From Dewy Dreams
From dewy dreams, my soul, arise,
From love's deep slumber and from death,
For lo! the treees are full of sighs
Whose leaves the morn admonisheth.
Eastward the gradual dawn prevails
Where softly-burning fires appear,
Making to tremble all those veils
Of grey and golden gossamer.
While sweetly, gently, secretly,
The flowery bells of morn are stirred
And the wise choirs of faery
Begin (innumerous!) to be heard.
poem by James Joyce
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Related quotes
Twilight And Peace
O GREY and dewy Twilight,
Thou, who comest softly, bringing
Silence sweeter than all music,
Song of bird or mortal singing;
Thou, who walkest with thy shadows
Through the mountains and the meadows,
Hither come, hither come;
For the morn was dull and dreary,
And the noon was hot and weary,
And the hours that followed after
Were too full of care for laughter,
And too full of toil for many and too full of tears for some.
O grey and dewy Twilight,
There are those within the forest
Who are waiting for thy coming
And the potions that thou pourest,
Bringing balm to feathered bosom,
Wilted leaf and withered blossom —
Bid them sleep, bid them sleep;
For their morn was dull and dreary,
And their noon was hot and weary,
And the hours that followed brought them
Arid winds that evil wrought them,
For the crushing heat lay heavy on each little flower and breast.
O grey and dewy Twilight,
There are those in town and city
Who are ailing, ailing for thee;
For thou hast the balm of pity,
And the cooling calm that lingers
In a mother's gentle fingers —
Soothe them so, soothe them so;
For their morn was dull and dreary,
And their noon was hot and weary,
And the hours that followed after
Were too full of toil for laughter,
And too full of want for many, and for some too full of woe.
O grey and dewy Twilight,
There is one thou dost resemble;
And I feel that 'neath her footsteps
Even now the airs do tremble,
And the shadows fly before her,
And the silent stars bend o'er her
As she nears, as she nears —
Man and maid to joyance wooing,
Doves in concert with her cooing,
Round about her love and laughter,
Golden plenty speeding after,
And a magic in her presence to make sweet the salt of tears.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Day dawn
All yesterday the thought of you was resting in my soul,
And when sleep wandered o'er the world that very thought she stole
To fill my dreams with splendour such as stars could not eclipse,
And in the morn I wakened with your name upon my lips.
Awakened, my beloved, to the morning of your eyes,
Your splendid eyes, so full of clouds, wherein a shadow tries
To overcome the flame that melts into the world of grey,
As coming suns dissolve the dark that veils the edge of day.
Cool drifts the air at dawn of day, cool lies the sleeping dew,
But all my heart is burning, for it woke from dreams of you;
And O! these longing eyes of mine look out and only see
A dying night, a waking day, and calm on all but me.
So gently creeps the morning through the heavy air,
The dawn grey-garbed and velvet-shod is wandering everywhere
To wake the slumber-laden hours that leave their dreamless rest,
With outspread, laggard wings to court the pillows of the west.
Up from the earth a moisture steals with odours fresh and soft,
A smell of moss and grasses warm with dew, and far aloft
The stars are growing colourless, while drooping in the west,
A late, wan moon is paling in a sky of amethyst.
The passing of the shadows, as they waft their pinions near,
Has stirred a tender wind within the night-hushed atmosphere,
That in its homeless wanderings sobs in an undertone
An echo to my heart that sobbing calls for you alone.
The night is gone, beloved, and another day set free,
Another day of hunger for the one I may not see.
What care I for the perfect dawn? the blue and empty skies?
The night is always mine without the morning of your eyes.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunrise on the Coast
Grey dawn on the sand-hills -- the night wind has drifted
All night from the rollers a scent of the sea;
With the dawn the grey fog his battalions has lifted,
At the call of the morning they scatter and flee.
Like mariners calling the roll of their number
The sea-fowl put out to the infinite deep.
And far overhead -- sinking softly to slumber --
Worn out by their watching the stars fall asleep.
To eastward, where rests the broad dome of the skies on
The sea-line, stirs softly the curtain of night;
And far from behind the enshrouded horizon
Comes the voice of a God saying "Let there be light."
And lo, there is light! Evanescent and tender,
It glows ruby-red where 'twas now ashen-grey;
And purple and scarlet and gold in its splendour --
Behold, 'tis that marvel, the birth of a day!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Sonnet on the Morning of Christ's Birth
This starry dawn – the wise men yet afar –
the shepherds are abed, their night’s task done.
Is Mary tired? Or, as one untouched?
All birth’s a miracle; no less this one.
The cattle have bestirred at hint of morn,
the thought of feeding making moist their muzzle;
straw is rustling as they, manger-drawn,
find unfamiliar form – so warm – to nuzzle.
What were the first words Joseph softly said
to Mary, as dawn broke, this day of days?
And who, sent from the inn to cattle-shed,
to feed and lay fresh straw, fell still in praise?
How long, this morn, before the murmured sound
of voices in the street, as Word gets round?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On the Morning of Christ's Nativity
This starry dawn - the wise men yet afar -
the shepherds are abed, their night's task done.
Is Mary tired? Or, as one untouched?
All birth's a miracle; not less this one.
The cattle have bestirred at hint of morn,
the thought of feeding making moist their muzzle;
straw is rustling, as they, manger-drawn,
find unfamiliar form- so warm - to nuzzle.
What were the first words Joseph softly said
to Mary, as dawn broke, this day of days?
And who, sent from the inn to cattle-shed
to feed and lay fresh straw, fell still in praise?
How long, this morn, before the murmured sound
of voices in the street, as Word gets round?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dawn of Christ's Nativity [sonnet]
This starry dawn – the wise men yet afar –
the shepherds are abed, their night’s task done.
Is Mary tired? Or, as one untouched?
All birth’s a miracle; no less this one.
The cattle have bestirred at hint of morn,
the thought of feeding making moist their muzzle;
straw is rustling as they, manger-drawn,
find unfamiliar form – so warm – to nuzzle.
What were the first words Joseph softly said
to Mary, as dawn broke, this day of days?
And who, sent from the inn to cattle-shed,
to feed and lay fresh straw, fell still in praise?
How long, this morn, before the murmured sound
of voices in the street, as Word gets round?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On the Dawn of Christ's Nativity [sonnet]
This starry dawn – the wise men yet afar –
the shepherds are abed, their night’s task done.
Is Mary tired? Or, as one untouched?
All birth’s a miracle; no less this one.
The cattle have bestirred at hint of morn,
the thought of feeding making moist their muzzle;
straw is rustling as they, manger-drawn,
find unfamiliar form – so warm – to nuzzle.
What were the first words Joseph softly said
to Mary, as dawn broke, this day of days?
And who, sent from the inn to cattle-shed,
to feed and lay fresh straw, fell still in praise?
How long, this morn, before the murmured sound
of voices in the street, as Word gets round?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0039 On the Morning of Christ's Nativity
This starry dawn - the wise men yet afar -
the shepherds are abed, their night's task done.
Is Mary tired? Or, as one untouched?
All birth's a miracle; not less this one.
The cattle have bestirred at hint of morn,
the thought of feeding making moist their muzzle;
straw is rustling, as they, manger-drawn,
find unfamiliar form- so warm - to nuzzle.
What were the first words Joseph softly said
to Mary, as dawn broke, this day of days?
And who, sent from the inn to cattle-shed
to feed and lay fresh straw, fell still in praise?
How long, this morn, before the murmured sound
of voices in the street, as Word gets round?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0031 Dawn in Bethlehem on the Morning of Christ's Nativity
This starry dawn - the wise men yet afar -
the shepherds are abed, their night's task done.
Is Mary tired? Or, as one untouched?
All birth's a miracle; not less this one.
The cattle have bestirred at hint of morn,
the thought of feeding making moist their muzzle;
straw is rustling, as they, manger-drawn,
find unfamiliar form- so warm - to nuzzle.
What were the first words Joseph softly said
to Mary, as dawn broke, this day of days?
And who, sent from the inn to cattle-shed
to feed and lay fresh straw, fell still in praise?
How long, this morn, before the murmured sound
of voices in the street, as Word gets round?
(revisited)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Into The Twilight
OUT-WORN heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight,
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.
Your mother Eire is aways young,
Dew ever shining and twilight grey;
Though hope fall from you and love decay,
Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill:
For there the mystical brotherhood
Of sun and moon and hollow and wood
And river and stream work out their will;
And God stands winding His lonely horn,
And time and the world are ever in flight;
And love is less kind than the grey twilight,
And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Aubade
THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings.
He takes this window for the East,
And to implore your light he sings--
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise
Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.
The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
The ploughman from the sun his season takes,
But still the lover wonders what they are
Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn!
Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn!
poem by Sir William Davenant
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Ceol Sidhe
When May is here, and every morn
Is dappled with pied bells,
And dewdrops glance along the thorn
And wings flash in the dells,
I take my pipe and play a tune
Of dreams, a whispered melody,
For feet that dance beneath the moon
In fairy jollity.
And when the pastoral hills are grey
And the dim stars are spread,
A scamper fills the grass like play
Of feet where fairies tread.
And many a little whispering thing
Is calling the Shee.
The dewy bells of evening ring,
And all is melody.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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I Heard You, Solemn-sweep Pipes Of The Organ
I HEARD you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I
pass'd the church;
Winds of autumn!--as I walk'd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-
stretch'd sighs, up above, so mournful;
I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera--I heard the
soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;
... Heart of my love!--you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of
the wrists around my head;
Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bells last
night under my ear.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Ariadne Waking
The moist and quiet morn was scarcely breaking,
When Ariadne in her bower was waking;
Her eyelids still were closing, and she heard
But indistinctly yet a little bird,
That in the leaves o’erhead, waiting the sun,
Seemed answering another distant one.
She waked, but stirred not, only just to please
Her pillow-nestling cheek; while the full seas,
The birds, the leaves, the lulling love o’ernight
The happy thought of the returning light,
The sweet, self-willed content, conspired to keep
Her senses lingering in the feel of sleep;
And with a little smile she seemed to say,
“I know my love is near me, and ’tis day.”
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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Alankar (Decor) -20
Sun Rise Here
Gently gently over the houses here
Ruby Sun dawns
How he gently comes upon secret stairs
Know not our yawns
But the falling blossoms from the trees leer
Smiling morn spawns
As then through the grill and sill gold stenciled
Leafs and blooms the morn, bright we are wakened
poem by Indira Renganathan
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When They Ring Those Golden Bells
Traditional: arranged by emory gordy / patty loveless
Theres a land beyond the river that we call the sweet forever
And we only reach that shore by faith, you see
Yes I want to see my jesus
Shake his hand and have him great us
When they ring those golden bells for you and me
Dont you hear the bells a-ringin
Cant you hear the angels singin
Its a glory hallelujah jubilee
In the far off great forever just beyond the shining river
When they ring those golden bells for you and me
When our days have known their number
When in death we sweetly slumber
When the kingdom mends the spirit to be free
Therell be no more stormy weather
Well live peacefully together
When they ring those golden bells for you and me
Dont you hear the bells a-ringin
Cant you hear the angels singin
Its a glory hallelujah jubilee
In the far off great forever just beyond the shining river
When they ring those golden bells for you and me
When they ring those golden bells for you and me
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Always
always sing your love to me softly
sweetly turn the pages on our ways
in the night i was born
lived a new summer morn
always, sing your love come to me
'cause i was destined to be
always rue the day that i loved you
sweetness came on down from above you
in the night i was born
lived a new summer morn
always, sing your love come to me
'cause i was destined to be
no control
in your arms
letting go
i hope you cope with me tonight
in the night i was born
lived a new summer morn
always, sing your love come to me
'cause i was destined to be
song performed by by Weezer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Softly
Softly she comes
Whispers the breeze with her passing
In secret love she is laughing
Softly she comes in the night
Softly she sighs
Sweetly she lies never sleeping
Her fragrance all in my keeping
Softly she comes in the night
Down the darkened hall
I hear her footsteps on my stair
And she is in my arms once more
Then softly she goes
Her shining lips in the shadows
Whisper goodbye at my window
Softly she goes in the dawn
Down the darkened hall
I hear her footsteps on my stair
And she is in my arms once more
Then softly she goes
Her shining lips in the shadows
Whisper goodbye at my window
Softly she goes in the dawn
Softly she goes in the dawn
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soul Mate In Slumber
How often in my existence
I did dream of you!
No face a label
To name you by,
Yet still my sweet companion,
My soul mate in slumber.
I knew you in those dreams,
Your heart full of hope,
Your hero soul
Reaching skywards.
You looked after me
And gently showed me
The way to you.
And so our souls connected
So very long before
Our eyes did.
You are my destiny.
My faith, my joy is
An eternal declaration
To the love I have for you.
We have become one...
And so I begin.
© 2012
poem by Ruby Honeytip
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Wealth You Don't Treasure
Wealth you don’t treasure
As you have the key
To the endless pleasure
Of waking up from your dreams
In the middle of night
And tiptoeing to where
The grass is getting its first dew
Preparing the dark liquid
To break into a grey dawn!
Wealth you don’t treasure
As you feel happy in a golden morn
Not knowing why
You get up to go and stand
Quietly beneath a tree
And let your senses brim
With all the sight and sound
Feel the leaves dropp on your hair
In a silent symphony
Before they touch the ground!
Wealth you don’t treasure
As you have in good measure
Everything the wealth can’t buy
A priceless space all your own
For the most treasured dreams to be grown!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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