The Fiftieth Birthday Of Agassiz. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
It was fifty years ago
In the pleasant month of May,
In the beautiful Pays de Vaud,
A child in its cradle lay.
And Nature, the old nurse, took
The child upon her knee,
Saying: 'Here is a story-book
Thy Father has written for thee.'
'Come, wander with me,' she said,
'Into regions yet untrod;
And read what is still unread
In the manuscripts of God.'
And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old nurse,
Who sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the universe.
And whenever the way seemed long,
Or his heart began to fail,
She would sing a more wonderful song,
Or tell a more marvellous tale.
So she keeps him still a child,
And will not let him go,
Though at times his heart beats wild
For the beautiful Pays de Vaud;
Though at times he hears in his dreams
The Ranz des Vaches of old,
And the rush of mountain streams
From glaciers clear and cold;
And the mother at home says, 'Hark!
For his voice I listen and yearn;
It is growing late and dark,
And my boy does not return!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Related quotes
Truth Smiles In Child!
What an eternal pair they are,
God and Nature, positive and negative,
God revolving freely around nature,
Smiles at Nature,
And Nature smiles at God,
Smile makes one beautiful and they fell in love of beauty in one another!
Just like parents smile AT the kid,
Nature says to God,
'See, This child is your Creation,
you are its father,
take care of it '
God smiles and says, 'Its your child,
take care of this,
And this is your child '
Child smiles innocently at both,
Nature Smile at child and says,
I am your mother, He is your father,
When child smiles at father,
father's heart too jumps and smiles,
Father sees its beloved Nature,
And Nature sees her Beloved God in the smile of the child!
In the child both smile together, seeing at one another!
Matter smiles at energy and energy smiles at matter,
and in the child both smile together,
But in their love and smile,
Truth smiles,
eyes of both God, Nature shine at the smile of the Child,
Never both able to see the silent smile of Truth,
It says within child, it's soliliquoy goes unheard,
' I am that,
Smiled in you,
I am the creator of both,
But God and Nature Never able to see me,
Only seeing me as their child,
I smile At them,
that I kept my identity,
Hidden safe in You '
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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To Alison Cunningham, From Her Boy
For the long nights you lay awake
And watched for my unworthy sake:
For your most comfortable hand
That led me through the uneven land:
For all the story-books you read:
For all the pains you comforted:
For all you pitied, all you bore,
In sad and happy days of yore:-
My second Mother, my first Wife,
The angel of my infant life-
From the sick child, now well and old,
Take, nurse, the little book you hold!
And grant it, Heaven, that all who read
May find as dear a nurse at need,
And every child who lists my rhyme,
In the bright, fireside, nursery clime,
May hear it in as kind a voice
As made my childish days rejoice!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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My Dear Child
Come hither my dear child
It's late - The E'en has fallen
Hark now my dear child
Hie to bed - Thou should'st
Thee forgot thy keys again my dear child
Wait for thou - I must
Methinks that it's getting late my dear child
Perchance - Something has happened to her
Wherefore have thou forgotten thy keys my dear child
I sit here heavy - Awaiting your anon arrival
Wherefore have thou left aroint from me my dear child
I lie here and pray - That thee arrives safely
Doth thou not realise of your keys my dear child
Why art thou - Do this oft to me and leave me heavy
Hark she has arrived my dear child
Mark me - Thou would'st not do this again
Hark now my dear child
Hie to your bed - Aroint in your dreams
poem by Gabriel Gauci Maistre
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Lady Clare
IT was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.
I trow they did not part in scorn-
Lovers long-betroth'd were they:
They too will wed the morrow morn:
God's blessing on the day !
'He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well,' said Lady Clare.
In there came old Alice the nurse,
Said, 'Who was this that went from thee?'
'It was my cousin,' said Lady Clare,
'To-morrow he weds vith me.'
'O God be thank'd!' said Alice the nurse,
' That all comes round so just and fair:
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare.'
'Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?'
Said Lady Clare, 'that ye speak so wild?'
'As God's above,' said Alice the nurse,
' I speak the truth: you are my child.
'The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead.'
'Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O mother,' she said, ' if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.'
'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
When you are man and wife.'
' If I'm a beggar born,' she said,
'I will speak out, for I dare not lie.
Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by.'
'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret all ye can.'
She said, ' Not so: but I will know
If there be any faith in man.'
'Nay now, what faith ?' said Alice the nurse,
'The man will cleave unto his right.'
'And he shall have it,' the lady replied,
'Tho' I should die to-night.'
'Yet give one kiss to your mother dear !
Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee.'
'O mother, mother, mother,' she said,
'So strange it seems to me.
'Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go.'
She clad herself in a russet gown,
She was no longer Lady Clare:
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.
The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,
And follow'd her all the way.
Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:
'O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you drest like a village maid,
That are the flower of the earth?'
'If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are:
I am a beggar born,' she said,
'And not the Lady Clare.'
'Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald,
'For I am yours in word and in deed.
Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald,
'Your riddle is hard to read.'
O and proudly stood she up !
Her heart within her did not fail:
She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes,
And told him all her nurse's tale.
He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn:
He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood:
'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, 'the next in blood--
'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, ' the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare.'
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Pink Letter
Dear Father,
To thee this letter
Is written with a child’s wonder.
Pink ink
On a fancy paper almost pink
Like a blush on a maiden’s cheek
Like rose abloom in mountain’s peak.
Pink letter in the hands of a child
Bears words innocent and mild
Glorifying the father who made all –
tame and wild.
Pink letter with heavenly scent
Pink ink that stays, not evanescent
Lasts in the heart of the child who writes
Too innocent to name wrong from right.
Dear Father,
To thee this letter
Is written with a child’s wonder.
poem by Geraldine Fernandez
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Song: Child's Play
Are accidents - reflections,
Of the chaotic quantum world;
Do the stars that rule the heavens,
Raise cosmic flags, unfurled?
Is love a constellation,
In the vacuum pack of cold;
A joyous distillation,
A yeast alive in mould?
It's child's play. It is child's play.
It has no creed but come what may.
We write the screed, it's all display:
On bended knee, for luck we pray.
It's child's play. A wild child's play.
We take no heed, but remain unswayed.
It's child's play. It is child's play.
When we learn that greed, is here to stay.
Is the background irradiation,
More a subset of decay;
Not dog-eat-dog predation,
But chance as child's play?
So that's OK. That's what we say.
When the meme of hate, sells well, it pays!
It's child's play. It is child's play,
When our dreams deflate, in a listless haze.
So that's OK. That's what we say.
We lean on fate, like a brand new day.
It's child's play. It is child's play,
When we learn too late, what's been swept away!
poem by Dave SmithWhite
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A Mother
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is conceived nine months in the womb
the child that is cradled at daytime,
night time until dawn?
How can a mother forget her child?
How can a mother forget her child
the child who after the flow of months
has learned to stand and run?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child whose mouth imitates her mother`s tongue,
the child who after a year or two can say,
'Mama, I love you'?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is so dear in her own heart and mind,
the child that reveals the mystery of creation,
the beauty of growth and human interaction.
the infinity of our own universe
within its finite linear time?
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Child of mine…
To my beautiful child, , ,
Beautiful child, being so small you inspire me big,
Beautiful child, so fragile, you make me so strong,
Beautiful child, so tender your touch your power is great,
Beautiful child, small is your heart, infinite is the love I feel for you;
Beautiful child, your hand I’m anxious to hold, to walk life’s road with you by my side.
Beautiful child, your light will show me the way,
Beautiful child, you came to my life to teach me a lesson that I shall never forget…
Nor riches, nor power can give us the best things of life…
The smile of a child…Is the best of all rewards…
poem by Ale Duncan
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Not A Child
'Not a child: I call myself a boy,'
Says my king, with accent stern yet mild,
Now nine years have brought him change of joy;
'Not a child.'
How could reason be so far beguiled,
Err so far from sense's safe employ,
Stray so wide of truth, or run so wild?
Seeing his face bent over book or toy,
Child I called him, smiling: but he smiled
Back, as one too high for vain annoy -
Not a child.
II.
Not a child? alack the year!
What should ail an undefiled
Heart, that he would fain appear
Not a child?
Men, with years and memories piled
Each on other, far and near,
Fain again would so be styled:
Fain would cast off hope and fear,
Rest, forget, be reconciled:
Why would you so fain be, dear,
Not a child?
III.
Child or boy, my darling, which you will,
Still your praise finds heart and song employ,
Heart and song both yearning toward you still,
Child or boy.
All joys else might sooner pall or cloy
Love than this which inly takes its fill,
Dear, of sight of your more perfect joy.
Nay, be aught you please, let all fulfil
All your pleasure; be your world your toy:
Mild or wild we love you, loud or still,
Child or boy.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Come Home, Father!
'Tis The
SONG OF LITTLE MARY,
Standing at the bar-room door
While the shameful midnight revel
Rages wildly as before.
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes one;
You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done.
Our fire has gone out our house is all dark
And mother's been watching since tea, --
With poor brother Benny so sick in her arms,
And no one to help her but me. --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes two;
The night has grown colder, and Benny is worse
But he has been calling for you.
Indeed he is worse Ma says he will die,
Perhaps before morning shall dawn; --
And this is the message she sent me to bring
"Come quickly, or he will be gone." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes three;
The house is so lonely the hours are so long
For poor weeping mother and me.
Yes, we are alone poor Benny is dead,
And gone with the angels of light; --
And these were the very last words that he said
"I want to kiss Papa good night." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --
Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."
poem by Henry Clay Work
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To Be A Child Again
To Be a Child Again by Kenny Davis
I see the children of today
Their smiles take me away
To my times as a child
And the games that I would play
To be a child again
Means to be taken to an imaginary place
Where a box could be a house or race car
Or a ship in outer space
To be a child again
Means Mother is God in my eyes
My father is like my hero
Like Superman in the skies
To be a child again
There are many times, I would smile from ear to ear
I would jump into my parent’s loving arms
With nothing left to fear
To be a child again
Full of bedtime stories and fairy tales
Whether it was Jack and the Beanstalk
Or Jack and Jill with their water pails
To be a child again
My life filled with Mother Goose
The tails of Humpty Dumpty
And Green Eggs and Ham from Dr. Seuss
Now that I have grown
I recall my times as a child
So young, so innocent
So reckless and wild
To be a child again
My parents would wipe away every tear
It is all of those tender moments as a child
That I will always hold dear
© June 2009 k.davis
poem by Kenneth Davis
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The Beauty of a Mother
The beauty of a woman starts
When her womb begins to grow
The child that she'll give birth
Soon will call her, “my mother”
The beauty of a mother reigns
When her arms cradle her child
And her charm shines within
Her heart full of love and care
The beauty of mother un-fades
When her hands guide her child
In all places walking side by side
To protect her child from danger
The beauty of a mother is her brain
To teach her child to read and write
To let the child know the difference
Of what is wrong and what is right
The beauty of a mother is her act
To treat her child without compare
To list none of whatsoever is best
For her child is the gem of her life
Then the beauty of mother reflects
From the eyes of her child in return
To respect, love, and care for her
When age and time set them apart
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Song: XI
Mother, mother, do you not hear?
Mother, they come; there is news to tell!
– Give me your hands, my daughter dear:
'Tis but a ship that saileth well.
Mother dear, have a care, give heed!
–They go, my daughter, away they speed.
Mother, the danger is sore, alas!
– Child, my child, it will quickly pass.
Mother, mother, She draweth near!
– It is down in the harbour, daughter dear.
Mother, mother, She opens the door!
– Child, they go, to return no more.
Mother, She enters! I am afraid!
– Child, they now have the anchor weighed.
Mother, I hear Her speaking low.
– Child, my child, it is they that go.
Mother, She makes the stars go dark!
– Child, 'tis the sails of a shadowy bark.
Mother, She knocks at the casement still!
– Child, maybe it is fastened ill. . . .
Mother, mother, my sight grows dim. . . .
– Child, they sail for the open sea.
On every hand I can hear but Him. . . .
– O child, what is it, and who is He?
poem by Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck
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Introduction: More Beasts for Worse Children
The parents of the learned child
(His father and his mother)
Were utterly aghast to note
The facts he would at random quote
On creatures curious, rare, and wild;
And wondering, ask each other:
'An idle little child like this,
How is it that he knows
What years of close analysis
Are powerless to disclose?
Our brains are trained, our books are big,
And yet we always fail
To answer why the Guinea-pig
Is born without a tail.
Or why the Wanderoo should rant
In wild, unmeaning rhymes,
Whereas the Indian Elephant
Will only read The Times.
Perhaps he found a way to slip
Unnoticed to the Zoo,
And gave the Pachyderm a tip,
Or pumped the Wanderoo.
Or even by an artful plan
Deceived our watchful eyes,
And interviewed the Pelican,
Who is extremely wise.'
'Oh! no,' said he, in humble tone,
With shy but conscious look,
'Such facts I never could have known
But for this little book.'
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Boadicea (Mother's touch) Ft Rekha Mandegere
At one late night
Behind the wall
Through the window
Where all life pull the blanket
Except one sleepless at night
The aid of moonlight
The shadow reveal secret,
A women stand hugging a child
Crying because the bites of cold night
Or maybe a nightmare played in the dark
She sat and kissed,
deliver warmest hug
Her calming sounds
Tunes move from her lips
Whispering a soulful lullaby
Original song composed by heart
'Lovely star, I tell the world
What a precious gift is mine
Nothing can match with its golden shine'
Close the eyes, tiny one
Swayed by the secure
The child fall asleep again
The child always love
And be loved forever
When the world turn down
She comes with her palm on our face
'Sweet child, make the world smiles
A lovely pole star, my twinkled bright'
'Standing at the height of the sky
Above all the hills and dales
It’s nature of law, none can forgo
Thunderstorms will come and go'
Oh Lord, you stop my worry
Her wisdom make life sound easy
Her words Her love
Carry anywhere
with love affair
Her cry Her strength
Birthing love to life
Feeding little with care
She carrying you in heart
Respect her whole heart
A mother in anywhere
Hold a responsibility from Him
Embracing child as He sent
Beautiful life circulate fairly treat
A child, anyone, everywhere
Hold a responsibility from Him
Respect her, care and love
Till one day
Could be a day
In one silent night,
The child comes near
Whispering dear to ears
A kiss upon her silver hair
to sing familiar tunes flare
'Lovely Ma, I share to the world
What a precious gift is mine
Nothing can match with her golden shine'
Time will reveal for a child
See her smile listening her cradle song back to her :)
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : Theme: Mother's love: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
Great chance to write a poem with fellow poet
She acts as a mother in this poem, which give
a true effect just like a mother's touch
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
poem by Unwritten Soul
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In a Child's Voice
Listen to the voice of a child
You will hear the wisdom of the ages
A book ready to be written
Filled with many unwritten pages
Learn from their innocence
Honestly brutal but real
For they haven’t yet been tarnished
telling you exactly how they feel
So simple yet so wise they speak
feelings never compromised
For whatever words they speak to you
You should not be surprised
Listen to the voice of a child
You can always feel their pain
They will always bring you sunshine
When the world is filled with rain
Their laughter is the music
That comes straight from the heart
So learn to sing their praises
Rejoice in every part
Never let that child within
Escape or get away
For every child is a part of us
Each and every day
Listen to the voice of a child
Hear each and every word
For every question asked of you
From sublime to the absurd
There are many lessons to be taught
And dreams to be realized
We learn from each other every day
Yet we always act surprised
If we listen a little bit closer
You will hear that inner child
A lifetime of knowledge
Mostly tame but occasionally wild
In a world that’s constantly changing
You can always find a choice
In the wisdom of our childhood
You will truly find your voice
poem by William Lindenmuth
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God Gave To Me A Child In Part
GOD gave to me a child in part,
Yet wholly gave the father's heart:
Child of my soul, O whither now,
Unborn, unmothered, goest thou?
You came, you went, and no man wist;
Hapless, my child, no breast you kist;
On no dear knees, a privileged babbler, clomb,
Nor knew the kindly feel of home.
My voice may reach you, O my dear-
A father's voice perhaps the child may hear;
And, pitying, you may turn your view
On that poor father whom you never knew.
Alas! alone he sits, who then,
Immortal among mortal men,
Sat hand in hand with love, and all day through
With your dear mother wondered over you.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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In Heart In Mind
In heart in mind there is no time
each moment merges with these moods of mine
others missunderstood and couldn't see
my neediness comes from my childhood days
when i craved love hugs warmth and praise
instead i found anger, hurt and rejection
which comes back to me in moments of silent reflection
these moments which leave others lost and confused
are the times im rembering how i was abused
there is a small child held dear in my heart
who cries each night long alone in the dark
who no one hears exept myself
my sadness effects my emotional health and others to.
to her people are cold, cruel and unforgiving
her life hardly seems worth the effort of living
if no one hears her i know i must
there must be someone for this child to trust
there was no rescue in those distant childhood days
and all these years later i still long to be saved
so when i seem down and reach for your touch
try to understand why i need it so much
don't ignore me when i act juevenille but hug me and hold me for the sake of that child.
poem by Kelly Louise Houseman
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The Eyes of a Child
When I was young
so very small
the world was a huge place of wonder
it was a vast universe of endless possibility
then I grew old, so very tired
and I knew what it was all about
the love ran cold
the heart not so bold
the limits began to show their ugly heads
the eyes of the child still remain
I still look at the world the same
even with jaded glasses
Are you still a child
with dreams run wild
or have you given up on all?
Summon your will,
the child remains with you still
and as we know
a child will lead us.
poem by Samael Wolf
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How It Was I Came To Be What I Am
[from early poems,1970's, youthful attempts at voice]
For 'Spider' Bottas
They would argue over tides
Who bade me come into the world.
One said, Six o'clock.
The other, No, twelve.
I was born at the thirteenth hour
All the while mother arguing,
This is not the time but a little spell,
While father argued it was death,
You are dying and your child, too,
Is dying. You have been poisoned.
It was full moon and high tide,
The hour of birth.
All arguments yielded to the tide's.
The moon lit up the stadium
Of their gripes while I was
Born amidst their sweeps at
Each other, the nurse neglecting
To wipe me free of blood and salt
Being drawn into their strife.
He was born at day, one said.
No, at night, and he is a she,
Said the other. The nurse,
Speaking truthfully, said,
Cleaning me at last, No,
You are both right. The child
Is he and she, a hermaphrodite
Born of two days labor, its head
Out of the womb the duration.
Ruination! father cried.
Fame, mother sighed.
Both right, the nurse agreed,
Of these fables are made.
Then father tossed me into the sea.
The nurse saved me who later
Became my lover, hiding my
Sexes with a four leaf clover.
poem by Warren Falcon
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