Young Lambs
The spring is coming by a many signs;
The trays are up, the hedges broken down,
That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines
Like some old antique fragment weathered brown.
And where suns peep, in every sheltered place,
The little early buttercups unfold
A glittering star or two--till many trace
The edges of the blackthorn clumps in gold.
And then a little lamb bolts up behind
The hill and wags his tail to meet the yoe,
And then another, sheltered from the wind,
Lies all his length as dead--and lets me go
Close bye and never stirs but baking lies,
With legs stretched out as though he could not rise.
poem by John Clare
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Related quotes
A Song for the New Year {1915}
THE Year of the Sorrows went out with great wind:
Lift up, lift up, O broken hearts, your Lord is kind,
And He shall call His flock home where no storms be
Into a sheltered haven out of sound of the sea.
There shall be bright sands there and a milken hill,
They shall lie in the sun there and drink their fill,
They shall have dew and shade there and grass to the knee,
Safe in a sheltered haven out of sound of the sea.
He shall bind their wounds up and their tears shall cease:
They shall have sweetest pillows and a bed of ease.
Come up, come up and hither, O little flock, saith He,
Ye shall have sheltered havens out of sound of the sea.
The first day of New Year strewed the sea with dead.
Lift up, lift up, O broken heart and hanging head!
The Lord walks on the waters and a Shepherd is He
They shall have sheltered havens out of sound of the sea.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Endure Hardness
A cold wind stirs the blackthorn
To burgeon and to blow,
Besprinkling half-green hedges
With flakes and sprays of snow.
Through coldness and through keenness,
Dear hearts, take comfort so:
Somewhere or other doubtless
These make the blackthorn blow.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Sheltered Heart
Early morning rise
Rain pouring Down outside
Memories greets me again
They are what I hide
Sheltered Heart
A tender emotion
I cringe to take hold
Like a small child
I fear of being scold
Sheltered Heart
I feel strength pulling
Again I stand alone
Feeling life's energy
My heart turns to stone
Sheltered Heart
Recalling all that was tonight
I keep my head raised high
Knowing I've nothing to prove
Protected I am deep inside
Sheltered Heart
You kept me from pain
I never understood need
Always treated with high praise
But where did it all lead
poem by Suelynn Walters
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Lets Stay Engaged
It might be late
but it won't be early
you got me to the gate
with time for a coffee
it's getting late
sounds like a departure
it's getting close
sounds to me like a departure
Until we meet again
lets stay engaged
until then
lets stay engaged
Lies over time
float to the surface
lies over time
they equal surface
lies over time
though the reasons desert us
lies over time
with no apparent purpose
Until we meet again
lets stay engaged
until then
lets stay engaged
See the dead art
and you see your reflection
fear no art
and you fear no reflection
but don't look at me
I'm not the artist in question
sounds good to me
but I'm not the artist in question
Until we meet again
lets stay engaged
until then
lets stay engaged
song performed by by The Tragically Hip from Trouble At The Henhouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Lies
If I could turn the page
In time then Id rearrange just a day or two
Close my, close my, close my eyes
But I couldnt find a way
So Ill settle for one day to believe in you
Tell me, tell me, tell me lies
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you cant disguise
(you cant disguise, no you cant disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
Although Im not making plans
I hope that you understand theres a reason why
Close your, close your, close your eyes
No more broken hearts
Were better off apart lets give it a try
Tell me, tell me, tell me lies
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you cant disguise
(you cant disguise, no you cant disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
If I could turn the page
In time then Id rearrange just a day or two
Close my, close my, close my eyes
But I couldnt find a way
So Ill settle for one day to believe in you
Tell me, tell me, tell me lies
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you cant disguise
(you cant disguise, no you cant disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you cant disguise
(you cant disguise, no you cant disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me, tell me lies)
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Promised Not To Wake Up Early And Write Again
but of course, here i am.
it is 4: 25 in the morning.
i wake up earlier than
i expected. there is no sense wriggling
on the bed that no longer feels my yearning for sleep.
i rise.
i open the computer. i hear its buzzing sound. No problem i am
willing to write about nothing
nothing at all. call it emptiness. call it weariness. on a very early
morning. but it does not matter at all. this is this. this is it.
this is what i am. just going. just coming. just writing.
whatever.
outside the rooster keeps its announcement
of a promising morning. the hens are laying their eggs.
some steps of strangers pass by. sagging footsteps
for an early work to do. opening doors of their stores.
dusting, cleaning, baking the bread. displaying wares.
the salesgirl still yawning on an unwashed face.
the dog wakes up and wags its tail on my side.
as i write.
my life begins to unfold. it is another poem. another story.
written and kept. there is nothing more important to do anyway.
you look for a rhyme. You do not find it here. Go somewhere.
That poet over there, the one with the color of dusk
keeps some. Talk to him. Meanwhile, I am through.
No promises again this time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tell thee truth, sweet; no
TELL thee truth, sweet; no.
Truth is cross and sad and cold:
Lies are pitiful and kind,
Honey-soft as Love's own tongue:
Let me, love, lie so.
Lies are like a summer wind,
Wooing flower-buds to unfold
Lies will last while men are young.
Tell thee truth, love; no.
Let me, sweet, lie so.
Lies are Hope's light ministers,
Footless birds upon the wing:
Truth's a name for plodding care:
Tell thee truth, sweet; no.
Truth's the east wind on the Spring—
'Tis the wind, not Spring-time, errs.
Lies will last while maids are fair.
Let me lie, love, so.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Hope
O thrush, is it true?
Your song tells
Of a world born anew,
Of fields gold with buttercups, woodlands all blue
With hyacinth bells;
Of primroses deep
In the moss of the lane,
Of a Princess asleep
And dear magic to do.
Will the sun wake the princess? O thrush, is it true?
Will Spring come again?
Will Spring come again?
Now at last
With soft shine and rain
Will the violet be sweet where the dead leaves have lain?
Will Winter be past?
In the brown of the copse
Will white wind-flowers star through
Where the last oak-leaf drops?
Will the daisies come too,
And the may and the lilac? Will Spring come again?
O thrush, is it true?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Telling Lies
You tell your lies unto your daughters
You told those lies unto their fathers
You tell them lies, in such a disguise
So later in years them you could deny.
You tell your lies unto your friends
You told those lies to all your men
You make up an excuse, just to confuse
So no one knows what you put them through.
You tell your lies unto your teacher
You told your lies unto your preacher
You then shed a tear, so with pity they'd hear
And also when no one else is ever near.
You tell your lies to any caller
You told your lies unto your lawyer
You say any word, though may be absurd
Even though from someone else you heard.
You tell your lies in your prayer
You told those lies to the choir
But you still will be blamed, for all the pain
As sadly you and your lying will remain.
You will tell your lies each and everyday
You will tell those lies when you get old and gray
Sadly you will tell them till, your heart beats still
But then hearing those lies no one else ever will.
You will tell your lies when you meet GOD
You will tell those lies with a pitiful nod
You will beg him again, that you did no sin
But GOD will know where you have been.
You will tell your lies when you meet the Devil
You will tell those lies as as you are at the same level
But at you he will grin, as he knows all your sin
As with you all those times he too has been.
Your daughters will sin and tell their lies
As to anyone that will listen they will also cry
As you taught them not the truth, but only how to use
So also their destiny from lies they did choose.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Winter Dreams
In the winter of our lives
We meet the storm head on
In shivering strength we tread
To seek what lies beyond
Now when winterkill stings our face,
Turn our heads down to the ground...
There is no cause to look up again
Till spring comes back around.
No reason to look up again
Till spring comes back around.
When skies soon clear and bud doth peek
From branch so bare and bleak
Our hearts awake to find Suns warmth
Full circle of a Life complete
We nudge each other to the drifts,
Fog the bitter air with laughter,
There'll be no surrender to the gloom,
We know what's coming after.
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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Lines written in the Belief that the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead was called Ambarvalia
Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
And all the world's a song;
'She's far,' it sings me, 'but fair,' it rings me,
'Quiet,' it laughs, 'and strong!'
Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,
Spite of your chosen part,
I do remember; and I go
With laughter in my heart.
So above the little folk that know not,
Out of the white hill-town,
High up I clamber; and I remember;
And watch the day go down.
Gold is my heart, and the world's golden,
And one peak tipped with light;
And the air lies still about the hill
With the first fear of night;
Till mystery down the soundless valley
Thunders, and dark is here;
And the wind blows, and the light goes,
And the night is full of fear,
And I know, one night, on some far height,
In the tongue I never knew,
I yet shall hear the tidings clear
From them that were friends of you.
They'll call the news from hill to hill,
Dark and uncomforted,
Earth and sky and the winds; and I
Shall know that you are dead.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread;
For the kin of you will surely do
Their duty by the dead.
Their little dull greasy eyes will water;
They'll paw you, and gulp afresh.
They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep
Like flies on the cold flesh.
They will put pence on your grey eyes,
Bind up your fallen chin,
And lay you straight, the fools that loved you
Because they were your kin.
They will praise all the bad about you,
And hush the good away,
And wonder how they'll do without you,
And then they'll go away.
But quieter than one sleeping,
And stranger than of old,
You will not stir for weeping,
You will not mind the cold;
But through the night the lips will laugh not,
The hands will be in place,
And at length the hair be lying still
About the quiet face.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
And dim and decorous mirth,
With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury
The lordliest lass of earth.
The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving
Behind lone-riding you,
The heart so high, the heart so living,
Heart that they never knew.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread,
Nor with smug breath tell lies of death
To the unanswering dead.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
The folk who loved you not
Will bury you, and go wondering
Back home. And you will rot.
But laughing and half-way up to heaven,
With wind and hill and star,
I yet shall keep, before I sleep,
Your Ambarvalia.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When Spring Goes By
The winds that on the uplands softly lie,
Grow keener where the ice is lingering still
Where the first robin on the sheltered hill
Pipes blithely to the tune, "When Spring goes by!"
Hear him again, "Spring! Spring!" He seems to cry,
Haunting the fall of the flute-throated rill,
That keeps a gentle, constant, silver thrill,
While he is restless in his ecstasy.
Ah! the soft budding of the virginal woods,
Of the frail fruit trees by the vanishing lakes:
There's the new moon where the clear sunset floods,
A trace of dew upon the rose leaf sky;
And hark! what rapture the glad robin wakes-
"When Spring goes by; Spring! Spring! When
Spring goes by."
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Come On Baby Lets Go Downtown
Come on, baby, lets go downtown,
Lets go, lets go, lets go downtown.
Come on, baby, lets go downtown,
Lets go, lets go, lets go downtown.
Walk on, talk on, baby tell no lies.
Dont you be caught with a tear in your eye.
Sure enough, theyll be sellin stuff
When the moon begins to rise.
Pretty bad when youre dealin with the man,
And the light shines in your eyes.
Come on, baby, lets go downtown,
Lets go, lets go, lets go downtown.
Come on, baby, lets go downtown,
Lets go, lets go, lets go downtown.
Snake eyes, french fries and I got lots of gas.
Full moon and a jumpin tune, now you dont have to ask.
Sure enough, theyll be sellin stuff
When the moon begins to rise.
Pretty bad when youre dealin with the man,
And the light shines in your eyes.
Come on, baby, lets go downtown,
Lets go, lets go, lets go downtown.
Come on, baby, lets go downtown,
Lets go, lets go, lets go downtown.
Walk on, talk on, baby tell no lies.
Dont you be caught with a tear in your eye.
Sure enough, theyll be sellin stuff
When the moon begins to rise.
Pretty bad when youre dealin with the man,
And the light shines in your eyes.
Pretty bad when youre dealin with the man,
And the light shines in your eyes.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early in the Spring
Early in the spring
Not a leaf has struck the ground
The swallow has yet to sing
And the plowmen are no where to be found
Early in the spring
The forest stands still
And no creature dare come out
Before the sun rises o’er the hill
Early in the spring
The valley holds the morning dew
And its serenity may be captured
By only a certain few
Early in the spring
The trees turn, brown to green
Many changes occur
But few can be seen
Early in the spring
Or in the latter of fall
No matter the change of season
The evergreen stands tall
poem by James Kent
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Departed
The house lies empty
Hovering on edges of my senses
The faint trace your scent
As if you have just slipped out the room
Soon to return.
Pick up where you left off.
The shelves are powdered with dust
Grey as my thoughts.
The room lies cold, barren,
Dead, for your spirit is absent.
A book lies open where you left it
The story stalled never to be finished
But yours has ended.
And I, I still have mine to finish.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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No More Lies
There's a darkened sky before me
There's no time to prepare
Salvage a last horizon
But no regrets from me
Maybe I'll be back some other day
To live again just who can say
In what shape or form that I might be
Just another chance for me
A hurried time no disgrace
Instead of racing to conclusion
And wishing all my life away
No-one can stop me now
Time is up it couldnt last
But there's more things I'd like to do
I'm coming back to try again
Someday maybe I'll wait till then
No more lies
No more lies
No more lies
No more lies
They're all sitting at my table
Talking tall and drinking wine
Their time is up just like me
But they just dont know it yet
So just a word of warning
When you're in your deepest dreams
There's nothing you can hide from
I've got my eye on you
The clock is fast the hour is near
Eventful past is everclear
My life is set the time is here
I think I'm coming home
No more lies
No more lies
No more lies
No more lies
A hurried time no disgrace
Instead of racing to conclusions
And wishing all your life away
No-one can stop me now
Time is up it couldnt last
But there's more things I'd have to do
I'm coming back to try again
Someday maybe I'll wait till then
No more lies
No more lies
No more lies
No more lies
No more lies
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We'll Go Together
The light will shine down on you
As you push through broken gates
The sadness of your past behind you
Will slowly fade away
I have the scars, I know your strain
But the further you walk, the less the pain
We cannot know what lies ahead
But if we stayed there, we'd be dead
My sun shines gold, but yours may still be grey
But listen to me, you'll see the day
We're not alone in this vast world
We all have friends like hidden pearls
Just keep pushing through that place
We built long ago to keep us safe
Who would have thought it was a mere distraction
The great red herring of inaction
Don't stop now, the sun shines bright
The further you go from the fields of strife
I do not know of future whether
But Take my hand, we'll go together
poem by Scott Marek
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Woak Hill
When sycamore leaves wer a-spreaden
Green-ruddy in hedges,
Bezide the red doust o' the ridges,
A-dried at Woak Hill;
I packed up my goods, all a-sheenen
Wi' long years o' handlen,
On dousty red wheels ov a waggon,
To ride at Woak Hill.
The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellen
I then wer a-leaven,
Had sheltered the sleek head o' Meary,
My bride at Woak Hill.
But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall
'S a-lost vrom the vlooren.
To soon vor my jay an' my childern
She died at Woak Hill.
But still I do think that, in soul,
She do hover about us;
To ho vor her motherless childern,
Her pride at Woak Hill.
Zoo—lest she should tell me hereafter
I stole off 'ithout her,
An' left her, uncalled at house-ridden,
To bide at Woak Hill—
I called her so fondly, wi' lippens
All soundless to others,
An' took her wi' air-reachen hand
To my zide at Woak Hill.
On the road I did look round, a-talken
To light at my shoulder,
An' then led her in at the doorway,
Miles wide vrom Woak Hill.
An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season,
My mind wer a-wandren
Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely
A-tried at Woak Hill.
But no; that my Meary mid never
Behold herzelf slighted,
I wanted to think that I guided
My guide vrom Woak Hill.
poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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The Destroyer
ACROSS the quiet pastures of my soul
The invading army marched in splendid might
My few poor forces fled beyond control,
Scattered, defeated, hidden in the night.
My fields were green, their hedges white with May,
With gold of buttercups made bright and fair,
The careless conquerors did not even stay
To gather one of all the blossoms there.
Only when they had passed, the fields were brown,
The grass and blossoms trampled in the mud:
The flowering hedges withered and torn down,
And no one richer by a single bud.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Destroyer
ACROSS the quiet pastures of my soul
The invading army marched in splendid might
My few poor forces fled beyond control,
Scattered, defeated, hidden in the night.
My fields were green, their hedges white with May,
With gold of buttercups made bright and fair,
The careless conquerors did not even stay
To gather one of all the blossoms there.
Only when they had passed, the fields were brown,
The grass and blossoms trampled in the mud:
The flowering hedges withered and torn down,
And no one richer by a single bud.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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