A Ballad
I.
'Twas when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind;
A damsel lay deploring,
All on a rock reclin'd.
Wide o'er the roaring billows
She cast a wistful look;
Her head was crown'd with willows,
That tremble o'er the brook.
II.
Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days,
Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?
III.
The merchant robb'd of pleasure
Sees tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on
Where gold and diamonds grow
You'd find a richer maiden,
But none that loves you so.
IV.
How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain
Why then beneath the water
Should hideous rocks remain?
No eyes the rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep.
V.
All melancholy lying,
Thus wail'd she for her dear;
Repay'd each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear;
When, o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied;
Then like a lily drooping,
She bow'd her head and died.
Related quotes
Roaring higher
My fire in heart is aggressive
Keeps burring all time
Roaring higher! Roaring higher!
My fire can destruct the jealous world
Till it end fortunate and convenient
Roaring higher! Roaring higher!
My fire can create the ability
To create the gentle heart with success
Roaring higher! Roaring higher!
My fire can be the spirit
To light up the heart in the darkness
Roaring higher! Roaring higher!
poem by Swetha Reddy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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ROARING in the middle of the Night
RAAUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gg (00.00)
(roaaringgg)
raunnnnnnnggGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG GGGGGG (01.54)
(roarrriingg)
aUUUUUUUUUUUUUNGGGggggggggggggggggggggggg ggggg (02.35)
(roaarringg)
uUUUUUUUUUUUUNnnnnnnGGGGGGGG (03.33)
(roaarrringg)
RAUNGRIANGRIA
(roaring-happy-happy)
RIANGRAUNGRAUNGRIA
(happy-roaring-happ y)
RAMAIRAMAIMERAUNGRIA
(gathered the music to roaring with happiness)
Rimariariaberaungraung
(rhythm-happine ss-roaring)
RUANGberaung-riung
(room-roaring-gathe red)
Riang meraung di ruang karam
(happy to roar in the wreck room)
meRIAHKAnmalammalam nan garang
(to glorious the ferocious nights)
terlarut hasrat meraunggirang
(a desire dissolved in a happiness roar)
ada yang meringis
(there is a grimace)
ada yang mengiris
(there is a slicer)
ada yang teriris miris
there is a chipped by sad)
dan tetap menggaung
(and still echoing)
RAAAUUUUUUUUUuuuuuUUUUUUUnggggggggggggGGG GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
(roaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrr)
*selamat meraungraung sahabat-sahabat,
sekali meraung tetap teraung! RAUUNG! **
(have a good roaring, dear fellows) , once roaring, always roaring..ROAARR!)
poem by Hilda Rumambi
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What They Were Never Meant To Explore
I have chances to believe
While my dog drinks his fill of water, and my muse
Is in another house,
Around her, her children as if at a fair-
In the theatre of her television, her favorite telenovela;
And her umbilical hernia mending,
So in a week or more we might make love again,
While the airplanes keep on roaring,
Roaring: going straight at it,
Reaching their destinations skipped across the seas-
The mermaids in their grottos, the gods at their
Ease,
And never a single creature here on the earth ever missing
What they were never meant to explore.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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My Soul is Awakened
My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.
I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!
poem by Anne Brontë
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With A Roaring Sound Waves Crash
With a roaring sound waves crash
under Waenhuiskrans,
and they cave there
when gigantic tongues of spray
like white stars break mightily
drenching everything with deep water
like white stars,
like white stars
just before the red dawn comes.
With a roaring sound waves crash
deep out of the dark sea,
like a pack of hungry wolves
that does not give up territory
the water keeps hammering
where it knocks against hard rock,
the water keeps hammering.
the water keeps hammering
until it flows through the cave itself.
With a roaring sound waves crash,
hit battering blows
with endless power
into the folds of the rock
and caught you and I stand
where we see a spectacle
and caught
and caught
mightily the sea sweeps past.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day
My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.
I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Piper At The Gates Of Dawn
Piper at the gates of dawn
The coolness of the riverbank, and the whispering of the reeds
Daybreak is not so very far away
Enchanted and spellbound, in the silence they lingered
And rowed the boat as the light grew steadily strong
And the birds were silent, as they listened for the heavenly music
And the river played the song
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The song dream happened and the cloven hoofed piper
Played in that holy ground where they felt the awe and wonder
And they all were unafraid of the great God pan
And the wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
When the vision vanished they heard a choir of birds singing
In the heavenly silence between the trance and the reeds
And they stood upon the lawn and listened to the silence
Of the wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
Its the wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man Sails The Deep Awhile
MAN sails the deep awhile;
Loud runs the roaring tide;
The seas are wild and wide;
O'er many a salt, o'er many a desert mile,
The unchained breakers ride,
The quivering stars beguile.
Hope bears the sole command;
Hope, with unshaken eyes,
Sees flaw and storm arise;
Hope, the good steersman, with unwearying hand,
Steers, under changing skies,
Unchanged toward the land.
O wind that bravely blows!
O hope that sails with all
Where stars and voices call!
O ship undaunted that forever goes
Where God, her admiral,
His battle signal shows!
What though the seas and wind
Far on the deep should whelm
Colours and sails and helm?
There, too, you touch that port that you designed -
There, in the mid-seas' realm,
Shall you that haven find.
Well hast thou sailed: now die,
To die is not to sleep.
Still your true course you keep,
O sailor soul, still sailing for the sky;
And fifty fathom deep
Your colours still shall fly.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Down below the broad, roaring waves of the sea break against the deep foundation of the rock. But high above the mountain, the sea, and the peaks of rock the eternal ornamentation blooms silently from the dark depths of the universe.
quote by Rudolf Otto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Testament
Dig my grave and raise my barrow
By the Dnieper-side
In Ukraina, my own land,
A fair land and wide.
I will lie and watch the cornfields,
Listen through the years
To the river voices roaring,
Roaring in my ears.
When I hear the call
Of the racing flood,
Loud with hated blood,
I will leave them all,
Fields and hills; and force my way
Right up to the Throne
Where God sits alone;
Clasp His feet and pray...
But till that day
What is God to me?
Bury me, be done with me,
Rise and break your chain,
Water your new liberty
With blood for rain.
Then, in the mighty family
Of all men that are free,
May be sometimes, very softly
You will speak of me?
poem by Taras Shevchenko (25 December 1845), translated by T. L. Voynich
Submitted by Mihai Cucereavii
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By The Seaside : Twilight
The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.
But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light,
And a little face at the window
Peers out into the night.
Close, close it is pressed to the window,
As if those childish eyes
Were looking into the darkness,
To see some form arise.
And a woman's waving shadow
Is passing to and fro,
Now rising to the ceiling,
Now bowing and bending low.
What tale do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, bleak and wild,
As they beat at the crazy casement,
Tell to that little child?
And why do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, wild and bleak,
As they beat at the heart of the mother,
Drive the color from her cheek?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Song of the Driftweed
HERE’S to the home that was never, never ours!
Toast it full and fairly when the winter lowers.
Speak ye low, my merry men, sitting at your ease;
Harken to the homeless Drift in the roaring seas!
Here’s to the life we shall never live on earth!
Cut for us awry, awry ages ere the birth.
Set the teeth and meet it well, wind upon the shore;
Like a lion, in the face look the Nevermore!
Here’s to the love we were never let to win!
What of that? a many shells have a pearl within;
Some are mated with the gold in the light of day;
Some are buried fathoms deep, in the seas away.
Here’s to the selves we shall never, never be!
We’re the drift of the world and the tangle of the sea.
It’s far beyond the Pleiad, it’s out beyond the sun
Where the rootless shall be rooted when the wander-year is done!
poem by Jessie Mackay
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My Love Is Far Away
It must be my love is far away,
Looking at the musician of luck;
He continues his roaring further
Than the man else, living well.
Tireless waiting, stating and catering
Rampages on, like a solution.
It must be at length the strength,
Now the loving falls away.
Roaring is like open struggle,
Music has a way of living.
My love is faster than the love,
Loathing is created for certain reasons.
poem by Naveed Akram
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[Month of] March
The north-cast wind has come from Norroway,
Roaring he came above the white waves' tips!
The foam of the loud sea was on his lips,
And all his hair was salt with falling spray.
Over the keen light of northern day
He cast his snow cloud's terrible eclipse;
Beyond our banks he suddenly struck the ships,
And left them labouring on his landward way.
The certain course that to my strength belongs
Drives him with gathering purpose and control
Until across Vendean flats he sees
Ocean, the eldest of his enemies.
Then wheels he for him, glorying in goal
And gives him challenge, bellowing battle songs.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Giant Thunder
Giant Thunder, striking hard
I wonder if anyone's heard
Its not raining hard
But this Thunder is roaring louder
Women, children runing
Helter skelter
Not done yet? This roaring Thunder is shouting even louder
I fright at the sight
I want to join the women
Children running
Even the trees and wind have
Joined in this chaos
Women, children, men, even
Wind, trees running helter skelter
The Thunder never stops striking
And the Cloud, never stops crying.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Splash
the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.
this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.
these words force you
to a new
madness.
you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.
the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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We Want A Rock
Where was i? I forgot
The point that I was making
I said if I was smart that I would
Save up for a piece of string
And a rock to wind the string around
Everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
Everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
Throw the crib door wide
Let the people crawl inside
Someone in this town
Is trying to burn the playhouse down
They want to stop the ones who want
A rock to wind a string around
But everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
Throw the crib door wide
Let the people crawl inside
Someone in this town
Is trying to burn the playhouse down
They want to stop the ones who want
A rock to wind a string around
But everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
If I were a carpenter id
Hammer on my piglet, id
Collect the seven dollars and id
Buy a big prosthetic forehead
And wear it on my real head
Everybody wants prosthetic
Foreheads on their real heads
Everybody wants prosthetic
Foreheads on their real heads
Throw the crib door wide
Let the people crawl inside
Someone in this town
Is trying to burn the playhouse down
They want to stop the ones who want
Prosthetic foreheads on their heads
But everybody wants prosthetic
Foreheads on their real heads
Throw the crib door wide
Let the people crawl inside
Someone in this town
Is trying to burn the foreheads down
They want to stop the ones who want
A rock to wind a string around
But everybody wants a rock
To wind a piece of string around
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Meandering Lion
Paws scorching the ground
leaving a rivulet of fire
a map for the meandering
Illustrious gilt of a skin
tawny as the sun's sheen
euphoniously sewn to the bones
And your proud head
bobbing with an arrogant crown
and roaring with a subtle clout
A steadfast monolith in the cracks
of the brittle bones and incendiary sand
I want to be who you are - meandering in blithe
poem by Norman Santos
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Shattered harmonies [Acorduri sfărâmate]
I.
My sadness is as bitter as the relentless sea;
Depths like it has, enormous, are also found in me,
No eye could ever venture to see their bottom vast!
Only when storms were roaring, out of the clouded sky
A lightning, pale and slender, illumined them from high...
But then it vanished fast!
The Ship of Hope that carries above a heavy sail,
On those unsettled waters has never left a trail.
A waterway, a furrow, to glitter in the sun!
Deceptions came to cheat me, so many I could see;
I thought the ship was coming, but they all stayed with me:
To other realms would run!
II.
Oppressed by fate forever and lying in the storm,
A rock resounds and shatters when billows come and swarm:
Vibrates a lot the echo as if it wails and cry!
Likewise, my heart a rock is, enduring tempest's rage
A captive of existence, which keeps it in its cage
And for that rock I sigh!
The tip that still is standing I firmly will surround,
With mighty arms like people in danger to get drowned,
At the remote horizon I'm looking and I crave
A sail that wanders slowly because has lost its way...
But all in vain I struggle, it always runs away
On the unvaried wave.
poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Early Morning Snore
It starts of just before four am
with a put, put, put of an old Volkswagen,
and then descended into
a motorcycle engine on idle
with a tick-a-tick-a-tick
before revving up a notch
into an motorcycles engines roar.
Hence, my other half was at it again
with her early morning snore.
Like everyone, she denies that she ever snores.
Each morning like a regular alarm clock,
she starts her snoring engine
and I quickly vacate the bed,
it is my only escape to peace,
away from a motorcycle engine
roaring inches from my head.
One day I got out my portable Dictaphone
and started recording her,
when I played it back
she said I had recorded out in the street somewhere.
Now I am an early riser,
and who wouldn’t be
with a motorcycle engine roaring
just inches away from your ear.
12 December 2009
poem by David Harris
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