A Bride
'O I am weary!' she sighed, as her billowy
Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold
That rippled and fell o'er a figure as willowy,
Graceful and fair as a goddess of old:
Over her jewels she flung herself drearily,
Crumpled the laces that snowed on her breast,
Crushed with her fingers the lily that wearily
Clung in her hair like a dove in its nest--.
And naught but her shadowy form in the mirror
To kneel in dumb agony down and weep near her!
'Weary--?' Of what? Could we fathom the mystery--?
Lift up the lashes weighed down by her tears
And wash with their dews one white face from her history,
Set like a gem in the red rust of years?
Nothing will rest her-- unless he who died of her
Strayed from his grave, and in place of the groom,
Tipping her face, kneeling there by the side of her,
Drained the old kiss to the dregs of his doom--.
And naught but that shadowy form in the mirror
To heel in dumb agony down and weep near her!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
I will look in the mirror and see a person that I respect
this is the face
of a weary man
furrowed by the years
of sacrifices
this is the hair of a lonely man
spaced by the cruelty
of time
this is the nose that breathes
the agony of history
these eyes speak the silence
of the wolves
these lips kissed the misery
of the torn bosom of the
hills
these are the ears that listened
to the screams of the villages
this is the face that fought
the age of terror
the mirror draws my face
that i could have forgotten
now my son
you must earn respect
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Weep Not For Him That Dieth
I.
WEEP not for him that dieth--
For he sleeps, and is at rest;
And the couch whereon he lieth
Is the green earth's quiet breast:
But weep for him who pineth
On a far land's hateful shore,
Who wearily declineth
Where ye see his face no more!
II.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For friends are round his bed,
And many a young lip sigheth
When they name the early dead;
But weep for him that liveth
Where none will know or care,
When the groan his faint heart giveth
Is the last sigh of despair.
III.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For his struggling soul is free,
And the world from which it flieth
Is a world of misery;
But weep for him that weareth
The captive's galling chain:
To the agony he beareth,
Death were but little pain.
IV.
Weep not for him that dieth,
For he hath ceased from tears,
And a voice to his replieth
Which he hath not heard for years;
But weep for him who weepeth
On that cold land's cruel shore--
Blest, blest is he that sleepeth,--
Weep for the dead no more!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Mystery's Mirror Rhyme
Mirror's muse reflects
as mirror recollects
on mirror which reflects
upon mirror which reflects
upon mystery of light.
Mirror thus protects
mirror which projects
reflection which reflects
on mirror which expects
historical insight.
Mirror interjects
texts, textures and contexts
which chance elects, selects
then checks and double checks
for infinite delight.
Mirror's light directs
life's mysteries, neglects
naught it interconnects
as cause links to effects
exciting to invite.
Mirror then detects
mirror which deflects
mirror which rejects
history of night
when mirror role reflects
Mirror thus connects,
collects and self respects,
perpetually perfects
externals it bedecks
with inner meanings' might.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Greek Girl
I may not weep, not weep, and he is dead.
A weary, weary weight of tears unshed
Through the long day in my sad heart I bear;
The horrid sun with all unpitying glare
Shines down into the dreary weaving-room,
Where clangs the ceaseless clatter of the loom,
And ceaselessly deft maiden-fingers weave
The fine-wrought web; and I from morn till eve
Work with the rest, and when folk speak to me
I smile hard smiles; while still continually
The silly stream of maiden speech flows on:--
And now at length they talk of him that's gone,
Lightly lamenting that he died so soon--
Ah me! ere yet his life's sun stood at noon.
Some praise his eyes, some deem his body fair,
And some mislike the colour of his hair!
Sweet life, sweet shape, sweet eyes, and sweetest hair,
What form, what hue, save Love's own, did ye wear?
I may not weep, not weep, for very shame.
He loved me not. One summer's eve he came
To these our halls, my father's honoured guest,
And seeing me, saw not. If his lips had prest
My lips, but once, in love; his eyes had sent
One love-glance into mine, I had been content,
And deemed it great joy for one little life;
Nor envied other maids the crown of wife:
The long sure years, the merry children-band--
Alas, alas, I never touched his hand!
And now my love is dead that loved not me.
Thrice-blest, thrice-crowned, of gods thrice-lovèd she--
That other, fairer maid, who tombward brings
Her gold, shorn locks and piled-up offerings
Of fragrant fruits, rich wines, and spices rare,
And cakes with honey sweet, with saffron fair;
And who, unchecked by any thought of shame,
May weep her tears, and call upon his name,
With burning bosom prest to the cold ground,
Knowing, indeed, that all her life is crown'd,
Thrice-crowned, thrice honoured, with that love of his;--
No dearer crown on earth is there, I wis.
While yet the sweet life lived, more light to bear
Was my heart's hunger; when the morn was fair,
And I with other maidens in a line
Passed singing through the city to the shrine,
Oft in the streets or crowded market-place
I caught swift glimpses of the dear-known face;
Or marked a stalwart shoulder in the throng;
Or heard stray speeches as we passed along,
In tones more dear to me than any song.
These, hoarded up with care, and kept apart,
Did serve as meat and drink my hungry heart.
And now for ever has my sweet love gone;
And weary, empty days I must drag on,
Till all the days of all my life be sped,
By no thought cheered, by no hope comforted.
For if indeed we meet among the shades,
How shall he know me from the other maids?--
Me, that had died to save his body pain!
Alas, alas, such idle thoughts are vain!
O cruel, cruel sunlight, get thee gone!
O dear, dim shades of eve, come swiftly on!
That when quick lips, keen eyes, are closed in sleep,
Through the long night till dawn I then may weep.
I Leave To Give You Sweet Memories
there is not enough time.
it fell out of me like some
water from my fingers from the faucet
that i want to wash my face
i get wet and rub my face with
a white towel
and open my eyes and see for once
myself, this man, abandoned by time
so quickly
like yesterday and today
and tomorrow
all mixed in a second
white locks of hair
bony cheeks, and
serious eyes, looking through
the mirror
wanting to find if there is yet
another me
that i can live with
for another more time
to be reborn
and use the youth
that i have wasted
without much thought.
i see, i am melting,
i see, i am air.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rock Me To sleep
Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight;
Make me a child again, just for tonight!
Mother, come back from that echoless shore;
Take me again in your heart as of yore --
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair,
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Backward, turn backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears --
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain --
Take them and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay --
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away --
Weary of sowing for others to reap --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded -- our faces between --
Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I tonight for your presence again;
Come from the silence, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old --
Let it drop over my forehead tonight,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light!
For, with its sunny-edged shadows once more,
Haply will throng all the visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep --
Rock me to sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
Mother, dear mother! the years have been long
Since I last listened to your lullaby song;
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream;
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep --
Rock me sleep, mother -- rock me to sleep!
poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen
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Mirror Mirror
Mirror mirror
You tell lies
Who put crows feet
Round my eyes?
Mirror mirror
Hanging there
Who put that grey
In my hair?
Mirror mirror
Is that me
Is that really
Me I see?
Mirror Mirror
Stop your fun
That's not me
That is my mum
Mirror mirror
Don't stare back
For it's bad luck
If you should crack
Mirror mirror
On days like these
When what I see
Doesn't please
Mirror mirror
My mood this day
Will ask you turn
The other way!
poem by Stevie Taite
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Oh! weep for those
I
Oh! Weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream,
Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell—
Mourn—where their God hath dwelt—the Godless dwell!
II
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?
And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice?
III
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest!
The wild-dove hath her nest—the fox his cave—
Mankind their Country—Israel but the grave!
poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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After Death
IF we must part, this parting is the best:
How would you bear to lay
Your head on some warm pillow far away--
Your head, so used to lying on my breast?
But now your pillow is cold;
Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;
Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.
I have put the death-money upon your eyes,
So that you should not wake up in the night.
I have bound your face with white;
I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,--
Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,
Those feet that hastened when they came to me,
And all your body that belonged to me.
I have smoothed your dear dull hair,
And there is nothing left to say for you
And nothing left to fear or pray for you;
And I have got the rest of life to bear:
Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there.
If I had died
And you had stood beside
This still white bed
Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,--
I know the thing it is,
And I thank God that He has spared you this.
If one must bear it, thank God it was I
Who had to live and bear to see you die,
Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.
You will have nothing of it all to bear:
You will not even know that in your bed
You lie alone. You will not miss my head
Beside you on the pillow: you will rest
So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast.
But I--but I--Your pillow and your place--
And only the darkness laid against my face,
And only my anguish pressed against my side--
Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Looking In The Mirror After Crying
I was never a pretty cryer-like movie scenes depict
They weep beautiful tears-I weep until I am sick
I scream and curse and sob and yell
Until my head throbs and my eyes swell
I curl up under blankets-they feel friendly on my face
I nest myself in my bed-there seems to be no better place
I sniffle, and sigh and feel sorry for myself
I sneak a roll of toilet paper and leave it on my shelf
Finally I leave my nest-to see if this tree will tip
I peep out into the world-and it is as I remember it
I look in the mirror and gasp at what I see
Everything is spilling out all over me
I guess it makes sense-I wear my feelings on my face
Though I'd much rather it not be the case
I was never skilled at the trick of concealing
And so I'm cursed with everyone knowing what I'm feeling
poem by Aria Siren
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The Mirror Struggled
The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge – a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin – how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.
The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment –
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed–? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek – to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
m irror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
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mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My Friend
Two days ago with dancing glancing hair,
With living lips and eyes:
Now pale, dumb, blind, she lies;
So pale, yet still so fair.
We have not left her yet, not yet alone;
But soon must leave her where
She will not miss our care,
Bone of our bone.
Weep not; O friends, we should not weep:
Our friend of friends lies full of rest;
No sorrow rankles in her breast,
Fallen fast asleep.
She sleeps below,
She wakes and laughs above:
To-day, as she walked, let us walk in love;
To-morrow follow so.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A Crack In The Mirror
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Where are you hiding me?
That face is not the one I recall.
It’s not the me I seem to be.
Forget that school reunion picture.
I’m not the fella standing there.
Who could all those others be?
Where is Joe and Fred, with their hair?
Could that be Bill and Paul?
So many I never saw.
Could it be we were classmates once?
I feel like such a dunce.
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
Why can’t you hide the years?
A crack now in your face appears.
My memory is cracking too I fear.
June 15,2006
poem by Ben Gieske
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Snow-White (Part 4)
While the queen's dogs were howling into the broken night to throw away
The forces, the queen was preparing the poison for the Snow White's birthday.
The poison was melted into blood and dew by that queen with innocent eyes.
Her beggars jumped over the moon for a ritual dance of a princess, who dies.
Her crows were flying in the wind being so proud of what they have done,
Her dress could hide the truth so well, with her mask she enjoyed the fun.
''I'm having bodice laces for sale, '' she said knocking on the dwarfs' door.
Then, she pulled the laces so tight that Snow-White fell down on the floor.
The sun hid behind the sea of clouds not to see the Snow White's death,
The dwarfs came home and found her on the floor without having breath.
They cut the bodice laces in two and Snow White could come back to life,
''She will give you poison to drink in sips and you will die without any strife.''
‘'Mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all? '' Queen wanted to know.
‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true, '' replied the bad mirror through its glow.
''But beyond the seven mountains, in the dwarfs' house, Little Snow-White
Is a thousand times fairer than you, moreover, her future is extremely bright! '
She poisoned a comb and went out to knock again on the Snow White's door,
When she stuck the comb into the girl's hair, the girl fell down on the floor.
When the seven dwarfs returned home, they drowned in their own despair,
But she opened her eyes, when Liar pulled the poisoned comb from her hair.
‘'Mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all? '' Queen wanted to know.
‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true, '' replied the bad mirror through its glow.
''But beyond the seven mountains, in the dwarfs' house, Little Snow-White
Is a thousand times fairer than you, moreover, her future is extremely bright! '
Everything was grey, while the queen was saying her mystic words aloud,
Inside her dark castle's granite walls, even the signs of time were not allowed.
Only lonesome birds and souls were flying there above a big fragile shroud,
Only craggy faces and weary eyes could be seen there in a demonic crowd.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Art Will Show To Eternity Your Soul
I am a woman, using a mirror everyday,
Like all of you, i'm seeing my reflection into it,
Even i am sad, happy, tired or bored,
What i'm seeing in my mirror it's my physical reality, my own truth.
I combed my hair and looked into my mirror,
I felt so delicate, unique and simple,
Having a smile on my face today,
My mirror will smile me back as feedback in same way.
I am a painter, i adore art,
In everything i'm painting it's life,
In each painting and spot of paint my brush does,
It's a history of great ideas my minds holds.
A painting is a gate to our inner side,
Through it vibrates the universe to our hearts,
A mirror will always show your face reflection to the world,
But art will show to eternity your soul.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Mirror To Mirror
Written by gerry beckley, 1994
Found on hourglass.
I havent seen forever
Dont even know her name
I call on dreams and other schemes
To try and win that game
Now that its over, darling
Look into my eyes
Seein your own reflection
Much to your surprise
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
And though we tried in earnest
The distant silence yells
We call on wings and other things
To try and break that spell
Now that its over, darling
Truth in the common cause
We stare at our own indifference
By seeing the others flaws
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
Oh, mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me
As we look inside, theres nowhere to turn
Theres nowhere to hide
Now that its over, darling
Look into my eyes
Seein your own reflection
Much to your surprise
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
Oh, mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me
Mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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World-Weary Girl
World-weary girl,
Tears form in your eyes,
Confusion swirls
Like a virulent tornado
Around your heart,
Rending the fragile fabric of your soul,
I fear, irreparably apart.
I want to kiss your delicate face,
Gently touch your hair,
Reassure you I’m on your side,
Reassure you that I care.
World-weary girl,
Invite me into your life,
Help me understand your story
If we have to talk unceasingly
Through the dark and lonely night.
I believe in your struggle,
And I’ll send sympathetic prayers into the universe
Until I know the dawn of a new embrace
Has brought you into the arms
Of an indisputable and transforming love.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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A Discouraging Model
Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing,
With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing,
Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air,
And a knot of red roses sown in under there
Where the shadows are lost in her hair.
Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground
Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound;
And the gleam of a smile, O as fair and as faint
And as sweet as the master of old used to paint
Round the lips of their favorite saint!
And that lace at her throat-- and fluttering hands
Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands,
The flakes of their touches-- first fluttering at
The bow-- then the roses-- the hair and then that
Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.
Ah, what artist on earth with a model like this,
Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss,
Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair
Nor the gold of her smile-- O what artist could dare
To expect a result half so fair?
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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I Am Mirror
The function of the psychoanalyst.
Lead vocal: leo sayer
Suppose i were to tell you that the meaning of dreams
Is not all that it seems and the ultimate truth is a lie.
And you are just a puppet who can dance on a string.
Do you feel anything?
Would you laugh? would you care? would you cry?
But the meaning of life is a mystery, how can anyone disagree?
And the music is a symphony which we play in a minor key.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
So if you are confused and don't know which way to go.
You will certainly know. from the moment we're living we die.
And if it's all a crazy game you don't want to play
Tell me what you can say.
It's a joke. it's the truth. it's a lie.
But the meaning of life is a mystery that we don't understand.
And the music is a rhapsody if you're happy the way that you are.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
And the meaning of life is a mystery though we live it from day to day.
But the music of live should be harmony so that anyone here can play.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cold Blows The Wind
Cold blows the wind over my true love
Cold blows the drops of rain
I never had but one true love
And in camville he was slain
I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
I'll sit and weep down by his grave for twelve month and one day
But when twelve months were come and gone
This young man he arose
What makes you weep down by my grave
I can't take my repose
One kiss, one kiss of your lily white lips -- one kiss is all i crave
One kiss, one kiss of your lily white lips and return back to your grave
My lips they are as cold as my clay
My breath is heavy and strong
If thou was to kiss my lily white lips
Thy days would not be long
Oh don't you remember the garden grove where we used to walk
Pluck the finest flower of them all, twill wither to a stalk
Go fetch me a nun from the dungeon deep
And water from a stone
And white milk from a maiden's breast,
That babe ere never known
Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep as quickly as you may
I'll lie down in it and take one sleep for twelve month and one day
Cold blows the wind over my true love
Cold blows the drops of rain
I never had but one true love
And in camville he was slain
I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
I'll sit and weep down by his grave for twelve month and one day
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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