Mignon
Do you know the land where the lemon-trees grow,
in darkened leaves the gold-oranges glow,
a soft wind blows from the pure blue sky,
the myrtle stands mute, and the bay-tree high?
Do you know it well?
It’s there I’d be gone,
to be there with you, O, my beloved one!
Do you know the house? It has columns and beams,
there are glittering rooms, the hallway gleams,
and figures of marble looking at me?
‘What have they done, child of misery?
Do you know it well?
It’s there I’d be gone,
to be there with you, O my true guardian!
Do you know the clouded mountain mass?
The mule picks its way through the misted pass,
and dragons in caves raise their ancient brood,
and the cliffs are polished smooth by the flood;
Do you know it well?
It’s there I would be gone!
It’s there our way leads! Father, we must go on!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Related quotes
Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom, Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom, Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose
Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom, Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom, Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose
When The Wind Blows
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
In a part of this once-great city
Stands a child crying out in pity.
Gone is hope in the heart of each hungry hour.
Every year in this land of plenty
There are millions of starving children
What will i say if they look my way?
This is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Bow your heads to the lost generation
Scars so deep, bringing god's damnation.
Businessmen sip wine while congress argue.
But for grace we enjoy our pleasures
What we face will be our salvation
Go build your towns, but remember time will not forget
That this is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Think of what the wise men said.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Papa
the wind this month of
september
blows the leaves
towards the
hidden mountain.
they are scattered
and cannot continue holding
their tips
they have lost the hands of
the stems that
give them the sense of holding
i raise my fingers
to touch the old tree
on top of the hill
where our old house stands
the clouds have since
drifted towards the sea
and i never had
the chance to hold them
for you papa
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The heart of a tree
With branches reaching out as if for a embrace
The tree may bow to nature with grace.
He stands alone when the wind blows strong.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
In winter's cold chill, You can see the tree stand still.
Leaves are gone but the tree stands strong.
Until winter turns into spring and the birds begin to sing.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eyes can't see.
Like the heart of a tree.
Through storms and the wind. Bowing with a graceful bend,
Until the sun shines again, still standing at the end,
The tree is like a true friend.
The leaves may fall, but the tree stands tall.
There are some things that the eye can't see,
Like the heart of a tree.
The old Tree's secrets
How many lovers sat together under the old tree?
If only the tree could speak.
The stories would be of weary travelers
finding a place of peace, and dreams in their sleep.
Stolen moments of lovers, perhaps a sweet caress.
A young man with a ring, a young girl said yes.
Tree I only imagine, I enjoy the guess.
Gentle breezes that lifted the leaves
to let them gently fall to earth.
Misting rain to meet the tree's thirst,
Perhaps two trees inter-twined are
Two lovers that were curst.
poem by Judy Arline Puckett
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When A Child Is Born
A ray of hope flickers in the sky
A tiny star lights up way up high
All across the land dawns a brand new morn'
This comes to pass
When a child is born
A silent wish sails the seven seas
The winds of change whisper in the trees
And the walls of doubt crumble, tossed and torn
This comes to pass
When a child is born
A rosey hue settles all around
You got the feel, you're on solid ground
For a spell or two no-one seems forlorn
This comes to pass
When a child is born
And all of this happens because the world is waiting
Waiting for one child, black, white, yellow - no one knows
But a child that will grow up and turn tears to laughter
Hate to love, war to peace and everyone to everyone's neighbour
And misery and suffering will be words to be forgotten, forever
It's all a dream, an illusion now
It must come true sometime soon somehow
All across the land dawns a brand new morn'
This comes to pass
When a child is born
This comes to pass
When - a child - is bor-or-orn...
Is bor-or-orn...
Is born...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When A Child Is Born
A ray of hope flitters in the sky
A shiny star lights up way up high
All across the land dawns a brand new morn
This comes to pass when a child is born
A silent wish sails the seven seas
The winds have changed whisperin the trees
And the walls of doubt crumble tossed and torn
This comes to pass when a child is born
A rosy fume settles all around
Youve got the feel youre on solid ground
For a spell or two no-one seems forlorn
This comes to pass when a child is born
(spoken)
And all of this happened
Because whe world is waiting
Waiting for one child
Black, white, yellow, no one knows
But a child that would grow up and turn tears to laughter
Hate to love, war to peace
And everyone to everyones neighbour
Misery and suffering would be forgotten forever
Its all a dream and illusion now
It must come true, sometimes soon somehow
All across the land dawns a brand new morn
This comes to pass when a child is born
All across the land dawns a brand new morn
This comes to pass when a child is born
When a child is born
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer's Wind
Be weary, Lord of the summer wind,
Lord of the heat that you blow in,
Away with flowers, land and trees,
To stay them not, least all the trees.
Listen to this, all that I say,
Our land does die, and drift away.
Our living born upon the wind,
All of ours, and those of friends.
So we called upon the leave-filled wind,
The autumn one, of which were friends.
This wind of cool and gentle hand,
Not like the wind that stole our land.
And the heat did melt into the leaves,
And turned them colors from the trees.
Then the leave-filled wind bore them away,
And upon the land, they came to stay.
And stayed them there, till land-hard cold,
And then the land, the leaves they stole.
And after the harsh cold wind had blown,
And living soil again was sown,
Summer's wind came again to prey,
Upon our lands, most every day.
But our living land, the leaves did save,
And the summer's wind did blow away,
Never to re-live, the seasons day.
The cool soft wind now blows so free,
Upon the land, and through the trees.
All through the people, and over me.
poem by Sandra Osborne
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Cascades
thoughts cascade
and the sound of your words make the
cascading sound of the rushing waters
a river
a flood
a rage that goes into the sea
taking everything: driftwood, pebbles, sand,
leaves, houses and even lives and islands
emotions like magma and lava flowing
from volcanic eruption
and then everything calms down, you see the shapes
solidifying
rage of rocks and cliffs in gray and silver colors
you see yourself
a mountain of rock facing the sea
breeze blows and cools off
a rage
and then some seeds fall and grow and become grasses
and trees
too green for your anticipation
and then
there is peace and
tranquility and a house that you start building
a woman
a wife and some children a
name, a father a family
a pillar of hope and a vision of the new sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As the Wind Blows...
As the wind blows in the
moment so blue
i say my last goodbyes to you
i let go of all my fears
i let fall all my tears
as the wind picks up
i look in the sky
as the wind picks up
i waves goodbye
so as the wind blows
in the moments so blue
i say my last goodbyes to you...
poem by Eilena Sharpe
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How The Leaves Are Blown By The Wind
did i not tell you that these leaves come from the trees?
no dispute about it
about them, they grow out from there, those twigs
of the trees of life,
they get their glow, their sheen, though they have given more honor
to the sun
rather than the roots and the phloem
the season for them to mature and fall has come
and they all wait for the wind, the great strong wind to blow them all away
to their respective destinies
some find their way to the river
some to the thick heap of other leaves destined to rot
and only if you hear them
they say they come from nowhere
not from the tree of life
not from me
the leaves, my poems, the wind my way of throwing,
the tree, myself, my roots my mind, my phloem my blood
i made them all, but now, they are on their own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Wind From... Elsewhere
The wind blows here... the wind blows there
The wind seems to blow from... everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair...
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! Can you see its graceful fingers... playing in your hair?
Nay! You cannot see the wind... e'en though you know it's there.
It's flitting... it's flirting... it's prancing everywhere
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! It blows unexpectedly... with a gentle breeze... it blows...
The Great Hand of Miracles... brings it... then it goes
To greet the early morning sun... to dance to and fro
From the highest, loftiest mountain heights... to valleys... far below. 'Who is He that sitteth upon the circle of the earth...
Who gathereth the winds in his fists—Who maketh a wind to pass over...
Thou hearest the sound thereof...
But canst not tell whence it cometh... and wither it goeth.' The wind blows here... the wind blows there...
The wind seems to blow... from everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair—
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE!
poem by Elga Haymon White
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Images
I
Like a gondola of green scented fruits
Drifting along the dark canals of Venice,
You, O exquisite one,
Have entered into my desolate city.
II
The blue smoke leaps
Like swirling clouds of birds vanishing.
So my love leaps forth toward you,
Vanishes and is renewed.
III
A rose-yellow moon in a pale sky
When the sunset is faint vermilion
In the mist among the tree-boughs
Art thou to me, my beloved.
IV
A young beech tree on the edge of the forest
Stands still in the evening,
Yet shudders through all its leaves in the light air
And seems to fear the stars -
So are you still and so tremble.
V
The red deer are high on the mountain,
They are beyond the last pine trees.
And my desires have run with them.
VI
The flower which the wind has shaken
Is soon filled again with rain;
So does my heart fill slowly with tears,
Until you return.
poem by Richard Aldington
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Aftermath
'The Tree Still Stands! '
Exclaimed the boy clasping his hands
To his Father who was walking the rear,
And to his Grandfather who was nowhere near.
For happy was He.
For standing there so straight and tall
Was the tree whose limbs He crawled
And the branches from which He played,
And the root where His head once laid.
And the many leaves.
Now the Father whom hearing His Son
Came to his side in a moment run
Then He stopped; for the tree He saw
Then the Father just stood in awe,
And uttered; 'my old friend'.
For standing there was His friend
From which before His youth was spent
By climbing and playing games,
And hiding under, from the cold and rain.
And the wind.
Then the Grandfather came strolling up
And He paused, in a moment hush
To reflect to a different year
When He was a Child, and He cried a tear.
And He clasped His hands.
For he was then again a Child
And then again He cried and smiled,
For He remembered His Father and He,
And how together they planted a tree.
And it still stands.
'Thank GOD the tree still stands! '
Cried the Grandfather clasping His hands.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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An Ill Wind
An ill wind brings no fortune
when it blows your way
and if you see it coming
close up your shudders and boards
and hope it will pass by
leaving you to your own accord.
Be always ever vigilant
for an ill wind
that might just pass your way.
It leaves only misfortunes and misery
we can all do without today.
If you see one on the horizon,
shelter until it has gone away.
As an ill wind brings no fortune
whenever it blows your way.
poem by David Harris
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The Blue Scarf
Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded
In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with dark knotted fringes,
it lies there,
Warm from a woman's soft shoulders, and my fingers close on it, caressing.
Where is she, the woman who wore it? The scent of her lingers and drugs me!
A languor, fire-shotted, runs through me, and I crush the scarf down
on my face,
And gulp in the warmth and the blueness, and my eyes swim
in cool-tinted heavens.
Around me are columns of marble, and a diapered, sun-flickered pavement.
Rose-leaves blow and patter against it. Below the stone steps a lute tinkles.
A jar of green jade throws its shadow half over the floor. A big-bellied
Frog hops through the sunlight and plops in the gold-bubbled water of a basin,
Sunk in the black and white marble. The west wind has lifted a scarf
On the seat close beside me, the blue of it is a violent outrage of colour.
She draws it more closely about her, and it ripples beneath
her slight stirring.
Her kisses are sharp buds of fire; and I burn back against her, a jewel
Hard and white; a stalked, flaming flower; till I break to
a handful of cinders,
And open my eyes to the scarf, shining blue in the afternoon sunshine.
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Like A Young Fig Tree
Like a young fig tree
you were, on the cliffs.
And when I passed by
you rang in the mountains.
Like the young fig tree,
brilliant and blind.
Like a fig tree you are.
Like an ancient fig.
And I pass, and you greet me
with dry leaves and silence.
Like a fig tree you are
that the lightning has aged.
poem by Miguel Hernandez
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Your First Kiss
A first kiss in the hallway by your locker,
in the schoolyard after soccer,
in a car with a mountain view
as the sin rises anew
under the sunset while holding hands
in the roaring ocean next to glistening sands.
Your first kiss on a mountain high
under the sparkling, starlit sky
while the clouds are pouring rain
in the dining room of a bustling train
beside a beautiful, blossoming cherry tree
on the swing set with fluttering blue jays so free.
There are many great places for one's first kiss
but before you kiss remember this-
that moment is only lived once and should be pure and true
so make your first kiss with someone who truly loves you.
poem by Kelly Curiel
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Wendell Gee
Thats when wendell gee takes a tug
Upon the string that held the line of trees
Behind the house he lived in
He was reared to give respect
But somewhere down the line he chose
To whistle as the wind blows
Whistle as the wind blows, with me
He had a dream one night
That the tree had lost its middle
So he built a trunk of chicken wire
To try to hold it up
But the wire, the wire turned to lizard skin
And when he climbed inside
There wasnt even time to say
Goodbye to wendell gee
So whistle as the wind blows
Whistle as the wind blows, with me
If the wind were colors
And if the air could speak
Then whistle as the wind blows
Whistle as the wind blows
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Church
Painted angels guard the altars;
And rest and shadows; beam from blue eyes.
In incense-fumes dirty lyes swim.
Figures stagger woebegone in the emptiness.
In the black kneeler a smallish whore
With faded cheeks resembles the Madonna.
In golden beams wax figures hang;
Moon and sun circle the white-bearded God.
A shine of soft columns and skeletons.
The sweet voices of boys died at the chancel.
Very quietly rapt colors move,
A flowing red from Magdalene's lips.
A pregnant woman goes astray in grave dreams
Through this twilight full of masks, flags.
Her shadow crosses the saints' still ways,
The angel's rest in lime-washed rooms.
poem by Georg Trakl
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