Voices Of The Night : L'Envoi
Ye voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart repose!
Go, breathe it in the ear
Of all who doubt and fear,
And say to them, 'Be of good cheer!'
Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!
Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar
Of the pine forest dark and hoar!
Tongues of the dead, not lost
But speaking from deaths frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!
Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Related quotes
L'Envoi
Ye voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart repose!
Go, breathe it in the ear
Of all who doubt and fear,
And say to them, "Be of good cheer!"
Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!
Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar
Of the pine forest dark and hoar!
Tongues of the dead, not lost
But speaking from deaths frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!
Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and darn ps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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We see but dimly through the mists and vapors
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funeral tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.
quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Celtic Aggression
Somebody cried the death of culture
Somebody spit in a little boy's face
Somebody said you robbed my homeland
Somebody got the wrong impression
So we came across the water
From the shores of the isle of green
Speaking separate tongues
In the death of culture
Somebody said you stole my language
Some people will say anything
Somebody said you robbed my heritage
Some people will believe anything
Somebody said you always spoke English
Somebody got the wrong impression
So we came across the water
From the shores of the isle of green
Speaking separate tongues
In the death of culture
It was the death of culture
It was the death of culture
Bhi machree
Ohin trasna na farraige
Bhi machree
Ohin trasna na farraige
So we came across the water
From the shores of the isle of green
So we came across the water
Speaking seperate tongues
In the death of culture
song performed by by Tonic from Lemon Parade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be Young You
The tongues of some men are made of metal
The tongues of some men are made of oil
But the keeper of those men never rolled
Their tongues for anybodys free ride but his own
Now the oily tongues are thirsty for black gold.
But the old men are going to bed
Theyll be sleeping through the future
And the children red with fire
They got to move away the old mans rusty beds.
Now the tongue, the tongue of a master
That should be laughter - with dancing legs
Like a flying wheel for the weak and sad man
Some tongues of man are made of silence
And your eyes will listen.
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God's lullabies
a chatterbox
speaks to me
every minute
of my life
no he does not speak
through tongues
but deeds
and he is my creator
this heart beats
each beat
signals his permission
to let me live
the sky full of stars
every star
a word of
his mightiness
his promise of
a life beyond
a rose blooms
a verse from
his poetic vault
a haiku
to share the
little pleasure of life
the tinkling sound
of the little brook
in the forest
his soothing tongue
to calm me down
god's tongues
sprout everywhere
engaging me in his world
propelling me up
the evolution chain
with his lulabies
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Angel oh angel
Angel oh angel
fly down beside me.
Hold my hand
and take me away.
Take me here
even if you
see my tear.
Up in the sky
where dead people lie.
Lots of hearts
have been torn apart.
Help me angel.
Help me fly
to the sky.
Need to see
the one i lost,
as the past
seems to of
turned to frost.
Man i once knew.
Man i onced loved.
Man i use to
look up to.
I know he is safe.
Angel oh angel,
please fly me away.
Take me up
in the dark
sky at night,
where the stars
shine oh so bright.
I look at the
stars at night,
wishing upon
the star that
shines so bright.
Bring him back!
Back down tonight.
To hold me.
To cuddle me.
To tell me
to do right.
Give me directions
to the good life.
I may even one day
become a mans wife.
Angel oh angel,
I thank you so much
for flying me
to the sky,
where dead people lie.
Angel oh angel
i wave farewell.
(c) K.L.Davis 2009
To whom it may concern
As the moon argues with clouds
In winter's tormented sky
A frail life lingers in the shadows
Waiting for deaths hello
To glide over the river of Styx
On the spirit of his funeral swan.
.
Through frosted windows,
A whispered orb appears
Hovering over mortal conscience
Mirrored in masked apparitions,
Around the candles flicker.
Voices fill the room
Calling the cemeteries dead
Calling witness to this passing
And In the Rocking chair a figure
Speaking, plumes of mist
Looking from a dark abyss
Where once there was a face,
The scratching of a Quill,
Writing, moving across a veil of grey,
Hiding the pages beneath
The quill of mankind
Is Here to empty your soul,
Though your heart will try and hide,
The truth,
The person that is you.
For in his wisdom
Creation gave you a conscience
And that will always betray
This person that was you
And another testimony is taken
In the trial of Mankind
poem by Steven Cooke
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Murdered By Their Tongues
Threatened by a mentalness,
That spreading gossip did.
And murdered by their tongues.
Whatever between them did exist,
That ruined their happiness...
And long loving relationships,
Has been murdered by their tongues.
Murdered by their tongues,
Abandoned good deeds are left undone.
In big numbers.
Murdered by their tongues,
Some people had to run...
To find their comfort.
Murdered by their tongues,
Some choose to begin to run...
To find their comfort,
And unencumbered by the numbers.
They've been murdered by their tongues.
Stubborn these people,
Who've been murdered by their tongues.
Unconscious people,
Who are murdered by their tongues.
These fools are equal,
Who will murder anyone with their wicked tongues.
Murdered by their tongues,
Some people had to run...
To find their comfort.
Threatened by a mentalness,
That spreading gossip did.
And murdered by their tongues.
Whatever between them did exist,
That ruined their happiness...
And long loving relationships,
Has been murdered by their tongues.
They've been murdered by their tongues.
Stubborn these people,
Who've been murdered by their tongues.
Unconscious people,
Who are murdered by their tongues.
These fools are equal,
Who will murder anyone with their wicked tongues.
Murdered by their tongues,
Some choose to begin to run...
To find their comfort,
And unencumbered by the numbers.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sing A New Song! ! !
Singing to each new day a new song
Sing out Strong
Thy Life, it is thy song
Thy song is thy gift
The gift to be given to everyone
All across the earth
A song for all nations
Tribes, tongues
Songs of honour and majesty
will be sung
Joyous sounds from many lungs
Man, Woman, Child
Rejoice, Again Rejoice
'Let the Heavens be glad and the earth rejoice;
Let the sea roar, and all that fills it' (Psalm 96: 11)
The skies will open up
The brightness will blind us
This is the day we meet our Lord
Our Creator
Our Savior
poem by Peter LeBuhn
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When I Am Dead
When I am dead, if some chastened one
Seeing the 'item, ' or hearing it said
That my play is over and my part done
And I lie asleep in my narrow bed -
If I could know that some soul would say,
Speaking aloud or silently,
'In the heat and the burden of the day
She gave a refreshing draught to me';
Or, 'When I was lying nigh unto death
She nursed me to life and to strength again,
And when I laboured and struggled for breath
She smoothed and quieted down my pain';
Or, 'When I was groping in grief and doubt,
Lost, and turned from the light o'er the day,
Her hand reached me and helped me out
And led me up to the better way';
Or, 'When I was hated and shunned by all,
Bowing under my sin and shame,
She, once in passing me by, let fall
Words of pity and hope, that came
Into my heart like a blessed calm
Over the waves of the stormy sea,
Words of comfort like oil and balm,
She spake, and the desert blossomed for me';
Better, by far, than a marble tomb -
Than a monument towering over my head
(What shall I care, in my quiet room,
For headboard or footboard when I am dead?):
Better than glory, or honours, or fame
(Though I am striving for those to-day) ,
To know that some heart would cherish my name
And think of me kindly, with blessings, alway.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Dreaming Inside
Last night I lay awake,
Last night people were screaming- People threatening to kill me-
I was alone in my room, lying amongst dark shadows-
Looking about- nobody else was there- I thought I must be dreaming,
The whole world was threatening me, as
I was chasing away the dark shadows on the walls,
I heard voices say ‘Dream on, dream on'
But I knew I wasn't dreaming.
It was after midnight- I was not sleeping-
All I could do was cast my eyes about the
Sallow colored walls- of this room- chasing away those shadows-
While I believed they were speaking to me-
Voices saying 'dream on, dream on'-
Were laughing and mocking me, so I believed-
These voices only I could hear- I could only pray I was dreaming inside-
I couldn't shut my eyes in these moments of wakefulness,
Because these shadows were robbing me of my sanity-
I could hear screaming voices and threatening intonations-
I was a lone being lost in a room amongst my own shadows-
When I realized these voices were coming from inside?
'Dream on, dream on'- I told myself in total desperation-
Knowing, however, I cannot dream within these moments of wakefulness-
I wanted to believe these shadows were alive,
So I wouldn't be alone in the midst of these loud and angry voices-
These voices only I could hear- commanding me to take my life.
'Dream on, dream on, ' I whispered hoarsely through my tears-
Be good to me, my shadows and rock me to sleep-
Carry me away to a trance where trees grow and flourish and
Where deer are running wild, locusts are singing and
I am alone amongst these melodious sounds of the summer.
It seems wherever I go and in whatever direction- these angry voices follow-
Tonight I shall lose myself amongst my shadows and close my eyes-
I shall close my eyes and pray although I am not certain if a God is listening-
I shall close my eyes and sleep-like a herd of deer chase away those who wish me harm-
And finally, with every effort- lose myself inside the world of my dreams
Where everything is quiet, without menacing voices so terrifying present and
I shall dream on, dream on, regaining my sanity-
Losing myself inside a world of eternal reverie for always...
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Cool Web
Children are dumb to say how hot the day is,
How hot the scent is of the summer rose,
How dreadful the black wastes of evening sky,
How dreadful the tall soldiers drumming by.
But we have speech, to chill the angry day,
And speech, to dull the rose's cruel scent.
We spell away the overhanging night,
We spell away the soldiers and the fright.
There's a cool web of language winds us in,
Retreat from too much joy or too much fear:
We grow sea-green at last and coldly die
In brininess and volubility.
But if we let our tongues lose self-possession,
Throwing off language and its watery clasp
Before our death, instead of when death comes,
Facing the wide glare of the children's day,
Facing the rose, the dark sky and the drums,
We shall go mad no doubt and die that way.
poem by Robert Graves
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Lighthouse
The lighthouse lost its light on her a long time ago
She got so used to it, this long and winding road
I'll never ever let you go, oh
I can't believe she whispered to me
I don't wanna breathe
Oh no
This ship of fools sails west by night-time and by day
Circumnavigates her globe like a bullet gone astray
Come on home baby, where it's safe
I can't believe she whispered to me
I don't wanna breathe
I don't wanna breathe
Even if you drink from the chalice of cheap escape and fade away
I'll never ever let you go
I can't believe she whispered to me
I don't wanna breathe
I don't wanna breathe
She whispered to me
Now I can't believe she whispered to me
Oh lord, lord, lord
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Forest Greeting
GOOD hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the forests call;
But ever a heart beats hot with fear,
And what of the birds that fall?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the north winds blow;
But what of the stag that calls for his mate?
And what of the wounded doe?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And ah! we are bold and strong;
But our triumph call through the forest hall
Is a brother's funeral song.
For we are brothers ever,
Panther and bird and bear;
Man and the weakest that fear his face,
Born to the nest or lair.
Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?
Hunters and game are we;
But who gave the right for me to smite?
Who boasts when he smiteth me?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And dim is the forest track;
But the sportsman Death comes striding on:
Brothers, the way is black.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Restless Soul Is Mad
Restless soul
Is mad
Ruled by a force unseen but dominating
Eluding it
Yet longing for it
What fear is it?
What desire?
That grows each day
As the light submits to dark
And as the doors slowly close
It’s daytime for my soul
What horizons does it explore through the lands of dreams?
And what glitters for it far is its own illusionary reflections
That shine
A mirage
I do know!
Yet I live with its doubts
For my soul is restless
And it is mad
And it won't believe what shows
For it chases the truth
Not knowing that it beats within him
Falling in the rhythms of heart
Unheard
Moving like slow winds through its lungs
It’s the moment that is lived and to be lived the truth
A moment, an infinite lives
And a moment death
Yet I would live in doubt
For one day, my soul shall find the way to its own heart
To its own self
The ways untrodden for now
And till then I shall be restless
I shall be mad...
poem by Lama Abbas
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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 11. Calm is the morn without a sound
Calm is the morn without a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer grief,
And only thro' the faded leaf
The chestnut pattering to the ground:
Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
And on these dews that drench the furze.
And all the silvery gossamers
That twinkle into green and gold:
Calm and still light on yon great plain
That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
And crowded farms and lessening towers,
To mingle with the bounding main:
Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
These leaves that redden to the fall;
And in my heart, if calm at all,
If any calm, a calm despair:
Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
And waves that sway themselves in rest,
And dead calm in that noble breast
Which heaves but with the heaving deep.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Dark Angel, Faith's Angel
i was lost and alone, as I always am,
no one's around me nor understands
no one seems to care
I am waiting til it comes
they say its okay
and love me in some way
But just when I trust to love,
they forget what they say
i held the knife so close
as tears fall mixed with blood with purpose
began to fall slowly and lose
like a crazy crying dead rose
i put the knife away and tried to wipe the blood,
that ran faster than I can describe.
an angel tapped my back
i saw him with wide open heart
thank you angel, my dear angel love
you took me out of the dark
and bring back my soul
you are angel, you are my all
- i love u my dark angel -
poem by Tough Angel fly purple butterfly fly
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Death on the Horizon
Up above the bollosm tree
a bird is soaring high
Death is shadowing on the Earth
that's Death's Raven in the sky
a curse be spread
whispered by the wind
you will die
all of you who have sinned
the clouds fade grey
the trees go bare
the fish all surface
people don't care
garbage in the streets
exhaust fuems in child lungs
the men with power to change it
say nothing useful with their tongues
The time has come
Death is here
wasted lives
run by fear
we have condemed ourselves
our children aswell
this is our future
unless we rebel
poem by Dakota Ellerton
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It was not death, for I stood up,
It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bells
Put out their tongues, for noon.
It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl,--
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.
And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,
As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key;
And 't was like midnight, some,
When everything that ticked has stopped,
And space stares, all around,
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
Repeal the beating ground.
But most like chaos,--stopless, cool,--
Without a chance or spar,--
Or even a report of land
To justify despair.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Pentecost
After the death of our son
Neither the sorrows of afternoon, waiting in the silent house,
Nor the night no sleep relieves, when memory
Repeats its prosecution.
Nor the morning's ache for dream's illusion, nor any prayers
Improvised to an unknowable god
Can extinguish the flame.
We are not as we were. Death has been our pentecost,
And our innocence consumed by these implacable
Tongues of fire.
Comfort me with stones. Quench my thirst with sand.
I offer you this scarred and guilty hand
Until others mix our ashes.
poem by Dana Gioia
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