreads fingers
Heaven wide and stretched so long
Above the silent hills
Though nothing at this moment feels wrong
The silent grasses wear a heavy dew
They glisten in the stillest air
The last rays of the sun have painted them
Orange and yellow like crystals everywhere
The sheep lie still and cry a sorrowful
cry that breaks the dusky silence
As the quiet of the valley overwhelms
The senses that would shy away from violence
A mist is slowly gathering to follow river path
The coolness of late evening is felt
A rememberance of times so sadly past
Attacks your very senses makes you melt.
These are times of deepest thoughts and dreams
When youth made up such thoughts alone
And made such stories that you could believe
Nurture, care for and make your very own.
I am but older now and such views I aspire
To conjure up those thoughts for just a second
But in a fleeting moment they are gone
As if into a mortal reality they are so beckoned...
poem by Dave James
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Silence.....
silent thoughts
silent dreams
silent horrors
silent screams
silent pains
silent refrains
The cold black
silence attracts
silent wisdom
silent thoughts
A want for more is what silence sings
but is love on the menu, all but contiversy
butnow have u realized wat silence can bring?
hopless insanity if u can read....
sound is wats need to go through life
but all awhile silence is that unwinnable fight
push with all ur power
hope with all ur dreams
but you get no second chance
you only deserve screams
but those screams are silent, hopeless....
insanity........
poem by Tommie Cobb
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A Silent River Part2
Sunday is a holiday
I'do again
I'makes again
The memories of the silent river
I'come again
To remember
I'have ever love and miss
Here in the silent river, silent so silence
The memories of the silent river
I'felt his love again in this river
I'felt his longing again in this river
I'felt his kindly again in this river
And i'see again his softly face in the water
In this silent river, silent so silence
The silent river
Makes me remember
I'miss again
the silent river
Makes me to get so many things
Sitting nearby silent river
Come to me the lonely
Come to me the long yearning
Come to me the tears
Come to me the rain
The silent river keep my memories good
In the silent river, silent so silence
Save me now, from all the dejected
To spin around all back
This silence is geeting on my nerves
Were i'am so afraid
You were to be lost in thought
And all was lost to me
Here in the silent river, silent so silence
The Angler's Song
From the river's plashy bank,
Where the sedge grows green and rank,
And the twisted woodbine springs,
Upward speeds the morning lark
To its silver cloud -- and hark!
On his way the woodman sings.
On the dim and misty lakes
Gloriously the morning breaks,
And the eagle's on his cloud:--
Whilst the wind, with sighing, wooes
To its arms the chaste cold ooze,
And the rustling reeds pipe loud.
Where the embracing ivy holds
Close the hoar elm in its folds,
In the meadow's fenny land,
And the winding river sweeps
Through its shallows and still deeps,--
Silent with my rod I stand.
But when sultry suns are high
Underneath the oak I lie
As it shades the water's edge,
And I mark my line, away
In the wheeling eddy, play,
Tangling with the river sedge.
When the eye of evening looks
On green woods and winding brooks,
And the wind sighs o'er the lea,--
Woods and streams,-- I leave you then,
While the shadow in the glen
Lengthens by the greenwood tree.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Ask Me
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
poem by William Stafford
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Silence
Silent the whole lot in silent space
Who art Thou silent in silence
Yonder beyond yonder in silent spirits
Thou bang banged in silence
Silent Thou persona unseen, unknown in silence
Yet smelt in silent thoughts
Thou taste, Thou fragrance nonfigurative
Yet figurative in tentative five elements
Fundamental who, what, how, why, where, when, ..
A mysterious quantum in perptual unfound answer
Ceaselessly in ceaseless silence
Silent the whole lot in silent space
Who art Thou silent in silence
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Poetry daily
We try our poetry daily
Under the pale sky
With fluffy clouds
And silver-lined streams.
In the river evenings
Men too get thrown in
On the river bed, pale
But glowing in shapes
Their textures tell-tale
In the dusk of the camera.
The camera speaks poems
As the sun’s gold grows
And the river shimmers.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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Darkness Sets Upon Her
Dark as ebony, dark as night
Dark as the raven in mid flight
Dark as the grave doth her heart grow
Cold and silent as the dead of night
Oh sweet angel of mercy, sweet angel of light
Beckon to her before she takes flight
Speak ever so softly, breath life back into her soul
That she'll not tread life's pathway
A hollow, empty shell full of darkness so foul
That eats away at the radiant light
Which once from the windows of her soul did flow
For quickly doth darkness set upon her
Stealing away what little remains pure
Blackening her heart, blotting out the light
Nevermore to shine, cold and silent as the dead of night
poem by Jennifer Batch
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A silent river
In the silent river my sweetheart tell me everything
See how calm the waters
In the silent river my sweetheart tell me what you feel
see how beautiful the river
With the sound of birds whistling
Joyful whistling in this river
How happy they gave beauty on this silent river
In the silent river my love dont forget with our promises
Sound of water running thrilling us
Note the butterfly flew with graceful
Add warm atmospher here
in the silent river
how much i have anxious waiting for you here
in the silent river
The anxiety i always remember our promises
here in the silent river
When there is only me that shaded the sun's heat
To time gives the distance between us
In the silent river..
my sweetheart dont forget with our love
Sunrise on the Hills
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.
I heard the distant waters dash,
I saw the current whirl and flash,
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,
The music of the village bell
Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,
Was ringing to the merry shout,
That faint and far the glen sent out,
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.
If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Earlier Poems : Sunrise On The Hills
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,
They gathered midway round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.
I heard the distant waters dash,
I saw the current whirl and flash,
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,
The music of the village bell
Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,
Was ringing to the merry shout,
That faint and far the glen sent out,
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.
If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Storm
O GRIP the earth, ye forest trees,
Grip well the earth to-night,
The Storm-God rides across the seas
To greet the morning light.
All clouds that wander through the skies
Are tangled in his net,
The frightened stars have shut their eyes,
The breakers fume and fret.
The birds that cheer the woods all day
Now tremble in their nests,
The giant branches round them sway,
The wild wind never rests.
The squirrel and the cunning fox
Have hurried to their holes,
Far off, like distant earthquake shocks,
The muffled thunder rolls.
In scores of hidden woodland dells,
Where no rough winds can harm,
The timid wild-flowers toss their bells
In reasonless alarm.
Only the mountains rear their forms,
Silent and grim and bold;
To them the voices of the storms
Are as a tale re-told.
They saw the stars in heaven hung,
They heard the great Sea's birth,
They know the ancient pain that wrung
The entrails of the Earth.
Sprung from great Nature's royal lines,
They share her deep repose,–
Their rugged shoulders robed in pines,
Their foreheads crowned with snows.
But now there comes a lightning flash,
And now on hill and plain
The charging clouds in fury dash,
And blind the world with rain.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Their Tale a Tale of Loss & Tangled Threads
Ah! Such passion!
The lover's tryst.
The lover's kiss.
...under a silver moon.
Was there ever such a night as this
fireflies twinkle through a hazy June mist.
The clocks tick on and on
the lover's tale unforld under a June moon.
Human hearts ache...a tear breaks
form an eye not willing to cry
but unable...to stop itself.
Your tear rolls down my cheek
as I kiss your crying face.
The puppets end their lives
...put back in their case.
Their tale a tale of loss and tangled threads
broken strings...love lies dead
as we huddle together
on a hot Venitian night
clouds of centuries
blowing across the bright new moon
like the strands of your hair
blown across your face
the story leaves us
...standing here.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Lament
Where are those dazzling hills touched by the sun,
Those crags in childhood that I used to climb?
Hidden, hidden under mist is yonder mountain,
Hidden is the heart.
A day of cloud, a lifetime falls between,
Gone are the heather moors and the pure stream,
Gone are the rocky places and the green,
Hidden, hidden under sorrow is yonder mountain,
Hidden, hidden.
O storm and gale of tears, whose blinding screen
Makes weather of grief, snow's drifting curtain
Palls th'immortal heights once seen.
Hidden, hidden is the heart,
Hidden, hidden is the heart.
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
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Dark Matter
In the darkness there exist
the objects only light
can indicate that you have missed
when they were out of sight,
and in obscurity were hidden
as if they'd never been,
unheard, unspoken and unwritten,
unsatisfied, unseen.
Go seek what's hidden, try to find
the matter that is dark,
the marvels waiting for the mind
and spirit for the spark
that shatters dark and lights the world
with brilliance from dark matter
which, when thought thunderbolts are hurled,
makes light from darkness scatter.
7/25/98
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Italian Scenery
Night rests in beauty on Mont Alto.
Beneath its shade the beauteous Arno sleeps
In vallombrosa's bosom, and dark trees
Bend with a calm and quiet shadow down
Upon the beauty of that silent river.
Still in the west a melancholy smile
Mantles the lips of day, and twilight pale
Moves like a spectre in the dusky sky,
While eve's sweet star on the fast-fading year
Smiles calmly. Music steals at intervals
Across the water, with a tremulous swell,
From out the upland dingle of tall firs;
And a faint footfall sounds, where, dim and dark,
Hangs the gray willow from the river's brink,
O'ershadowing its current. Slowly there
The lover's gondola drops down the stream,
Silent, save when its dipping oar is heard,
Or in its eddy sighs the rippling wave.
Mouldering and moss-grown through the lapse of years,
In motionless beauty stands the giant oak;
Whilst those that saw its green and flourishing youth
Are gone and are forgotten. Soft the fount,
Whose secret springs the star-light pale discloses,
Gushes in hollow music; and beyond
The broader river sweeps its silent way,
Mingling a silver current with that sea,
Whose waters have no tides, coming nor going.
On noiseless wing along that fair blue sea
The halcyon flits; and where the wearied storm
Left a loud moaning, all is peace again.
A calm is on the deep. The winds that came
O'er the dark sea-surge with a tremulous breathing,
And mourned on the dark cliff where weeds grew rank,
And to the autumnal death-dirge the deep sea
Heaved its long billows, with a cheerless song
Have passed away to the cold earth again,
Like a wayfaring mourner. Silently
Up from the calm sea's dim and distant verge,
Full and unveiled, the moon's broad disk emerges.
On Tivoli, and where the fairy hues
Of autumn glow upon Abruzzi's woods,
The silver light is spreading. Far above,
Encompassed with their thin, cold atmosphere,
The Apennines uplift their snowy brows,
Glowing with colder beauty, where unheard
The eagle screams in the fathomless, ether,
And stays his wearied wing. Here let us pause.
The spirit of these solitudes -- the soul
That dwells within these steep and difficult places--
Spearks a mysterious language to mine own,
And brings unutterable musings. Earth
Sleeps in the shades of nightfall, and the sea
Spreads like a thin blue haze beneath my feet;
Whilst the gray columns and the mouldering tombs
Of the Imperial City, hidden deep
Beneath the mantle of their shadows, rest.
My spirit looks on earth. A heavnly voice
Comes silently: 'Dreamer, is earth thy dwelling?
Lo! Nursed within that fair and fruitful bosom,
Which has sustained thy being, and within
The colder breast of Ocean, lie the germs
Of thine own dissolution! E'en the air,
That fans the clear blue sky, and gives thee strength,
Up from the sullen lake of mouldering reeds,
And the wide waste of forest, where the osier
Thrives in the damp and motionless atmosphere,
Shall bring the dire and wasting pestilence,
And blight they cheek. Dram thou of higher things:
This world is not thy home!' And yet my eye
Rests upon earth again. How beautiful,
Where wild Velino heaves its sullen aves
Down the high cliff of gray and shapeless granite,
Hung on the curling mist, the moonlight bow
Arches the perilous river! A soft light
Silvers the Albanian mountains, and the haze
That rests upon their summits mellows down
The austerer features of their beauty. Faint
And dim-discovered glow, the Sabine hills;
And, listening to the sea's monotonous shell,
High on the cliffs of Terracina stands
The castle of the royal Goth* in ruins.
But night is in her wane: day's early flush
Glows like a hectic on her fading cheek,
Wasting its beauty. And the opening dawn
With cheerful luster lights the royal city,
Where, with its proud tiara of dark towers,
It sleeps upon its own romantic bay.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Just Follow The Flow
just follow the flow
of words like the water flowing on the river
like the paper boat on the water flowing to the river
like the river flowing through the edges of banks
above the stones and pebbles of
everything swerving from mountain to mountain
of least resistances
the rocks that block your path you
just kiss them and then you go
following the flow again with the wind above you
just folow the flow of your thoughts in your heart
you do not even like to see
everything is smooth, freely flowing, taking shape
and form and having scent and perfume and so exuding
and then
an explosion inside well kept and taken care of
it is great, it is really great that feeling
so short and quick and yet so appealing
no one hears it except you because you
love it and so it has become so real
to your touch
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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