June At Woodruff
Out at Woodruff Place--afar
From the city's glare and jar,
With the leafy trees, instead
Of the awnings, overhead;
With the shadows cool and sweet,
For the fever of the street;
With the silence, like a prayer,
Breathing round us everywhere.
Gracious anchorage, at last,
From the billows of the vast
Tide of life that comes and goes,
Whence and where nobody knows--
Moving, like a skeptic's thought,
Out of nowhere into naught.
Touch and tame us with thy grace,
Placid calm of Woodruff Place!
Weave a wreath of beechen leaves
For the brow that throbs and grieves
O'er the ledger, bloody-lined,
'Neath the sun-struck window-blind!
Send the breath of woodland bloom
Through the sick man's prison room,
Till his old farm-home shall swim
Sweet in mind to hearten him!
Out at Woodruff Place the Muse
Dips her sandal in the dews,
Sacredly as night and dawn
Baptize lilied grove and lawn:
Woody path, or paven way--
She doth haunt them night and day,--
Sun or moonlight through the trees,
To her eyes, are melodies.
Swinging lanterns, twinkling clear
Through night-scenes, are songs to her--
Tinted lilts and choiring hues,
Blent with children's glad halloos;
Then belated lays that fade
Into midnight's serenade--
Vine-like words and zithern-strings
Twined through ali her slumberings.
Blessed be each hearthstone set
Neighboring the violet!
Blessed every rooftree prayed
Over by the beech's shadel
Blessed doorway, opening where
We may look on Nature--there
Hand to hand and face to face--
Storied realm, or Woodruff Place.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
The upper room
There is a special room set apart and blessed
a holy place and sanctuary where we can rest.
We enter in protected from this worlds care
and sweet communion with the Lord we share.
It is a place where our souls can come in sanctity
a meeting place where we can open and honest be.
A place of tears and a place of worshipping You.
Where deep searching things can be worked through.
'Come to me, Roy and Dot', We hear You say
as burdened with sorrow and care we make our way
to that Holy meeting place of solitude and peace
and commune with You to find blessed release.
The tests of this life can take its toll upon us Lord
and battered and bruised we turn to Your word.
It is so good to retire to that room upstairs awhile
and pour out our soul to You and see Your smile.
Thank You, Jesus for such a blessed place as this
where we can experience again Your heavenly kiss.
Resting in Your presence and feeling Your embrace
strengthened once more for the challenges we face.
Herr Weiser
Herr Weiser--! Three-score-years-and-ten--,
A hale white rose of his country-men,
Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam,
And blossomy as his German home--
As blossomy and as pure and sweet
As the cool green glen of his calm retreat,
Far withdrawn from the noisy town
Where trade goes clamoring up and down,
Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife,
May not trouble his tranquil life!
Breath of rest, what a balmy gust--!
Quite of the city's heat and dust,
Jostling down by the winding road,
Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode--.
Tether the horse, as we onward fare
Under the pear-trees trailing there,
And thumping the wood bridge at night
With lumps of ripeness and lush delight,
Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn,
Is powdered and pelted and smiled upon.
Herr Weiser, with his wholesome face,
And the gentle blue of his eyes, and grace
Of unassuming honesty,
Be there to welcome you and me!
And what though the toil of the farm be stopped
And the tireless plans of the place be dropped,
While the prayerful master's knees are set
In beds of pansy and mignonette
And lily and aster and columbine,
Offered in love, as yours and mine--?
What, but a blessing of kindly thought,
Sweet as the breath of forget-me-not--!
What, but a spirit of lustrous love
White as the aster he bends above--!
What, but an odorous memory
Of the dear old man, made known to me
In days demanding a help like his--,
As sweet as the life of the lily is--
As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise
Born of a lily in paradise.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Farm House by the River
I know a little country place
Where still my heart doth linger,
And o'er its fields is every grace
Lined out by memory's finger.
Back from the lane where poplars grew
And aspens quake and quiver,
There stands all bath'd in summer's glow
A farm house by the river.
Its eaves are touched with golden light
So sweetly, softly shining,
And morning glories full and bright
About the doors are twining.
And there endowed with every grace
That nature's hand could giver her,
There lived the angel of the place
In the farm house by the river.
Her eyes were blue, her hair was gold,
Her face was bright and sunny;
The songs that from her bosom rolled
Were sweet as summer's honey.
And I loved her well, that maid divine,
And I prayed the Gracious Giver,
That I some day might call her mine
In the farm house by the river.
Twas not to be - but God knows best.
His will for aye be heeded!
Perhaps amid the angels' bliss,
My little love was needed.
Her spirit from its thralldom torn
Went singing o'er the river,
And that sweet life my heart shall mourn
Forever and forever.
She dies one morn at early light
When all the birds are singing,
And Heaven itself in pure delight
Its bells of joy seemed ringing.
They laid her dust where soon and late
The solemn grasses quiver,
And left alone and desolate
The farm house by the river.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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First Love
I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.
And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.
Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Blessed
Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit
Blessed is the lamb whose blood flows
Blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
I got no place to go
I've walked around Soho for the last night or so
Ah, but it doesn't matter, no
Blessed is the land and the kingdom
Blessed is the man whose soul belongs to
Blessed are the meth drinkers, pot sellers, illusion dwellers
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
My words trickle down from a wound
That I have no intention to heal
Blessed are the stained glass, window pane glass
Blessed is the church service, makes me nervous
Blessed are the penny rookers, cheap hookers, groovy lookers
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
I have tended my own garden much too long
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paradise Lost for M 'lady Tara
This used to be a woodland place
when I was young long years ago
but now there’s very little trace
no trees at all. You’d never know
this used to be a woodland place.
New bungalows in row on row
their window panes all screened by lace.
Replace the trees which were laid low.
This used to be a woodland place
where any upset child could go
if they were troubled, in disgrace.
An ideal spot for lying low.
This used to be a woodland place
but that was many years ago
How sad that passing years erase
the secret havens children know.
30-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Suicide Senerade
Sweet
Suicide
Serenade
...................
Sweet
Suicide
Serenade
how you
came to be
The tune
that came
to me
whilst in
the depth
of my sadness
see?
I could not
hide the pain
The sorrow -
or deep shame
The tears that
fell that night,
extinguised the
brightest light
Now in
a tunnel
I despair
All alone upon
this earth
The morbid music
played,
as I sat down
and prayed
And so alone,
I sit
And yes, I
do admit
that life for
me had been
a nightmare -
not a dream
All my hopes
and fears,
all my
wasted years
are as of nothing -
what's to show?
Just a man
who will die alone?
Sweet
Suicide
Serenade
Serenade me
to my doom,
within an
empty room
I sit within
the gloom
Sweet
Suicide
Serenade
Plays the
final bars
Plays within
my head
I exit
life
and
welcome
death
And so
alone
I hang
in silence
swinging -
no one's hand
did I hold
that final night...
for no one ever
held me tight...
And so
alone
I hang
My body
swinging -
silhouette
Lifeless in
the living room
my shadow
cast upon
the step
And so
alone
I hang
yet only
within my head,
did I hear
the music play
Sweet
Suicide
Serenade
Copyright
{c} 2010
Wayne Leon Learmond
Sweet Suicide Serenade
All Rights Reserved
poem by Wayne Leon Learmond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I've never seen Washington as divided as we are right now.
quote by Judy Woodruff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Sweet Home
Met this girl called josephine and took her up on my machine
We had a little fun and now we got a little one
Had to get married, being chased out of town
Found ourselves a place to live, we put all our money down
Call it home sweet home, home sweet home
Eleven floors up in a tower block
Happy just to have a home
Ive gone and changed the lock on our home
Nothing really worked out right, things got broke,
They stayed that way
None of our friends came around at night and little sam got
No place to play
Weve got to get out of here, bill she said Ive been telling
You all the while
When I came home from work that night shed jumped out the
Window with our chiled
From our home sweet home, home sweet home
Just a place to take a rest, just a place ot make our nest
-- we call it our home
When the insurance money came through seemed dirty didnt
Know what to do
Took the cash went down the casino, down on the wheel
On the double
And I won, oh yes I won, like I never won before
Bought myself a country house with an antique carved
Oak door
It was home sweet home, home sweet home
Just a place to lay our head think of all those things we said
About in our home sweet home.
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out of the strain of the Doing, Into the peace of the Done.
quote by Julia Louise Woodruff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bushman’s Lullaby
Lift me down to the creek bank, Jack,
It must be fresher outside;
The long hot day is well nigh done;
It’s a chance if I see another one;
I should like to look on the setting sun,
And the water, cool and wide.
We didn’t think it would be like this
Last week, as we rode together;
True mates we’ve been in this far land
For many a year, since Devon’s strand
We left for these wastes of sun-scorched sand
In the blessed English weather.
We left, when the leafy lanes were green
And the trees met overhead,
The rippling brooks ran clear and gay,
The air was sweet with the scent of hay,
How well I remember the very day
And the words my mother said!
We have toiled and striven, and fought it out
Under the hard blue sky,
Where the plains glowed red in tremulous light,
Where the haunting mirage mocked the sight
Of desperate men from morn till night,
And the streams had long been dry.
Where we dug for gold on the mountain side,
Where the ice-fed river ran;
In frost and blast, through fire and snow,
Where an Englishman could live and go,
We’ve followed our luck for weal or woe,
And never asked help from man.
And now it’s over, it’s hard to die
Ere the summer of life is o’er,
When the pulse is high and the limbs are stark,
Ere time has printed one warning mark,
To quit the light for the unknown dark,
And, home! to see home no more.
No more! no more! I that always vowed
That, whether or rich or poor,
Whatever the years might bring or change,
I would one day stand by the grey old grange,
And the children would gather, all shy and strange,
As I entered the well-known door.
You will go home to the old place, Jack;
Then tell my mother, for me,
That I thought of the words she used to say,
Her looks, her tones, as I dying lay,
That I prayed to God, as I used to pray
When I knelt beside her knee.
* * * * * *
By the lonely water they made their couch
And the southern night fast fled,
They heard the wildfowl splash and cry,
They heard the mourning reeds’ low sigh.
Such was the Bushman’s lullaby,—
With the dawn his soul was sped.
poem by Rolf Boldrewood
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Shadows And Tall Trees
Back to the cold restless streets at night
I talk to myself about tomorrow night
Walls of white protest
A gravestone in name
Who is it now
It's always the same
Who is it now
Who calls me inside
Are the leaves on the trees
Just living disguise
I walk sweet rain tragicomedy
I'll walk home again
to the street melody
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Life through a window
Discoloured pain
Mrs. Brown's washing is always the same
I walk street rain tragicomedy
I'll walk home again
to the street melody
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
(Out there)
Do you feel in me...
Anything redeeming
Any worthwhile feeling
Is love like a tightrope
Hanging from the ceiling
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
Shadows and Tall Trees
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We decided to focus on women because no one was singling them out.
quote by Judy Woodruff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night
I love to hear the silence of the night.
That time, when distance draws so near,
and memories come, and far sounds,
undisturbed, so close.
For night is dark and only self is true.
A self whose rest and past, are
only breaths away.
Yet for some,
the night may haunt and fear,
its conscience time, when curtains
closed are drawn.
So too, ones inner self and past,
to joy or fright, the
inner spirits will.
It is a blessed thing this night.
Was it not night when Christ came home,
and balanced Judas evil deed.
And blessed night,
when monks now rise and pray,
and Nicodemus,
for lack of sleep,
came home.
The lady of the night came too,
her stumbling led her home.
In the darkness of the well
the Magi saw the stars in day,
and in the psyche dwells our heart.
O Blessed night,
for rolling back the stone,
the angels let in light,
and finished night.
Night no more.
The silence of the night is deeply rich,
and homeward bound, we rest,
and sound our hope
and lasting joy,
dwells here,
in shadows of the night.
poem by Bernard Kennedy
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Shadows & Tall Trees
Back to the cold restless streets at night
I talk to myself about tomorrow night.
Walls of white protest, a gravestone in name
Who is it now? its always the same.
Who is it now? who calls me inside
Are the leaves on the trees just a living disguise?
I walk the sweet rain tragicomedy
Ill walk home again to the street melody.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Life through a window, a discoloured pain
Mrs. browns washing is always the same
I walk the sweet rain tragicomedy
Ill walk home again to the street melody.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know.
(out there)
Do you feel in me, anything redeeming,
Any worthwhile feeling
Is life like a tightrope? hanging on my ceiling.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know
Shadows and tall trees ....
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Politics is in my blood. I'd love to be involved in 2008, maybe even '06.
quote by Judy Woodruff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every news organization should ideally be as broadly representative as possible.
quote by Judy Woodruff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jasmines
Your scent is in the room.
Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me!
Jasmines, night jasmines, perfect of perfume,
Heavy with dew before the dawn of day!
Your face was in the mirror. I could see
You smile and vanish suddenly away,
Leaving behind the vestige of a tear.
Sad suffering face, from parting grown so dear!
Night jasmines cannot bloom in this cold place;
Without the street is wet and weird with snow;
The cold nude trees are tossing to and fro;
Too stormy is the night for your fond face;
For your low voice too loud the wind's mad roar.
But, oh, your scent is here--jasmines that grow
Luxuriant, clustered round your cottage door!
poem by Claude McKay
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Sleep Oh Blessed Sleep
Sleep oh blessed sleep,
the place where I can dream,
of all that I do need
my energy to keep.
Sleep oh blessed sleep,
The place of future hope,
in places far away,
and love for me to keep
Sleep oh blessed sleep
Lull me with your content,
Keep me ever safe my
souls sanity to keep.
Sleep oh blessed sleep,
Let me emerge at morn,
With clearer thought and mind,
with no more need to weep
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
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Sleep oh Blessed Sleep
Sleep oh blessed sleep,
the place where I can dream,
of all that I do need
my energy to keep.
Sleep oh blessed sleep,
The place of future hope,
in places far away,
and love for me to keep
Sleep oh blessed sleep
Lull me with your content,
Keep me ever safe my
souls sanity to keep.
Sleep oh blessed sleep,
Let me emerge at morn,
With clearer thought and mind,
with no more need to weep
poem by Susan Alldred Lugton
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