Inscriptions on a Sun-Dial
For Dr Henry L Bowditch
With warning hand I mark Time's rapid
flight
From life's glad morning to it's solemn
night;
Yet through thee dear God's love, I also
show
There's Light above me by the shade
below.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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To His Dying Brother, Master William Herrick
Life of my life, take not so soon thy flight,
But stay the time till we have bade good-night.
Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way
As soon dispatch'd is by the night as day.
Let us not then so rudely henceforth go
Till we have wept, kiss'd, sigh'd, shook hands, or so.
There's pain in parting, and a kind of hell
When once true lovers take their last farewell.
What? shall we two our endless leaves take here
Without a sad look, or a solemn tear?
He knows not love that hath not this truth proved,
Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved.
Pay we our vows and go; yet when we part,
Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart
Into thy loving hands; for I'll keep none
To warm my breast, when thou, my pulse, art gone,
No, here I'll last, and walk, a harmless shade,
About this urn, wherein thy dust is laid,
To guard it so, as nothing here shall be
Heavy, to hurt those sacred seeds of thee.
poem by Robert Herrick
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To His Mistress
Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny
The sunshine of the Sun's enlivening eye?
Without thy light what light remains in me?
Thou art my life; my way, my light's in thee;
I live, I move, and by thy beams I see.
Thou art my life-if thou but turn away
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way-
Without.thee, Love, I travel not but stray.
My light thou art-without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darken'd with eternal night.
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.
Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.
Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life; if thou withdraw'st, I die.
My eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see:
To whom or whither should my darkness flee,
But to that light?-and who's that light but thee?
If I have lost my path, dear lover, say,
Shall I still wander in a doubtful way?
Love, shall a lamb of Israel's sheepfold stray?
My path is lost, my wandering steps do stray;
I cannot go, nor can I safely stay;
Whom should I seek but thee, my path, my way?
And yet thou turn'st thy face away and fly'st me!
And yet I sue for grace and thou deny'st me!
Speak, art thou angry, Love, or only try'st me?
Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,
The dead man's life. On thee my hopes rely:
If I but them remove, I surely die.
Dissolve thy sunbeams, close thy wings and stay!
See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray!
-O thou art my life, my light, my way!
Then work thy will! If passion bid me flee,
My reason shall obey, my wings shall be
Stretch'd out no farther than from me to thee!
poem by Lord John Wilmot
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Break o’ Day
You love me, you say, and I think you do,
But I know so many who don’t,
And how can I say I’ll be true to you
When I know very well that I won’t?
I have journeyed long and my goal is far,
I love, but I cannot bide,
For as sure as rises the morning star,
With the break of day I’ll ride.
I was doomed to ruin or doomed to mar
The home wherever I stay,
But I’ll think of you as the morning star
And they call me Break o’ Day.
They well might have named me the Fall o’ Night,
For drear is the track I mark,
But I love fair girls and I love the light,
For I and my tribe were dark.
You may love me dear, for a day and night,
You may cast your life aside;
But as sure as the morning star shines bright
With the break of day I’ll ride.
There was never a lover so proud and kind,
There was never a friend so true;
But the song of my life I have left behind
In the heart of a girl like you.
There was never so deep or cruel a wrong
In the land that is far away,
There was never so bitter a broken heart
That rode at the break of day.
God bless you, dear, with your red-gold hair
And your pitying eyes of grey—
Oh! my heart forbids that a star so fair
Should be marred by the Break o’ Day.
Live on, my girl, as the girl you are,
Be a good and a true man’s bride,
For as sure as beckons the evening star
With the fall o’ night I’ll ride.
I was born to ruin or born to mar
The home wherever I light.
Oh! I wish that you were the Evening Star
And that I were the Fall o’ Night.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Morning Light
Say hello to the dawn’s arrival
Open your eyes to a brand new day
Lift your head to feel the sun’s blessing
The morning light will show you the way
The morning light will show you the way
Each gentle ray blesses the living
We all reach out for its energy
Its gentle warmth it will caress you
The morning light will show you the way
The morning light will show you the way
For every tree and every flower
That dances in the sun
For children playing in the daytime
And having their fun
For every broken heart that sees the
Light of day
The morning light will show you the way
The morning light will show you the way
Illuminating all that it touches
Brings out the color of the world
Its warmth it gives us good feelings
The morning light will show us the way
The morning light will show us the way
For every tree and every flower
That dances in the sun
For every childhood smile
That touches everyone
For every life that we are given
For every dream realized
The morning sun will show you the way
The morning sun will show you the way
poem by William Lindenmuth
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Im Glad
Baby when I think about (about about),
The day that we first met (the day that we first met),
Wasnt looking for what I found,
But I found you,
And Im bound to,
Find happiness in being around you,
Im glad when Im making love to you,
Im glad for the way you make me feel,
I love it cause you seem to blow my mind..every-time,
Im glad when we walk you hold my hand,
Im glad that ya know how to be a man,
Im glad that you came into my life,
Im soo glad,
I dig the way that you get down (you get down for bout),
And you still know how to hold me (and you still know how to hold me),
A perfect blend, masculine (I think I know now)
I think Im in love, damn finally,
Im glad when Im making love to you,
Im glad for the way you make me feel,
I love it cause you seem to blow my mind..every-time,
Im glad when we walk you hold my hand,
Im glad that ya know how to be a man,
Im glad that you came into my life,
Im soo glad,
Im glad,
That you,
Turned out,
To be,
That certain someone special who makes this life worth living,
Im glad,
Your here,
Just loving me...
So say that you wont leave,
Cause since the day you came Ive been glad,
Im glad when Im making love to you,
Im glad for the way you make me feel,
I love it cause you seem to blow my mind..everytime,
Im glad when we walk you hold my hand,
Im glad that ya know how to be a man,
Im glad that you came into my life,
Im soo glad,
song performed by by Jennifer Lopez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Outer Nature
SHOW thee as I thought thee
When I early sought thee,
Omen-scouting,
All undoubting
Love alone had wrought thee--
Wrought thee for my pleasure,
Planned thee as a measure
For expounding
And resounding
Glad things that men treasure.
O for but a moment
Of that old endowment--
Light to gaily
See thy daily
Irisèd embowment!
But such readorning
Time forbids with scorning--
Makes me see things
Cease to be things
They were in my morning.
Fad'st thou, glow-forsaken,
Darkness-overtaken!
Thy first sweetness,
Radiance, meetness,
None shall reawaken.
Why not sempiternal
Thou and I? Our vernal
Brightness keeping,
Time outleaping;
Passed the hodiernal!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Good-Night
THE lark is silent in his nest,
The breeze is sighing in its flight,
Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy rest.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
Sweet dreams' attend thee in thy sleep,
To soothe thy rest till morning's light,
And angels round thee vigil keep.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
Sleep well, my love, on night's dark breast,
And ease thy soul with slumber bright;
Be joy but thine and I am blest.
Good-night, my love, good-night, good-night.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Night Is Done
THE NIGHT IS DONE
The night is done-
The broken night of wakings
And sleepings again-
The morning has come
Life begins again
Mind and consciousness are here
Duty and prayer and light all together-
Sleep has no reason and dreams have no reason and night has no reason-
The morning is the answer-
Beginning again is the meaning-
All my life I have loved the morning
And left the night to the sleepers and dreamers and lovers of worlds never mine.
Oh how glad I am when the night goes and the morning light begins again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Wild Hearts Run Out Time
You're gone again this morning.
How long will you keep running on and on.
Can't you see the warning.
I need you more than ever.
Before you're gone forever.
Please don't let your heart run out of time.
Wild hearts run out of time.
When you're up against the night.
Don't stand there all alone.
In the dying of the light.
Wild hearts run out of time.
And you'll need a love like mine.
To show you hope is there.
In the sunshine of your mind.
Wild hearts run out of time.
Don't let this old world turn you.
Dont' let the wild life hurt you anymore.
Don't let the bright lights burn you.
Please don't stand there crying.
Because the time is flying.
I can't let your heart run out of time.
Wild hearts run out of time.
When you're up against the night.
Don't stand there all alone.
In the dying of the light.
Wild hearts run out of time.
And you'll need a love like mine.
To show you hope is there
In the sunshine of your mind.
Wild hearts run of time.
It could be yours or mine.
It happens all the time.
Wild hearts run out of time.
It could be yours or mine.
It happens all the time.
Wild hearts run out of time.
Wild hearts run out of time.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Henry
1. get down, get down, love henry, she cried.
And stay all night with me.
I have gold chains, and the finest I have
Ill apply them all to thee.
2. I cant get down and I shant get down,
Or stay all night with thee.
Some pretty little girl in cornersville
I love far better than thee.
3. he layed his head on a pillow of down.
Kisses she gave him three.
With a penny knife that she held in her hand
She murdered mortal he.
Instrumental
4. get well, get well, love henry, she cried,
Get well, get well, said she.
Oh dont you see my own hearts blood
Come flowin down so free?
5. she took him by his long yellow hair,
And also by his feet.
She plunged him into well water, where
It runs both cold and deep.
6. lie there, lie there, love henry, she cried,
Til the flesh rots off your bones.
Some pretty little girl in cornersville
Will mourn for your return.
Instrumental
7. hush up, hush up, my parrot, she cried,
And light on my right knee.
The doors to your cage shall be decked with gold
And hung on a willow tree.
9. I wont fly down, I cant fly down
And light on your right knee.
A girl who would murder her own true love
Would kill a little birdlike me.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Childhood's Home
I HAVE tasted each varied pleasure,
And drunk of the cup of delight;
I have danced to the gayest measure
In the halls of dazzling light.
I have dwelt in a blaze of splendour,
And stood in the courts of kings;
I have snatched at each toy that could render
More rapid the flight of Time's wings.
But vainly I've sought for joy or peace,
In that life of light and shade;
And I turn with a sigh to my own dear home-
The home where my childhood played!
When jewels are sparkling round me,
And dazzling with their rays,
I weep for the ties that bound me
In life's first early days.
I sigh for one of the sunny hours
Ere day was turned to-night;
For one of my nosegays of fresh wild flowers,
Instead of those jewels bright.
I weep when I gaze on the scentless buds
Which never can bloom or fade;
And I turn with a sigh to those gay green fields-
The home where my childhood played.
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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That's All
I can only give you love that lasts forever,
And a promise to be near each time you call.
And the only heart I own
For you and you alone
That's all,
That's all
I can only give you country walks in springtime
And a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall;
And a love whose burning light
Will warm the winter's night
That's all,
That's all.
There are those I am sure who have told you,
They would give you the world for a toy.
All I have are these arms to enfold you,
And a love time can never destroy.
If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear,
You'll be glad to know that my demands are small.
Say it's me that you'll adore,
For now and evermore
That's all,
That's all.
If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear,
You'll be glad to know that my demands are small.
Say it's me that you'll adore,
For now and evermore
That's all,
That's all.
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Young May Moon
The young May moon is beaming, love.
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love.
How sweet to rove,
Through Morna's grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake! -- the heavens look bright, my dear,
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,
And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
And I, whose star,
More glorious far,
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake! -- till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or, in watching the flight
Of bodies of light,
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.
poem by Thomas Moore
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A Ballad Of The Heather
We spent a day together,
One day of all our lives,
Of love in cloudless weather--
Such only youth contrives--
One day in the red heather,
Alone with our two lives.
The tall grey rocks were near us,
The birch--trees lent us shade,
The moorfowl did not fear us,
Nor was the fox afraid.
No other life was near us
Of matron, man or maid.
The glory of the morning
Had made our pulses beat,
The dangers we were scorning,
The pleadings of retreat,
Her mother's eyes of warning,
The foes that we might meet.
Earth's silence was our token,
The sunlight on the hill.
We whispered things unspoken,
We stopped and gazed our fill.
The stillness was not broken,
Save thus at our own will.
We sat down by the water,
A green and quiet place.
She ate what I had brought her
When she had said her grace.
She was Eve's fairest daughter.
I kneeled and kissed her face.
O Love, what deeds thou darest,
When truth is on thy lips!
What royal robes thou wearest!
What wealth is in thy ships!
What glories thou declarest
With thy mad finger--tips!
We called on the high Heaven
In witness of our troth,
From morning until even,
While time was little loath
To give and be forgiven
The dear love in us both.
Aloft the raven scouting
Gave warning to the glen.
We heard a sound of shouting
The tramp of angry men.
No time was there for doubting,
And I was one to ten.
I hid her in the braken,
A brood--bird on its nest.
She wept as one forsaken
And held me to her breast.
We dared not thus be taken.
I fled, for it was best.
They passed her by unheeded.
They hunted me in sight.
I lured them while she needed,
A lapwing feigning flight.
Then o'er the hills I speeded
And left them to the night.
Alas, dear love, together
No more in all our lives
Shall we in cloudless weather,
Outwitting maids and wives,
Take joy of the red heather
And love and our two lives.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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To The White People Of America
O'er this wide extended country,
Hear the solemn echoes roll,
For a long and weary century,
Those cries have gone from pole to pole;
See the white man sway his sceptre,
In one hand he holds the rod—
In the other hand the Scripture,
And says that he's a man of God.
Hear ye that mourning?
'Tis your brothers' cry!
O! ye wicked men take warning,
The day will come when you must die.
Lo! Ten thousand steeples shining
Through this mighty Christian land,
While four millions slaves all pining
And dying 'neath the Tyrant's hand.
See the 'blood-stained' Christian banner
Followed by a host of saints
While they loudly sing Hosannah,
We hear the dying slave's complaints:
Hear ye that mourning?
Anglo-sons of God,
O! ye Hypocrites take warning,
And shun your sable brothers blood.
In our Legislative members,
Few there are with humane souls,
Though they speak in tones of thunder
'Gainst sins which they cannot control,
Women's rights and annexation,
Is the topic by the way,
While poor Africa's sable nation
For mercy, cry both by night and day.
Hear ye that mourning?
'Tis a solemn sound,
O! ye wicked men take warning,
For God will send his judgment down.
Tell us not of distant Island —
Never will we colonize:
Send us not to British Highlands,
For this is neither just nor wise,
Give us equal rights and chances,
All the rights of citizens —
And as light and truth advances,
We'll show you that we all are men.
Hear ye that mourning?
Tis your brothers sigh,
O! ye wicked men take warning,
The judgment day will come by
poem by Joshua McCarter Simpson
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The Dwelling-Place
John 1:38-39
What happy secret fountain,
Fair shade or mountain,
Whose undiscovered virgin glory
Boasts it this day, though not in story,
Was then thy dwelling? Did some cloud,
Fixed to a tent, descend a shroud
My distressed Lord? Or did a star,
Beckoned by Thee, though high and far,
In sparkling smiles haste gladly down
To lodge light and increase her own?
My dear, dear God! I do not know
What lodged Thee then, nor where, nor how;
But I am sure Thou dost now come
Oft to a narrow, homely room,
Where Thou too hast but the least part:
My God, I mean my sinful heart.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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The Incarnation, And Passion
LORD, when Thou didst Thyself undress,
Laying by Thy robes of glory,
To make us more, Thou wouldst be less,
And becam'st a woful story.
To put on clouds instead of light,
And clothe the morning-star with dust,
Was a translation of such height
As, but in Thee, was ne'er express'd.
Brave worms and earth ! that thus could have
A God enclos'd within your cell,
Your Maker pent up in a grave,
Life lock'd in death, heav'n in a shell !
Ah, my dear Lord ! what couldst thou spy
In this impure, rebellious clay,
That made Thee thus resolve to die
For those that kill Thee every day ?
O what strange wonders could Thee move
To slight Thy precious blood, and breath ?
Sure it was love, my Lord ! for love
Is only stronger far than death !
poem by Henry Vaughan
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Two Songs Of Spain
Fountain, cans't thou sing the song
My Juan sang to me
The moonlit orange groves among?
Then list the words from me,
And mark thee, by the morning's light,
Or by the moon's soft beam,
Or when my eyes with smiles are bright,
Or when I wake or dream.
O, Fountain, thou must sing the song
My Juan sang to me;
Yet stay--the only words I know
Are 'Inez, Love and Thee!'
Fountain, on my light guitar
I'll play the strain to thee,
And while I watch yon laughing star,
The words will come to me.
And mark thee, when my heart is sad,
And full of sweet regrets,
Or when it throbs to laughter glad,
Like feet to castanets.
O, Fountain, thou must sing the song
My Juan sang to me;
Yet stay--the only words I know
Are 'Inez, Love, and Thee!'
Fountain, clap thy twinkling hands
Beneath yon floating moon,
And twinkle to the starry bands
That dance upon the gloom,
For I am glad, for who could crave,
The joyous night to fill,
A richer treasure than I have
In Juan's seguedille?
So, Fountain, mark, no other song
Dare ever sing, to me,
Tho' only four short words I know,
Just, 'Inez, Love and Thee!'
* * * * *
Morello strikes on his guitar,
When over the olives the star
Of eve, like a rose touch'd with gold,
Doth slowly its sweet rays unfold.
Perchance 'tis in some city square,
And the people all follow us there.
Don, donna, slim chulo, padrone,
The very dog runs with his bone;
One half of the square is in the shade,
On the other the red sunset fades;
The fount, as it flings up its jets,
Responds to my brisk castanets;
I wear a red rose at my ear;
And many a whisper I hear:
'If she were a lady, behold,
None other should share my red gold!'
'St. Anthony save us, what eyes!
How gem-like her little foot flies!'
'These dancers should all be forbid
To dance in the streets of Madrid.'
'If I were a monarch I'd own
No other to sit on my throne!'
Two scarlet streamers tie my hair;
They burn like red stars on the air;
My dark eyes flash, my clear cheek burns,
My kirtle eddies in swift turns,
My golden necklet tinkles sweet;
Yes, yes, I love the crowded street!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Forgiven
I dreamed so dear a dream of you last night!
I thought you came. I was so glad, so gay,
I whispered, 'Those were foolish words to say;
I meant them not. I cannot bear the sight
Of our dear face. I cannot meet the light
Of your dear eyes upon me. Sit, I pray-
Sit here beside me; turn your look away,
And lay your cheek on mine,' Till morning bright
We sat so, and we did not speak. I knew
All was forgiven, so nestled there
With your arms round. Swift the sweet hours flew.
At last I waked, and sought you everywhere.
How long, dear, think you, that my glad cheek will
Burn-as it burns with our cheek's pressure still?
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Second Love
Could I reveal the secret joy
Thy presence always with it brings,
The memories so strangely waked
Of long forgotten things,
The love, the hope, the fear, the grief,
Which with that voice come back to me, --
Thou wouldst forgive the impassioned gaze
So often turned on thee.
It was, indeed, that early love,
But foretaste of this second one, --
The soft light of the morning star
Before the morning sun.
The same dark beauty in her eyes,
The same blonde hair and placid brow,
The same deep-meaning, quiet smile
Thou bendest on me now,
She might have been, she WAS no more
Than what a prescient hope could make, --
A dear presentiment of thee
I loved but for thy sake.
poem by Henry Timrod
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