Spirit Song Over The Waters
THE soul of man
Resembleth water:
From heaven it cometh,
To heaven it soareth.
And then again
To earth descendeth,
Changing ever.
Down from the lofty
Rocky wall
Streams the bright flood,
Then spreadeth gently
In cloudy billows
O'er the smooth rock,
And welcomed kindly,
Veiling, on roams it,
Soft murmuring,
Tow'rd the abyss.
Cliffs projecting
Oppose its progress,--
Angrily foams it
Down to the bottom,
Step by step.
Now, in flat channel,
Through the meadowland steals it,
And in the polish'd lake
Each constellation
Joyously peepeth.
Wind is the loving
Wooer of waters;
Wind blends together
Billows all-foaming.
Spirit of man,
Thou art like unto water!
Fortune of man,
Thou art like unto wind!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Related quotes
Alunan 5
Poet travelling over water
befriend the wind
let it ride easy
in the hollows
of your bones
open your bosom
for wind to go through
storm rising
fron the abyss
could pitch your
on the rocks
blow the skull apart
for darkness and sun
coldness and heat
to flow in without staying
salt-caked and split
your tongue will breed
secret words
of the wind's singing
now then
will the wind
command the billows
to bear you
the tide to lay your bones
under the moon
to bleach wothout rancor
without bliss everything forgiven
your name that wind spells
on water the syllables
so very kindly
very gently leave
where it will
posted by merlie alunan @ 12: 18 AM
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Home Of The Spirit
Answer me, burning stars of night,
Where is the spirit gone,
That past the reach of human sight,
As a swift breeze hath flown?
And the stars answer'd me: 'We roll
In light and power on high;
But of the never-dying soul
Ask that which cannot die.'
O many-toned and chainless wind,
Thou art a wanderer free;
Tell me if thou its place canst find,
Far over mount and sea?
And the wind murmur'd in reply:
'The blue deep I have cross'd,
And met its barks and billows high,
But not what thou hast lost.'
Ye clouds that gorgeously repose
Around the setting sun,
Answer - Have ye a home for those
Whose earthly race is run?
The bright clouds answer'd: 'We depart,
We vanish from the sky;
Ask what is deathless in thy heart
For that which cannot die.'
Speak, then, thou voice of God within,
Thou of the deep low tone;
Answer me, through life's restless din -
Where is the spirit flown?
And the voice answer'd: 'Be thou still;
Enough to know is given;
Clouds, winds, and stars
their
part fulfil;
Thine
is to trust in Heaven.'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Spring. (From The French Of Charles D'Orleans. XV. Century)
Gentle Spring! in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,
And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay,
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.
Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
Their beards of icicles and snow;
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.
Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;
Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for nought both late and early,
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
When thy merry step draws near.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Johanna Sebus
THE DAM BREAKS DOWN, THE ICE-PLAIN GROWLS,
THE FLOODS ARISE, THE WATER HOWLS.
"I'll bear thee, mother, across the swell,
'Tis not yet high, I can wade right well."
"Remember us too! in what danger are we!
Thy fellow-lodger, and children three!
The trembling woman!--Thou'rt going away!"
She bears the mother across the spray.
"Quick! haste to the mound, and awhile there wait,
I'll soon return, and all will be straight.
The mound's close by, and safe from the wet;
But take my goat too, my darling pet!"
THE DAM DISSOLVES, THE ICE-PLAIN GROWLS,
THE FLOODS DASH ON, THE WATER HOWLS.
She places the mother safe on the shore;
Fair Susan then turns tow'rd the flood once more.
"Oh whither? Oh whither? The breadth fast grows,
Both here and there the water o'erflows.
Wilt venture, thou rash one, the billows to brave?"
"THEY SHALL, AND THEY MUST BE PRESERVED FROM THE WAVE!"
THE DAM DISAPPEARS, THE WATER GROWLS,
LIKE OCEAN BILLOWS IT HEAVES AND HOWLS.
Fair Susan returns by the way she had tried,
The waves roar around, but she turns not aside;
She reaches the mound, and the neighbour straight,
But for her and the children, alas, too late!
THE DAM DISAPPEAR'D,--LIKE A SEA IT GROWLS,
ROUND THE HILLOCK IN CIRCLING EDDIES IT HOWLS.
The foaming abyss gapes wide, and whirls round,
The women and children are borne to the ground;
The horn of the goat by one is seized fast,
But, ah, they all must perish at last!
Fair Susan still stands-there, untouch'd by the wave;
The youngest, the noblest, oh, who now will save?
Fair Susan still stands there, as bright as a star,
But, alas! all hope, all assistance is far.
The foaming waters around her roar,
To save her, no bark pushes off from the shore.
Her gaze once again she lifts up to Heaven,
Then gently away by the flood she is driven.
NO DAM, NO PLAIN! TO MARK THE PLACE
SOME STRAGGLING TREES ARE THE ONLY TRACE.
The rushing water the wilderness covers,
Yet Susan's image still o'er it hovers.--
The water sinks, the plains re-appear.
Fair Susan's lamented with many a tear,--
May he who refuses her story to tell,
Be neglected in life and in death as well!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Invocation
I called on dreams and visions, to disclose
That which is veil'd from waking thought; conjured
Eternity, as men constrain a ghost
To appear and answer. ~ WORDSWORTH.
Answer me, burning stars of night!
Where is the spirit gone,
That past the reach of human sight,
As a swift breeze hath flown?–
And the stars answer'd me–'We roll
In light and power on high;
But, of the never-dying soul,
Ask that which cannot die.'
Oh! many-toned and chainless wind!
Thou art a wanderer free;
Tell me if thou its place canst find,
Far over mount and sea?–
And the wind murmur'd in reply,
'The blue deep I have cross'd,
And met its barks and billows high,
But not what thou hast lost.'
Ye clouds, that gorgeously repose
Around the setting sun,
Answer! have ye a home for those
Whose earthly race is run?
The bright clouds answer'd–'We depart,
We vanish from the sky;
Ask what is deathless in thy heart,
For that which cannot die.'
Speak then, thou voice of God within,
Thou of the deep, low tone!
Answer me, thro' life's restless din,
Where is the spirit flown?
And the voice answer'd–'Be thou still!
Enough to know is given;
Clouds, winds, and stars their part fulfil,
Thine is to trust in Heaven.'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Evening
Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting,
Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining;
Wearily move on thy horses--
Let, then, thy chariot descend!
Seest thou her who, from ocean's crystal billows,
Lovingly nods and smiles?--Thy heart must know her!
Joyously speed on thy horses,--
Tethys, the goddess, 'tis nods!
Swiftly from out his flaming chariot leaping,
Into her arms he springs,--the reins takes Cupid,--
Quietly stand the horses,
Drinking the cooling flood.
Now from the heavens with gentle step descending,
Balmy night appears, by sweet love followed;
Mortals, rest ye, and love ye,--
Phoebus, the loving one, rests!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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The Storm
I SEE the use : and know my blood
Is not a sea,
But a shallow, bounded flood,
Though red as he ;
Yet have I flows, as strong as his,
And boiling streams that rave
With the same curling force, and hiss,
As doth the mountain'd wave.
2.
But when his waters billow thus,
Dark storms, and wind
Incite them to that fierce discuss,
Else not inclin'd,
Thus the enlarg'd, enragèd air
Uncalms these to a flood ;
But still the weather that's most fair
Breeds tempests in my blood.
3.
Lord, then round me with weeping clouds,
And let my mind
In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds,
A spirit-wind ;
So shall that storm purge this recluse
Which sinful ease made foul,
And wind and water to Thy use
Both wash and wing my soul.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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The Earth
I would lie low, the ground on which men tread,
Swept by Thy spirit like the wind of heaven;
An earth where gushing springs and corn for bread,
By me at every season should be given;
Yet not the water or the bread that now
Supplies their tables with its daily food,
But thou wouldst give me fruit for every bough,
Such as Thou givest me, and call'st it good;
And water from the stream of life should flow,
By every dwelling that thy love has built,
Whose taste the ransomed of thy Son shall know,
Whose robes are washed from every stain of guilt;
And men would own it was thy hand that blest,
And from my bosom find a surer rest.
poem by Jones Very
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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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Snow
Down out of heaven,
Frost-kissed
And wind driven,
Flake upon flake,
Over forest and lake,
Cometh the snow.
Folding the forest,
Folding the farms,
In a mantle of white;
And the river’s great arms,
Kissed by the chill night
From clamor to rest,
Lie all white and shrouded
Upon the world’s breast.
Falling so slowly
Down from above,
So white, hushed, and holy,
Folding the city
Like the great pity
Of God in His love; 20
Sent down out of heaven
On its sorrow and crime,
Blotting them, folding them
Under its rime.
Fluttering, rustling,
Soft as a breath,
The whisper of leaves,
The low pinions of death,
Or the voice of the dawning,
When day has its birth,
Is the music of silence
It makes to the earth.
Thus down out of heaven,
Frost-kissed
And wind driven,
Flake upon flake,
Over forest and lake,
Cometh the snow.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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What Do You Want With Me
You live in a mansion, with your own private harbor
And you own an island, where you go every summer
What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire
You're been educated in the best schools all around the world
Life is simple when people hang on your every word
What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire
Your father is a leader and unknown to the world
A puppet master of billions, and your his little girl
What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire
You mother has a club in Rome where the elite come to gather
Illuminated by fine conversation, while enjoying their evening supper
What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire
Your riches can't buy everything
Your riches can't buy everything
You are a collector of unique and very precious things
And store them for safe keeping, hoping to save them
What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire
What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire
Copyright Colin Coplin 2012
poem by Colin Coplin
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Song, In Imitation Of Shakspeare's
1
Blow, blow, thou vernal gale!
Thy balm will not avail
To ease my aching breast;
Though thou the billows smooth,
Thy murmurs cannot soothe
My weary soul to rest.
2
Flow, flow, thou tuneful stream!
Infuse the easy dream
Into the peaceful soul;
But thou canst not compose
The tumult of my woes,
Though soft thy waters roll.
3
Blush, blush, ye fairest flowers!
Beauties surpassing yours
My Rosalind adorn;
Nor is the Winter's blast,
That lays your glories waste,
So killing as her scorn.
4
Breathe, breathe, ye tender lays,
That linger down the maze
Of yonder winding grove;
O let your soft control
Bend her relenting soul
To pity and to love.
5
Fade, fade, ye flowerets fair!
Gales, fan no more the air!
Ye streams, forget to glide;
Be hush'd each vernal strain;
Since nought can soothe my pain,
Nor mitigate her pride.
poem by James Beattie
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The Message Of The Wind
The wind comes riding down from heaven.
Ho! wind of heaven, what do you bring?
Cool for the dawn, dew for the even,
And every sweetest thing.
O wind of heaven, from pink clouds driven,
What do you bring to me?
The low call of thy love who waits
Under the willow tree,
Whose boat upon the water waits
For me, for thee.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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North Wind
LOUD wind, strong wind, sweeping o'er the mountains,
Fresh wind, free wind, blowing from the sea,
Pour forth thy vials like streams from airy fountains,
Draughts of life to me.
Clear wind, cold wind, like a Northern giant,
Stars brightly threading thy cloud-driven hair,
Thrilling the blank night with thy voice defiant,
Lo! I meet thee there.
Wild wind, bold wind, like a strong-armed angel,
Clasp me and kiss me with thy kisses divine;
Breathe in this dulled ear thy secret sweet evangel--
Mine--and only mine.
Fierce wind, mad wind, howling o'er the nations,
Knew'st thou how leapeth my heart as thou goest by:
Ah, thou wouldst pause awhile in a sudden patience
Like a human sigh.
Sharp wind, keen wind, cutting as word-arrows,
Empty thy quiverful! pass by! What is't to thee,
That in some mortal eyes life's whole bright circle narrows,
To one misery?
Loud wind, strong wind, stay thou in the mountains,
Fresh wind, free wind, trouble not the sea.
Or lay thy deathly hand upon my heart's warm fountains,
That I hear not thee.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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To the sun
Thou glorious lamp of Space! Thou that dost flood
The void of heaven with brightness! in thy glow
Unnumbered worlds, age after age, have trod
In their appointed paths, and yet the flow
Of brightness hath not ebbed. -- Before thy brow
The stars still veil themselves; thy burning glance
Is all unquenched, undimmed, unchanged e'en now,
As when the finger of Omnipotence
Pointed to thee thy throne amid the vast expanse.
Yes, all unchanged. -- As on that morn when rang
The shout of joy as forth thy rays were spread,
While all the morning stars together sang,
So thou art now. The morning stars have fled,
The towering hill with age has bowed its head,
The sea has changed its home with the dry land,
The earth has gathered in her countless dead,
Again and yet again -- but thou dost stand,
Exhaustless and unmoved, upheld by God's own hand.
Thy beams rest not alone where monarchs dwell,
They linger round the cottage of the poor,
And pierce the grating of the captive's cell;
And when thou lookest on the lowliest flower
That lifts its head to thee for one short hour,
Thy glances just as mildly, gently burn
As when thou gazest on the loftiest tower,
Or on the countless worlds that round thee turn.
Oh! what a lesson here might human frailty learn.
Thou look'st upon the earth, and in thy rays
She brings her increase forth. Thine early light
Unfolds the bud, and thy intenser gaze
The blushing summer flower. Thou takest thy flight
And o'er the earth then walks the starry night;
Thou guidest the waters of the unquiet main,
Whose billows foam and tremble in their might --
For o'er the winds of heaven thou hold'st thy reign,
From the soft, flower-kissed breeze to the wild hurricane.
When I behold thy bright, alchemic glance
A flood of gold-light o'er the landscape throw,
And every cloud that decks the blue expanse,
Beneath thy gaze with deeping blushes glow;
Or when I see thee tint the heavenly bow,
Or in thy gaze the icebound waters melt,
As spring returns before thy burning brow,
I wonder not that Persia's children knelt,
And deemed thou was the Heaven wherein the Eternal dwelt.
Thou isle of brightness 'mid an azure sea!
As oft I gaze on thee at closing day,
I feel my spirit fluttering to be free, --
To cast its bonds of ignorance away,
And learn thy mysteries; and then I say,
Peace, restless spirit! -- yet a little time
And your frail prison will have changed to clay,
And thou shalt stand before the throne of Him
To whose veiled brow of light this glorious lamp is dim!
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
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Listen to the wind
Listen to the tranquil sonatas of the
Low blowing breeze and you'll think here
Is Mozart descended from Heaven to
Bring merriment to your happy heart
Listen to the wind as the mighty
Wind rocks the young of spirit
The wind will rock you and live you
Panting for more
Hear the sound of the great blowing wind
The wind is strong
The wind plays the majestic symphonies
To keep you spellbound and you will
Be enchanted by the spirit of the
The great cacophony of the myriads of
The the sheer ferocity of the souring
Lyrics of the almighty conquering wind
And you'll wish you too was blessed
To be born earlier and know how Beethoven
Came to compose the great symphonies
For he too must have been enchanted by
The sound of the high spirited blowing wind
The wind has a new melody to gladden your
Happy heart and your kind spirit with
Listen with an open mind and a clean soul
This exquisite melody the loving wind dedicates
Exclusively for you to immortalize you and
They'll remember you whose name is fused into
The song and make you live on five hundred more
Years after you have long departed from this earth
Appreciate the haunting mourning sound of the
Brooding wind and learn to live with it
The wind is God's greatest grand gift to Humanity
The life giving air you breath is His breath
That gives meaning for your being here
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Caledonia
Caledonia! thou land of the mountain and rock,
Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind-
Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak,
Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind;
Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glens,
Though bleak thy dun islands appear,
Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans,
That roam on these mountains so drear!
A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home,
Could never thy ardour restrain;
The marshall'd array of imperial Rome
Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain!
Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth,
Of genius unshackled and free,
The muses have left all the vales of the south,
My loved Caledonia, for thee!
Sweet land of the bay and wild-winding deeps
Where loveliness slumbers at even,
While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps
A calm little motionless heaven!
Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill,
Of the storm and the proud rolling wave-
Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still,
And the land of my forefathers' grave!
poem by James Hogg
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Second Sunday After Christmas
And wilt thou hear the fevered heart
To Thee in silence cry?
And as th' inconstant wildfires dart
Out of the restless eye,
Wilt thou forgive the wayward though
By kindly woes yet half untaught
A Saviours right, so dearly bought,
That Hope should never die?
Thou wilt: for many a languid prayer
Has reached Thee from the wild,
Since the lorn mother, wandering there,
Cast down her fainting child,
Then stole apart to weep and die,
Nor knew an angel form was nigh,
To show soft waters gushing by,
And dewy shadows mild.
Thou wilt--for Thou art Israel's God,
And Thine unwearied arm
Is ready yet with Moses' rod,
The hidden rill to charm
Out of the dry unfathomed deep
Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep,
Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap
Their waves in rude alarm.
These moments of wild wrath are Thine -
Thine, too, the drearier hour
When o'er th' horizon's silent line
Fond hopeless fancies cower,
And on the traveller's listless way
Rises and sets th' unchanging day,
No cloud in heaven to slake its ray,
On earth no sheltering bower.
Thou wilt be there, and not forsake,
To turn the bitter pool
Into a bright and breezy lake,
This throbbing brow to cool:
Till loft awhile with Thee alone
The wilful heart be fain to own
That He, by whom our bright hours shone,
Our darkness best may rule.
The scent of water far away
Upon the breeze is flung;
The desert pelican to-day
Securely leaves her young,
Reproving thankless man, who fears
To journey on a few lone years,
Where on the sand Thy step appears,
Thy crown in sight is hung.
Thou, who did sit on Jacob's well
The weary hour of noon,
The languid pulses Thou canst tell,
The nerveless spirit tune.
Thou from Whose cross in anguish burst
The cry that owned Thy dying thirst,
To Thee we turn, our Last and First,
Our Sun and soothing Moon.
From darkness, here, and dreariness
We ask not full repose,
Only be Thou at hand, to bless
Our trial hour of woes.
Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid
By the clear rill and palmy shade?
And see we not, up Earth's dark glade,
The gate of Heaven unclose?
poem by John Keble
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXIV
THE SAME CONTINUED
Give me thy soul, Juliet, give me thy soul!
I am a bitter sea, which drinketh in
The sweetness of all waters, and so thine.
Thou, like a river, pure and swift and full
And freighted with the wealth of many lands,
With hopes, and fears, and death and life, dost roll
Against the troubled ocean of my sin.
Thou doubtest not, though on these desert sands
The billows surge against thee black with brine,
Unwearied. For thy love is fixed and even
And bears thee onward, and thy faith is whole.
Though thou thyself shouldst sin, yet surely Heaven
Hath held thee guiltless and thou art forgiven.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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If Thou'lt Be Mine
If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air,
Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet;
Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair,
Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweet,
Shall be ours -- if thou wilt be mine, love!
Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,
A voice divine shall talk in each stream;
The stars shall look like world of love,
And this earth be all one beautiful dream
In our eyes -- if thou wilt be mine, love!
And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,
Like streams that come from heaven-ward hills,
Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie
To be bathed by those eternal rills,
Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!
All this and more the Spirit of Love
Can breathe o'er them who feel his spells;
That heaven, which forms his home above,
He can make on earth, wherever he dwells,
As thou'lt own, -- if thou wilt be mine, love!
poem by Thomas Moore
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