The Night March
With banners furled and clarions mute,
An army passes in the night;
And beaming spears and helms salute
The dark with bright.
In silence deep the legions stream,
With open ranks, in order true;
Over boundless plains they stream and
gleam--
No chief in view!
Afar, in twinkling distance lost,
(So legends tell) he lonely wends
And back through all that shining host
His mandate sends.
poem by Herman Melville
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Related quotes
In the river brook
oh! beautiful river
of the brook placidly floats in the
slippery foot
quietly smooth
as it stood in the
river floor, where you come
to my eager calls
come to the silent of
the night, as the
moon light shine making me afar, in
your stream
that reunites
me to go too far, until
the evening soon it depart, as
the day you come
to see my
hands leading me where I might be
open it wide
to know the true is
right,
your silence stream guides me
so bright, hope that
you will always be in the night
I sight
poem by Antonio Liao
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Voices Of The Night : The Beleaguered City
I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.
Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.
I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.
No other voice nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.
And when the solemn and deep churchbell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Beleaguered City, The
I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.
Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.
I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.
No other voice nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.
And when the solemn and deep churchbell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Shade Of Theseus - Ancient Greek Tradition
Know ye not when our dead
From sleep to battle sprung?
-When the Persian charger's tread
On their cowering greensward rung!
When the trampling march of foes
Had crush'd our vines and flowers,
When jewell'd crests arose
Through the holy laurel-bowers,
When banners caught the breeze,
When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,
And spears on Marathon.
There was one, a leader crown'd,
And arm'd for Greece that day;
But the falchions made no sound
On his gleaming war-array.
In the battle's front he stood,
With his tall and shadowy crest;
But the arrows drew no blood
Though their path was through his breast.
When banners caught the breeze,
When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,
And spears on Marathon.
His sword was seen to flash
Where the boldest deeds were done;
But it smote without a clash;
The stroke was heard by none!
His voice was not of those
That swell'd the rolling blast,
And his steps fell hush'd like snows-
'Twas the Shade of Theseus pass'd!
When banners caught the breeze,
When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,
And spears on Marathon.
Far sweeping through the foe,
With a fiery charge he bore;
And the Mede left many a bow
On the sounding ocean-shore.
And the foaming waves grew red,
And the sails were crowded fast,
When the sons of Asia fled,
As the Shade of Theseus pass'd!
When banners caught the breeze,
When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,
And spears on Marathon.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Riding Together
For many, many days together
The wind blew steady from the East;
For many days hot grew the weather,
About the time of our Lady's Feast.
For many days we rode together,
Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
Steadily did the East wind blow.
We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,
Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
As freely we rode on together
With helms unlaced and bridles slack.
And often, as we rode together,
We, looking down the green-bank'd stream,
Saw flowers in the sunny weather,
And saw the bubble-making bream.
And in the night lay down together,
And hung above our heads the rood,
Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather,
The while the moon did watch the wood.
Our spears stood bright and thick together,
Straight out the banners stream'd behind,
As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,
With faces turn'd towards the wind.
Down sank our threescore spears together,
As thick we saw the pagans ride;
His eager face in the clear fresh weather,
Shone out that last time by my side.
Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,
It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,
Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,
The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.
There, as we roll'd and writhed together,
I threw my arms above my head,
For close by my side, in the lovely weather,
I saw him reel and fall back dead.
I and the slayer met together,
He waited the death-stroke there in his place,
With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,
Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.
Madly I fought as we fought together;
In vain: the little Christian band
The pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather
The river drowns low-lying land.
They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,
They bound his corpse to nod by my side:
Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,
With clash of cymbals did we ride.
We ride no more, no more together;
My prison-bars are thick and strong,
I take no heed of any weather,
The sweet Saints grant I live not long.
poem by William Morris
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Gallant maiden...Lets fish...
Lonely stream, where do you depart with your lover?
Lovely maiden, why do you walk on this lonely stream?
Lovely song brace with echoes...
I fish this stream my lovely maiden...
I can't fish...
Come, lets fish...
If you were this fish...
I will take care of you...
Come, i can't eat this fish...
We caught...
Where my gallant maiden, Where do you live?
You make me question this stream...
You make me guard our departed stream...
Come lets fish...
Lets, start over...
Before, this stream drys out...
Before, we can no longer fish again...
Oh, expire fish i treasure your bone for my lost lover...
I held you in my heart forever and ever...
Im Lonely All Alone
im lonely like the sun
shining bright
all alone..
im lonely like the moon
shinning in the dark
all alone..
im lonely all alone
shining bright
morning and night
all alone
poem by Christopher Cardinal
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star
Star shining bright
so many stars wandering
through the dark night,
did you (do you) know
whichever star you are
there is still further
(you can go)
even further afar;
star shining bright
which one are you,
are you shining red
or silver or blue?
and (do you know?)
magnificent you are.
poem by David Taylor
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A Dream
Only a dream, a beautiful baseless dream;
Only a bright
Flash from your eyes, a brief electrical gleam,
Charged with delight.
Only a waking, alone, in the moon's last gleam
Fading from sight;
Only a flooding of tears that shudder and stream
Fast through the night.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Sunrise Along Shore
Athwart the harbor lingers yet
The ashen gleam of breaking day,
And where the guardian cliffs are set
The noiseless shadows steal away;
But all the winnowed eastern sky
Is flushed with many a tender hue,
And spears of light are smiting through
The ranks where huddled sea-mists fly.
Across the ocean, wan and gray,
Gay fleets of golden ripples come,
For at the birth-hour of the day
The roistering, wayward winds are dumb.
The rocks that stretch to meet the tide
Are smitten with a ruddy glow,
And faint reflections come and go
Where fishing boats at anchor ride.
All life leaps out to greet the light --
The shining sea-gulls dive and soar,
The swallows whirl in dizzy flight,
And sandpeeps flit along the shore.
From every purple landward hill
The banners of the morning fly,
But on the headlands, dim and high,
The fishing hamlets slumber still.
One boat alone beyond the bar
Is sailing outward blithe and free,
To carry sturdy hearts afar
Across those wastes of sparkling sea;
Staunchly to seek what may be won
From out the treasures of the deep,
To toil for those at home who sleep
And be the first to greet the sun.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Dark Angel
She never told me
just where she came from
who she was, or who she is
now in a total bliss
I watch the night come
and no-one knows
she comes and goes
silence is just the sound
of a forgotten kiss
She never told me her name
but she is still here
just the same
she's my dark angel
a silent fairytale
somewhere so near
now nothing else seems to matter
as I look for her around
Heaven wrapped in a flame
she's here in me forever
where angels' once fell
from a burning sky
where demons' could only fly
Not even time can tell
how it came to this
stranded here in the dark
she's my lonely stelar
in a moonlite park
shining through the night
so close, yet, so far
She's my dark angel
a sweet pulchritude
in an evening gown
with eyes shining bright
an angel coming down
keeping me subdued
Still she's so extenuate
just a careless whisper
blowing in the wind
like a long lost friend
at the edge of heavens' gate
(spiritwind-2009)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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Proem
IN the black night, along the mud-deep roads,
Amid the threatening boughs and ghastly streams,
Hark! sounds that gird the darknesses like goads,
Murmurs and rumours and reverberant dreams,
Trampling, breaths, movements, and a little light. —
The marching of the Army of the Night!
The stricken men, the mad brute-beasts are keeping
No more their places in the ditches or holes,
But rise, and join us, and the women, weeping
Beside the roadways, rise like demon-souls.
Fill up the ranks! What shimmers there so bright?
The bayonets of the Army of the Night!
Fill up the ranks! We march in steadfast column,
In wavering lines yet forming more and more;
Men, women, children, sombre, silent, solemn,
Rank follows rank like billows to the shore.
Dawnwards we tramp, towards the hills and light.
On, on and up, the Army of the Night!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Smooth Velvet
Bright stars are coming out
the deep dark sky to light.
Glinting from far above
such blackness to ignite.
They beam towards the earth,
from so many miles away.
Worlds that now are empty
of life. They’ve had their day.
Tapestry of diamonds,
on lush smooth velvet seen.
Sparkling, all these jewels,
with the moon in between.
Twinkling with goldenness,
pin points in the blue.
Shining every night-time,
giving an awesome view.
Bright stars are coming out,
the air is fresh and clear.
No clouds to hide their rays,
they pierce the stratosphere.
The heavens are so vast,
with planets everywhere.
Will earth finally be,
another shooting flare.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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I Am Happy Now
She came to me at last
and I am happy now
I bask in afterglow of love
and I am happy now.
She came to me in night
in magic of a starlit night
full moon shining bright
an enchanting full moon night.
Wearing a sexy, little summer dress
perfumed, bright eyed, seductive now
looking, vibrant stunning; enticing temptress,
allured, bewitched, beguiled; I am happy now.
She wore a sexy, little summer dress
showing off curves, of exposed naked flesh
and perfume, of anticipating; sexual suspense
and I am happy now, I am happy now in flesh.
The memory of this sensual spicy night
shines radiant clear and brilliant bright,
memory of her intoxicating boundless love
shines brighter, than all burning stars above.
In summer love springs water that flows
from a sweet secret mountain stream,
from a hidden cliff in surrounding rocks
where I have, pleasantly swimming been.
I love the fair forest that grows
near this secret mountain stream,
with these sweet memories dreams
I am happy, contemplating beauty seen.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sonnet. The sun and stream
As some dark stream within a cavern's breast,
Flows murmuring, moaning for the distant sun,
So ere I met thee, murmuring its unrest,
Did my life's current coldly, darkly run.
And as that stream, beneath the sun's full gaze,
Its separate course and life no more maintains,
But now absorbed, transfused far o'er the plains,
It floats, etherealized in those warm rays;
So in the sunlight of thy fervid love,
My heart, so long to earth's dark channels given,
Now soars, all pain, all doubt, all ill above,
And breathes the ether of the upper heaven:
So thy high spirit holds and governs mine;
So is my life, my being, lost in thine!
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
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A Stream
there is a certain stream that all of us
would like to swim
where we are like children
following no other person's command
it is not a stream of water
that makes us wet and shiver
and make us think about some
kind of thirsts and satiation
it is something that we must not
cross lest we find ourselves in another
world and leave everyone
everything as they are and we
do not want it
we are scared we hesitate
to throw our feet in there
but then there is no choice
the nights, the lonely nights
take us all there
this is the stream of consciousness
that we all have
we think and love and speak in silence
in the light of our hearts
we travel inward, we hope we
truly become ourselves
invented, reinvented over and over again
to see our real faces
we simply float in there
we flow and we can never stop
gladly beyond as he calls it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Stream’s Singing
O HOW beautiful is Morning!
How the sunbeams strike the daisies,
And the kingcups fill the meadow
Like a golden-shielded army
Marching to the uplands fair;--
I am going forth to battle,
And life's uplands rise before me,
And my golden shield is ready,
And I pause a moment, timing
My heart's pæan to the waters,
As with cheerful song incessant
Onwards runs the little stream;
Singing ever, onward ever,
Boldly runs the merry stream.
O how glorious is Noon-day!
With the cool large shadows lying
Underneath the giant forest,
The far hill-tops towering dimly
O'er the conquered plains below;--
I am conquering--I shall conquer
In life's battle-field impetuous:
And I lie and listen dreamy
To a double-voiced, low music,--
Tender beech-trees sheeny shiver
Mingled with the diapason
Of the strong, deep, joyful stream,
Like a man's love and a woman's;
So it runs--the happy stream!
O how grandly cometh Even,
Sitting on the mountain summit,
Purple-vestured, grave, and silent,
Watching o'er the dewy valleys,
Like a good king near his end:--
I have labored, I have governed;
Now I feel the gathering shadows
Of the night that closes all things:
And the fair earth fades before me,
And the stars leap out in heaven,
While into the infinite darkness
Solemn runs the steadfast stream--
Onward, onward, ceaseless, fearless,
Singing runs the eternal stream.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Chains of Depression
So dark and deep and lonely it is
In this state of horror
No rest for me, no time for me
My soul is mine no more
So dark and deep and lonely it is
Never again I’ll see
My house, my family, my life
No more I’ll ever see
So dark and deep and lonely it is
Just pain stays, forever
It lingers here, always right here
Will it ever end… ever?
So dark and deep and lonely it was
But out I came, back to the top
My thoughts restored, looking up again
Life regained, the flow stopped
Long-Legged Fly
THAT civilisation may not sink,
Its great battle lost,
Quiet the dog, tether the pony
To a distant post;
Our master Caesar is in the tent
Where the maps ate spread,
His eyes fixed upon nothing,
A hand under his head.
Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
His mind moves upon silence.
That the topless towers be burnt
And men recall that face,
Move most gently if move you must
In this lonely place.
She thinks, part woman, three parts a child,
That nobody looks; her feet
Practise a tinker shuffle
Picked up on a street.
Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
Her mind moves upon silence.
That girls at puberty may find
The first Adam in their thought,
Shut the door of the Pope's chapel,
Keep those children out.
There on that scaffolding reclines
Michael Angelo.
With no more sound than the mice make
His hand moves to and fro.
Like a long-leggedfly upon the stream
His mind moves upon silence.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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General Grant -- The Hero Of The War
Brave Grant, thou hero of the war,
Thou art the emblem of the morning star,
Transpiring from the East to banish fear,
Revolving o'er a servile Hemisphere,
At large thou hast sustained the chief command
And at whose order all must rise and stand,
To hold position in the field is thine,
To sink in darkness or to rise and shine.
Thou art the leader of the Fed'ral band,
To send them at thy pleasure through the land,
Whose martial soldiers never did recoil
Nor fail in any place to take the spoil,
Thus organized was all the army firm,
And led unwavering to their lawful term,
Never repulsed or made to shrink with fear,
Advancing in their cause so truly dear.
The love of Union burned in every heart,
Which led them true and faithful from the start,
Whether upon water or on land,
They all obeyed their marshall's strict command,
By him the regiments were all surveyed,
His trumpet voice was by the whole obeyed,
His order right was every line to form,
And all be well prepared to front the storm.
Ye Southern gentlemen must grant him praise,
Nor on the flag of Union fail to gaze;
Ye ladies of the South forego the prize,
Our chief commander here to recognize,
From him the stream of general orders flow,
And every chief on him some praise bestow,
The well-known victor of the mighty cause
Demands from every voice a loud applause.
What more has great Napoleon ever done,
Though many battles in his course he won?
What more has Alexander e'er achieved,
Who left depopulated cities grieved?
To him we dedicate the whole in song,
The verses from our pen to him belong,
To him the Union banners are unfurled,
The star of peace the standard of the world.
poem by George Moses Horton
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