I, the son of fragile mortality
I, the son of fragile mortality
A living soul and then nothing
me who would be cast as a die
standing and adoring the yellow sunset declines
and its long rays and shades the landscapes shines
to mark the barks of trees and flowers stems all with golden light
that lit the dark slant woods of dusk with silvery white
all quiet and calm before the moon takes its roll in the East
adoring all this holy scene I realized that
I am not even a leaf on the blooming bough
Just not a part of this beauty and bloom
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Related quotes
I dread the calm
I dread the calm in the morning of a mourn without a sound
It is a calm that comes to foster a greater grief
It is a calm light of dusk before ever dew was falling from leaves
It is a calm sinking in calm pattering to the ground
I fear the calm and scudding winds in the high wold
And on the dews the drench the gorse
And all the silvery gossamer
Shaken into gilded gold
Is it calm and still in the dusky light over great plains
That sweeps late and swiftly in autumn bowers
Of secluded farms and solitary towers
To merge with the bounding and the saint
Is it calm on the vast sea under the spangled silver sleep
The waves that sway in colossus to lull themselves to rest
And the dead calm in the deepening breast
Which heaves with the heaving deep
Yet calm is the mute peace in the meadow’s air
The forest gloom with loom of leaves that redden to fall
And in my chest if calm can ever dwell at all
If any calm is there, it is the calm of despair
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You are beautiful
You are very pretty
and the sun rising over the horizon
loves you,
while his red rays folds open.
The irises of which the colours are purple blue
and kingly on green stems
likes you and flowers perfectly,
to try and copy you.
Wild birds living in the trees
in the street
eat seed that you leave
and they realize that you are wondrously beautiful.
When the postman passes
he looks at the paintings on the outside wall
and thinks that if this is what comes
from your hand,
you really must be lovely.
The small white lapdog
looks admiring at you
as if you are a goddess
and knows were your splendour lies.
l’Envoi
Your auburn hair cherish
your pretty face, which is more beautiful
than a statue chiselled from white marble
and there’s light
in your golden eyes
which witnesses deep beauty.
You are beautiful,
and only you do not realize it.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The super moon
The super moon shines over the mountain with silvery shining light,
Moon so big in size sends the wise owl flying in fright,
Hyenas stop laughing for a while to watch the smile on moon's face tonight.
The mountain and its trees adore this beautiful sight.
The mountain and its trees adore this beautiful sight,
The silvery charm brings the memory of my mom's lullaby,
'Uncle moon, please come down and bring the rice and milk for my child in the golden pot tonight',
My heart tries to search the beauty of my love in the big smiling moon so nearby.
My heart tries to search the beauty of my love in the big smiling moon so nearby,
It is hard to decide who is prettier, the moon or my love tonight,
The silver rays mesmerize my eyes with so much love and tranquility,
That I wish we will be together in love forever we are in sight.
That I wish we will be together in love forever we are in sight,
When I rub my sleepy eyes in the dawns early light,
With heavy heart I bid goodbye to this sight,
May be in next hundred years, my roaming soul will watch again this beautiful sight.
poem by Jay P Narain
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An Autumn Night
An autumn night, so bitter chill it is
An owl, for all its plum and thick feathers is cold
The hare long ago rushed limping trembling through the frozen maze
Into a lair, and silent stark are the song birds on a woody enfold
Naked trees with barren boughs, no leaf does tremble, no ripple there
On the streets, all abandoned still under the night sleepy eye
The world so deserted from any human sign or care
Darkness reign on dreary routes with echoing cry
And the moon whether prudish or shy in this cold night
Has fled to her bower, well reluctant to lend her dimming light
No light in this oppressing darkness, no fume no torch in the gloom
Is this world ever waken, do these trees ever bloom
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I stand and watch a tree of sturdy oak
I stand and watch a tree of sturdy oak
It braves against the rain, the sun and the gust
Thunder roars through its boughs with blast
Yet its leaves whitening in sight like a royal cloak
An oak proclaims against echoing dunes and scourging sun
Through the storm, tempest and chilly damp dark
Its boughs wave against torrents and bent in arcs
As it stands against the events like a calm nun
The clouds above its foliage are straining
The pale yellow woods around its trunk are waning
And a broad stream by its roots is complaining
Of heavy low skies constantly raining
With one black self reflected shadow at its feet
the oak through all its lush foliage shines
As summer haze brooding heat
And holy still silent in its dusty lusty vines
Oh I wish I had the strength and stamina of this oak
My life would be so much in a better clock
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Love lost
She was so cruel and capricious making me bury our love
Not in a grave yard under a sluttish tomb stone
But beneath a tall oak tree of a forest dark, wide and alone
Where none can come across or see from above
There will be no memorial days or sad hours
And I shall never visit the tree or put flowers
Yet the mouth I loved so much to kiss and to treat
Was none like so daring and bittersweet
I shall never go to the under tree love grave
For the woods are hostile, dark and cold
My time I shall for new love save
New love, new joy, constrain the rebel heart, forget the old
All day long I shall stay in the sun
Where the wide winds blow and flowers bloom
But oh, I shall cry at night for my sorrow is still undone
When none will know my time of agony and gloom
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Vies Manquees
A YEAR ago we walked the wood--
A year ago to-day;
A blackbird fluttered round her brood
Deep in the white-flowered may.
We trod the happy woodland ways,
Where sunset streamed between
The hazel stems in long dusk rays,
And turned to gold the green.
A thrush sang where the ferns uncurled,
And clouds of wind-flowers grew:
I missed the meaning of the world
From lack of love for you.
You missed the beauty of the year,
And failed its self to see,
Through too much doubt and too much fear,
And too much love of me.
This year we hear the birds' glad strain,
Again the sunset glows,
We walk the wild wet woods again,
Again the wind-flower blows.
In cloudy white the falling may
Drifts down the scented wind,
And so the secret drifts away
Which we shall never find.
Our drifted spirits are not free
Spring's secret springs to touch,
For now you do not care for me,
And I love you too much.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunrise, Sunset
O Sun, When you rise,
It’s morning dawn.
When you set,
It’s evening dusk.
O Sun, Seeing your beauty lighting
Shining on landscape from dawn
Shining on seascape from dusk
It comes from dawn to dusk.
O Sun, rise from East
O Sun, set to West
From East to West,
Celestial light comes and go,
Seasons come and go.
Here come four seasons
North to South, East to West
From Spring comes Autumn,
From Summer comes Winter.
O Sun, From rising East
To setting West
O Moon, Come rising East
To setting West
Cycle never end,
It’s endless cycle,
Seeing sunset every dusk,
Seeing sunrise every dawn.
Making us pondering..
Make us wondering
Where, When will be next..
Sunrise, sunset..
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue night
Blue dark dusk a prelude to a moon struck night
Once more as long time before
You appeared in front of my door
Blue dark dashing night
At the edge of a city sleeping tide
Once more before the ore
Twinkling shades play behind closed door
Oh come back and take hold of me
A sensation that I long and love from thee
Oh come back in sinew and flesh so long forsaken
When body’s memory revived rekindled awakened
And old longing again moves into the blood
When lips and skin stir and remember
And hands feel as if though they touch again
And all comes back alive vivid and so plain
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Gibbous over Wood
The moon is not yet grown -
It is at the doorstep of maturity.
But still its light comes down
Through the broadleaf wood.
Here and there, a leaf is silver,
Chosen favorite of the moon,
While the other trees shiver
In the dark with envy.
The moon is not yet grown –
It is brilliant in its youth.
It is to the sun a mirror
And to the sky a mouth.
There is a light about a tree
A white wedding-gown,
Shall the moon wed the tree
Before it is yet grown?
The moon is not yet grown –
It is confident, though,
And shines with great spirit,
Piercing the wood through.
There is a path across the river,
Wrought in silver stone.
The moon mocks the walker
Who takes the path and drowns.
poem by Sophia White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain, rain, rain
Rain, rain, rain
Why it cannot be another rain
The one that comes down
Whirling and smashing under a gust
With force with joy and with thrust
Bouncing from leaf to leaf
From earlobe to earlobe
Shines like a pearl
In the vermilion lap of a rose
And in the morning sun
A playful rabbit will chase
The vapor of its breath
On a lush green turf
Rain, rain, rain
Exits and ends are not joyful trend
Mortality, a monster ambushing life
Lurks our essential being
Craves its victims young and fresh
Devour like fire any piece of beauty to ash
Prey on any joy of ever
This horror of feeling, this dreadful sadness descended on me
Like a night on an owl
To rough and to shake me with dreadful foul
All things are hushed with the falling rain, nature’s self lay dead
The mountains seem to nod their dawn drowsy head
The little birds in dreams their songs not repeat
And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat
Even lust, Envy and hate sleep, yet loves denies
Rest to my soul and slumber to my eyes
Oh Dear, lay your trouble head to rest
Calm the palpitations in the breast
God renders our fortune sweet
If we aid him with our bravery and wits
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Cadland, Southampton River
If ever sea-maid, from her coral cave,
Beneath the hum of the great surge, has loved
To pass delighted from her green abode,
And, seated on a summer bank, to sing
No earthly music; in a spot like this,
The bard might feign he heard her, as she dried
Her golden hair, yet dripping from the main,
In the slant sunbeam.
So the pensive bard
Might image, warmed by this enchanting scene,
The ideal form; but though such things are not,
He who has ever felt a thought refined;
He who has wandered on the sea of life,
Forming delightful visions of a home
Of beauty and repose; he who has loved,
With filial warmth his country, will not pass
Without a look of more than tenderness
On all the scene; from where the pensile birch
Bends on the bank, amid the clustered group
Of the dark hollies; to the woody shore
That steals diminished, to the distant spires
Of Hampton, crowning the long lucid wave.
White in the sun, beneath the forest-shade,
Full shines the frequent sail, like Vanity,
As she goes onward in her glittering trim,
Amid the glances of life's transient morn,
Calling on all to view her!
Vectis there,
That slopes its greensward to the lambent wave,
And shows through softest haze its woods and domes,
With gray St Catherine's creeping to the sky,
Seems like a modest maid, who charms the more
Concealing half her beauties.
To the East,
Proud, yet complacent, on its subject realm,
With masts innumerable thronged, and hulls
Seen indistinct, but formidable, mark
Albion's vast fleet, that, like the impatient storm,
Waits but the word to thunder and flash death
On him who dares approach to violate
The shores and living scenes that smile secure
Beneath its dragon-watch!
Long may they smile!
And long, majestic Albion (while the sound
From East to West, from Albis to the Po,
Of dark contention hurtles), may'st thou rest,
As calm and beautiful this sylvan scene
Looks on the refluent wave that steals below.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gettysburg
Today at Gettysburg the woods are calm, nodding to and through
With shimmering forms that flash before an observer view
And then melt in green, variety of hues as the dawn stars melt in blue
The smiling leaves wave whitening against one's cheek in peaceful caress
As the hands of shadow widows against the wide meadow still express
Even now, their mighty subtle tenderness over this past battle field duress
Embracing boughs at the wood depth into a little wind whisper start
That noise like the echo of wounded fire heart
The agony of despaired screams coming from lips smoking wide apart
It is all quiet now, the trees dream in balm undisturbed by past wrong
The scenery is innocent in beauty, multiplying and strong
The scent of flowers scan through the valley of breath calm and long
Yet reminiscence does breed the stress and the urgent of war
The haunted ecstasy of humans and beast cries tore
The smoke, the fire, and bullets rushing into blood gore
The wounded, the battled deformed dragged behind steeds neighing roar
This morning the dew plashed road is clear and dry
Rich wreathes grape the spacious foreheads of sturdy pines
And from heights breathe ambrosial passion from their vines
And like a timid child they hide from human eye
As I stroll in past paths, I pray with mosses and flowers shy
And as they lift adoring perfumes to the July sky
I slowly move, with ranging looks that pass
Over corn fields and matted miracles of grass
My route leads me into veined complex of space
Where the vast sky with elongated leafage interlace
So close, so calm the heaven of sapphire is seen
As if in woven with heaven of infinitude pastoral green
One may feel the urge to summon the prophet Ezekiel
Who as that past miracle bones revival, will conjure you from hell
Back to here where I pause, my forward faring eyes
Take these magnificent harvests, where the stately vigorous corn-ranks rise.
Oh spirits passing before me as I behold
Your faces in the kingdom of mortality are unfold
Deep eternal sleep comes to every watching eye
Yet yours came so swiftly unjustly under dire battle sigh
Along your bones the creeping flesh did quiver and quake
As your damp hair stiffened with agony and fear it hardly spake
Is man more just in morals than God? , is man more pure
Than he who deems all of us in basic sinful and insecure?
I do mourn you creatures of clay, vainly fell to dwell in the dust
The fields around beauty and calm survive defiantly of your unjust
Things of the day happen and go about their cause before the night
You are the victims of heedlessness and blindness to wisdom wasted light
For politicians like poets should build up their hardihood
From human humility and universal moral food
Drawn in proportions unselfish un individual fair
From honest mould and vagabond ancient wisdom air
Shall man be eventually wise to learn from antique ashes departed flame
Which can bestow on him finer life and longer fame
From past battle wounds and historical balms
From tempest storm and following peace and calms
From archeological potsherds and dry bones
And ruins of past emperors and lying unturned broken stones
Across Gettysburg the woods are holy and calm
Under summer night they absorb the gorgeous moon charm
The colors of splendid night, as the veils of dusk turn deep
Mother earth takes back her sons' sorrow as it turns to sleep
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My lover and I
When the ever resilient nightingale to his date
Chirrups his songs day long and night late
My love and I keep our sweet state
In the lush and balmy bower
Of varieties bursting blooming flowers
Sweetening with love chat the fresh young air
All day from rose cheeked morning till dusk we are there
Till the watchman guarding in the tower
Announces the approaching close hour
The gored vermilion sun sank in the West
And the night rests on canopies and on crests
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How Many Shades Of Green
HOW MANY SHADES OF GREEN
How many shades of green
Olive green
Dark green
Light green
Yellow green
How many shades of yellow
Deep yellow
Rose yellow
Sun yellow
Morning light yellow
How many shades of light
How much light
How much Beauty in the world
How much Light-
How much- God.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Incomprehensible
FAR in the Heavens my God retires:
My God, the mark of my desires,
And hides his lovely face;
When he descends within my view,
He charms my reason to pursue,
But leaves it tir’d and fainting in th’ unequal chase.
Or if I reach unusual height
Till near his presence brought,
There floods of glory check my flight,
Cramp the bold pinions of my wit,
And all untune my thought;
Plunged in a sea of light I roll,
Where wisdom, justice, mercy, shines;
Infinite rays in crossing lines
Beat thick confusion on my sight, and overwhelm my soul.…
Great God! behold my reason lies
Adoring: yet my love would rise
On pinions not her own:
Faith shall direct her humble flight,
Through all the trackless seas of light,
To Thee, th’ Eternal Fair, the infinite Unknown.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Into The Last Month Of Winter
Into the last month of Winter and the wattles cloaked in yellow flowers in bloom
And pink flowers on the camellias and yellow flowers on the broom
And all through the night the white backed magpies sing
On the third week of August coming up to the Spring
On the third week of August in the Southern Hemisphere
One does have a sense that Spring is quite near
The paddocks and parklands are looking quite green
And fragile pink flowers on the fruit trees are seen
Into the third week of August and birds sing in the rain
And all through the night frogs sing in pond and drain
And in the calm of the night in the parkland nearby
The breeding spur wing plovers in their territory cry
And all through the night on the moonlit gum trees
The songs of the magpies carry in the breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Oh! Had We Some Bright Little Isle of Our Own
Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own,
In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone,
Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers,
And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers;
Where the sun loves to pause
With so fond a delay,
That the night only draws
A thin veil o'er the day;
Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live,
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give.
There with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime,
We should love, as they loved in the first golden time;
The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air,
Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer there.
With affection as free
From decline as the bowers,
And, with hope, like the bee,
Living always on flowers,
Our life should resemble a long day of light,
And our death come on, holy and calm as the night.
poem by Thomas Moore
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So scenic than the moon
Journey! journey! ! Journey! ! ! In my dream of infinity... Journey in the sky... Yes i saw the shivering moon. So scenic and adoring. So glamorous... And warmth it shined on me. But oh! It transmogriffied and moon i see no more but a queen. So scenic than the moon. Oh! Now i know your creator... That's why your beauty shines awesomely brighter than the moon.
poem by Jude Thadeus
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Springtime Splendor
The sunset is easing over the hills
Lavishing the trees with it's beauty;
The glow of the skies gives a thrill
The sunset dresses the earth truly.
Daffodils are closely clustered in love
Others are wilted by the drafts of wind;
The lilacs seem to color the sky above
While joyous hearts and beauty are akin.
The golden sky emits dimly the foothills
Gleaming stars shimmer in their evening dress;
The shades of the trees touching the window sills
While all nature recedes to their evening rest.
What a glory! To see the full moon rising
And one sees the comet travel in the sky;
Is all this march of the sunset surprising?
This grand procession need not pass us by.
Shining brilliance from glory spill
Down on your floral garden space;
Beauty enraptures the sunset thrill
The mountain leaves hanging like lace.
There are valleys with their yellow and red
Draped around it's borders, with a strand that glow;
Revealing it's coat of green and silver thread -
It is sunset, yes sunset, this we know.
Now ponder the joy in all your experiences
And then, think of the robin's lovely nest;
How carefully they sing with assurance -
Too, the squirrel is perched at it's best.
Now, since I have watched the sunset leave
Tuck yourself away, and go to sleep;
In exotic streams of beauty now believe
On arising, your strength of joy shall leap.
Then the buzzing of cars rushing down the way
Shades are pulled, doors are tight with lock;
Opportunities are engaged for the coming day
The creator, shall with your provisions knock.
It is time for nodding, while the hills are dark
Yet graced like velvet curtains hanging still;
The breezes softly brushing yet with a spark
Beneath the leaves, creatures sleep on the hill.
May the splendor of His springtime be a message
Why not rise up through the beauty of it all;
Take the mastery of his painting as a lesson
Quiet thine heart and ye shall hear His call.
poem by Elsie B. McAteer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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