William Francis Bartlett
Oh, well may Essex sit forlorn
Beside her sea-blown shore;
Her well beloved, her noblest born,
Is hers in life no more!
No lapse of years can render less
Her memory's sacred claim;
No fountain of forgetfulness
Can wet the lips of Fame.
A grief alike to wound and heal,
A thought to soothe and pain,
The sad, sweet pride that mothers feel
To her must still remain.
Good men and true she has not lacked,
And brave men yet shall be;
The perfect flower, the crowning fact,
Of all her years was he!
As Galahad pure, as Merlin sage,
What worthier knight was found
To grace in Arthur's golden age
The fabled Table Round?
A voice, the battle's trumpet-note,
To welcome and restore;
A hand, that all unwilling smote,
To heal and build once more;
A soul of fire, a tender heart
Too warm for hate, he knew
The generous victor's graceful part
To sheathe the sword he drew.
When Earth, as if on evil dreams,
Looks back upon her wars,
And the white light of Christ outstreams
From the red disk of Mars,
His fame who led the stormy van
Of battle well may cease,
But never that which crowns the man
Whose victory was Peace.
Mourn, Essex, on thy sea-blown shore
Thy beautiful and brave,
Whose failing hand the olive bore,
Whose dying lips forgave!
Let age lament the youthful chief,
And tender eyes be dim;
The tears are more of joy than grief
That fall for one like him!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Related quotes
S6
Essex
in Essex the black ravens are hovering
on a tree without leaves
it is cold here
snow on the roof and on the ground
frozen mailboxes
of long time ago
when the emails come forth
saying
Essex Essex
the world has changed
and you have remained there
constantly wondering
waiting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In A Spider's Web
there is a voice
calling me from
that distant shore...
a voice familiar
as my own....
there is a place
where dreams are born...
and then given form;
where fire is discovered
anew every day!
there is a mountain
that no one has climbed...
a river no man has seen.
there is a cave that
goes on forever....
a path no foot has trod.
there is a flower
that only blooms once...
every million years or so.
a horn no lips have blown;
a song known only by the wind....
that distant shore,
so far, so near.....
a cosmos in a tiny shell....
a rainbow hidden in a feather,
the history of all life
woven in a spider's web!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hey There Beloved
Hey there beloved why are you walking away from me?
Hey there beloved don't you know all those gifts are from me?
Hey there beloved I carried you through your storms
Hey there beloved come back to me
Hey there beloved don't you know I'm waiting with open arms
Hey there beloved I wish you were not blind but could turn back and see
Hey there beloved don't you notice my art?
Hey there beloved my love for you is in every night sky
Hey there beloved look for my love in the sunset
Hey there beloved, the sun is for you
Hey there beloved the coolness of clouds is for your enjoyment
Hey there beloved I love you
Hey there beloved You can walk away
Hey there beloved it makes me cry when you chase other lovers, but
Hey there beloved I'll let you go because I want you to choose me
Hey there beloved I want you to learn to love me
Hey there beloved don't go to them
Hey there beloved they cannot fill you up
Hey there beloved, I'll never give up on you
Hey there beloved I'm full of tears
Hey there beloved I made you for so much more
Hey there beloved you don't have to dress like that
Hey there beloved they don't really love you
Hey there beloved you're more than just a body
Hey there beloved you don't have to try to be something you're not
Hey there beloved I still love you
Hey there beloved you don't have to earn my love
Hey there beloved those things won't satisfy you
Hey there beloved heed my voice that path will destroy you
Hey there beloved you're broken, but
Hey there beloved my heart breaks for you
Hey there beloved can't you see the brokenness?
Hey there beloved why do you ignore me
Hey there beloved.... I love you with all that I am
Hey there beloved, that's everything there is
Hey there beloved I love you with my entire being
Hey there beloved that's grander than the universe itself
Hey there beloved you've strayed so far away
Hey there beloved I'll always call you back
Hey there beloved I'll always be waiting
Hey there beloved I still love y-
Hey there beloved h--
Hey there be-----
Hey--------
H--------
______ ______________
poem by David Knox
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Let the Beasts Their Breath Resign
Let the beasts their breath resign,
Strangers to the life divine;
Who their God can never know,
Let their spirit downward go.
You for higher ends were born,
You may all to God return,
Dwell with him above the sky;
Why will you for ever die?
You, on whom he favours showers,
You, possest of nobler powers,
You, of reason's powers possest,
You, with will and memory blest,
You, with finer sense endued,
Creatures capable of God;
Noblest of his creatures, why,
Why will you for ever die?
You, whom he ordained to be
Transcripts of the Deity;
You, whom he in life doth hold;
You, for whom himself was sold;
You, on whom he still doth wait,
Whom he would again create;
Made by him, and purchased, why,
Why will you for ever die?
You, who own his record true,
You, his chosen people, you,
You, who call the Saviour Lord,
You, who read his written word,
You, who see the gospel-light,
Claim a crown in Jesu's right;
Why will you, ye Christians, why
Will the house of Israel die?
poem by Charles Wesley
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Hymn VII: Let the Beasts Their Breath Resign
Let the beasts their breath resign,
Strangers to the life divine;
Who their God can never know,
Let their spirit downward go.
You for higher ends were born,
You may all to God return,
Dwell with him above the sky;
Why will you for ever die?
You, on whom he favours showers,
You, possest of nobler powers,
You, of reason's powers possest,
You, with will and memory blest,
You, with finer sense endued,
Creatures capable of God;
Noblest of his creatures, why,
Why will you for ever die?
You, whom he ordained to be
Transcripts of the Deity;
You, whom he in life doth hold;
You, for whom himself was sold;
You, on whom he still doth wait,
Whom he would again create;
Made by him, and purchased, why,
Why will you for ever die?
You, who own his record true,
You, his chosen people, you,
You, who call the Saviour Lord,
You, who read his written word,
You, who see the gospel-light,
Claim a crown in Jesu's right;
Why will you, ye Christians, why
Will the house of Israel die?
poem by John Wesley
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Sweet Memory To Me
You are such a sweet memory to me...
How you showed me how beautiful life can be...
You serve as my sunset in my life...
You made me believe that there will be a brighter tomorrow...
You are like a leaf that is blown away by the wind..
You make feel so free....
You teach me to just let life blow me away whatever i do...
You are like the star that shines in the sky...
You are always there to help me reach my dreams...
You showed me what life can bring...
Now that you are gone
You are just a sweet memory to me..
A memory that can never be replace
A memory that can never be erase...
poem by Karima Puzon
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Maternity
One wept whose only child was dead,
New-born, ten years ago.
"Weep not; he is in bliss," they said.
She answered, "Even so,
"Ten years ago was born in pain
A child, not now forlorn.
But oh, ten years ago, in vain,
A mother, a mother was born."
poem by Alice Meynell
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Your Memory Keeps Calling Me Back
Years ago, we came to the end of the line,
both went our separate ways,
but your memory keeps calling me back.
Calling to me from a distant shore,
back to your arms once more.
I try to resist and carry on,
but your memory keeps calling me back,
like some overplayed song.
I have a different life now,
the life we had is now over and gone.
Traces of our love they still remain,
but I cannot go back, I don’t feel the same.
Each day it gets harder fighting the urge,
for your memory keeps calling me back,
saying with you is where I belong.
8 August 2007
poem by David Harris
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Strolling On The Memory Lane
oh, i went to memory lane
too,
i've seen much already.
i come back to what i am
and what i have become,
i hold on to my vision,
my dreams
i write about hope, and
imagine
my future, another 20 years,
another 30 years more,
i pray,
the memory lane is black and white
and then
it faded like a denim
a murky river where i lift my feet
up above the water
and as i move towards the shore,
i decided, i thought,
the memory lane serves me
no more
it was short, and it will not be
repeated
i wake up, and then i forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Regret (1846)
LONG ago I wished to leave
' The house where I was born; '
Long ago I used to grieve,
My home seemed so forlorn.
In other years, its silent rooms
Were filled with haunting fears;
Now, their very memory comes
O'ercharged with tender tears.
Life and marriage I have known,
Things once deemed so bright;
Now, how utterly is flown
Every ray of light !
'Mid the unknown sea of life
I no blest isle have found;
At last, through all its wild wave's strife,
My bark is homeward bound.
Farewell, dark and rolling deep !
Farewell, foreign shore !
Open, in unclouded sweep,
Thou glorious realm before !
Yet, though I had safely pass'd
That weary, vexed main,
One loved voice, through surge and blast,
Could call me back again.
Though the soul's bright morning rose
O'er Paradise for me,
William ! even from Heaven's repose
I'd turn, invoked by thee !
Storm nor surge should e'er arrest
My soul, exulting then:
All my heaven was once thy breast,
Would it were mine again !
poem by Charlotte Brontë
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Child Prodigy
If I can accept that you are 48.
Why can't you accept I was born in 1967?
'But we both graduated from high school in 1965! '
AND...
Your point is WHAT?
'What you are declaring is impossible.'
HOW?
I can not help that I was a child prodigy,
And was issued a diploma...
Two years before my birth.
One of us is lieing and has a lapse of memory.
In fact...
When I attended the 10th high school reunion,
In '75...
I was 'still' shedding my baby teeth.
Many of my 'old' classmates could not remember me.
Because I was looking too young.
'Why are you lieing? '
Me? Lieing?
I am appalled!
And why are you jealous?
I can not help that I am gifted with talents.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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One Whisper of the Beloved
Lovers share a sacred decree –
to seek the Beloved.
They roll head over heels,
rushing toward the Beautiful One
like a torrent of water.
In truth, everyone is a shadow of the Beloved –
Our seeking is His seeking,
Our words are His words.
At times we flow toward the Beloved
like a dancing stream.
At times we are still water
held in His pitcher.
At times we boil in a pot
turning to vapor –
that is the job of the Beloved.
He breathes into my ear
until my soul
takes on His fragrance.
He is the soul of my soul –
How can I escape?
But why would any soul in this world
want to escape from the Beloved?
He will melt your pride
making you thin as a strand of hair,
Yet do not trade, even for both worlds,
One strand of His hair.
We search for Him here and there
while looking right at Him.
Sitting by His side we ask,
'O Beloved, where is the Beloved?'
Enough with such questions! –
Let silence take you to the core of life.
All your talk is worthless
When compared to one whisper
of the Beloved.
My passion n views
When you meet old friends, tears may rush in
Heart becomes heavy with lovely scene
You find no words to express and speak
It used to have been for days and weeks
For sweet memory and talks, not only days
but nights with long hours will be less
years may pass by and there will not be any trace
but at the end you may the worries on the face
Nothing will appeal not even sea side or public places
Neither big gardens with flowers nor big palace,
Not even the country side with green fields any more
No hill top with white snow or no sea beaches or shore,
You go into deep memory and feel so sad,
when news reaching to you are really bad
Your beloved is on death bed and very sick,
Not able to talk and walk even with stick,
As the rose is considered king among flowers
Natural bathe under fountain fall is best in shower;
Best friends are counted on fingers and may be fewer,
like good shows may draw less viewers
'Thoughts' were between us most so in common
Before I could pen them she wrote it down
Expression in thoughts and most in action
still remained calm and offered no reaction
will she be true to her promises and same again?
I am sure time may not be same for certain,
before it can dry and run out,
something should be done and read about
will I be put to shame and face it again?
She uses words of respect often and often,
I smell rat in game and find loss and no gain
force me to think and to find out way to regain,
Should she talk to me and show the face often?
Eyes may not to be same to sparkle again
Face may not reveal composure any more,
had I insisted upon and ask more this before?
She argues' on face that stands veiled'
eyes are always closed and happiness can’t be hailed
Face can’t bear smile and lips are sealed
Deep wounds are there but can’t be healed
Can my age be given to her and added?
Will his beloved be back in her fold again?
Fortunes should smile and offering no pain,
what do I expect? Efforts should not go in vain,
I have to cross seven high seas and reach
How to come closer to shore or beach?
Should I rush to her with clipped wing?
Against the odd and high speed wind,
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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No Goldfish
Who will care
for my poems
when I die?
I have no goldfish
or pet cat
to give away.
My poems will cuddle up
serenely curl up with you
on a long winter’s evening.
My poems will swim and flash
tails of intricate golden detail
on a long cozy winter’s evening.
Who will care
for my poems
when I am gone?
Goldfish are a sacred species
cats are a sacred species
all life is a sacred species somewhere.
Poems are also
a sacred life force.
For it is the task appointed
to the divine poet to render;
foolish humanity worthy
when seeking redemption,
through hidden wisdom written
within sealed lines, in a starlit poem.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Regret
Long ago I wished to leave
"The house where I was born;"
Long ago I used to grieve,
My home seemed so forlorn.
In other years, its silent rooms
Were filled with haunting fears;
Now, their very memory comes
O'ercharged with tender tears.
Life and marriage I have known.
Things once deemed so bright;
Now, how utterly is flown
Every ray of light!
'Mid the unknown sea, of life
I no blest isle have found;
At last, through all its wild wave's strife,
My bark is homeward bound.
Farewell, dark and rolling deep!
Farewell, foreign shore!
Open, in unclouded sweep,
Thou glorious realm before!
Yet, though I had safely pass'd
That weary, vexed main,
One loved voice, through surge and blast
Could call me back again.
Though the soul's bright morning rose
O'er Paradise for me,
William! even from Heaven's repose
I'd turn, invoked by thee!
Storm nor surge should e'er arrest
My soul, exalting then:
All my heaven was once thy breast,
Would it were mine again!
poem by Charlotte Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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We are born at a given moment, in a given place and, like vintage years of wine, we have the qualities of the year and of the season of which we are born. Astrology does not lay claim to anything more.
Aphrodite
On a golden dawn in the dawn sublime
Of years ere the stars had ceased to sing,
Beautiful out of the sea-deeps cold
Aphrodite arose—the Flower of Time—
That, dear till the day of her blossoming,
The old, old Sea had borne in his heart.
Around her worshipping waves did part
Tremulous—glowing in rose and gold.
And the birds broke forth into singing sweet,
And flowers born scentless breathed perfume:
Softly she smiled upon Man forlorn,
And the music of love in his wild heart beat,
And down to the pit went his gods of gloom,
And earth grew bright and fair as a bride,
And folk in star-worlds wondering cried—
“Lo in the skies a new star is born!”
O Beloved, thus on my small world you
Rose, flushing it all with rosy flame!
Changing sad thoughts to a singing throng,
And creating the earth and the sky anew!
As Love you appeared—and, lo, you are Fame,
And, all my follies and sins despite,
You yet, Beloved, may see my light—
Small, but a star—mid the stars of song.
poem by Victor James Daley
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0045 In Honour of Ahmad Shamlu, Poet, Teacher
She so loved Him
was so beloved of Him
that He spoke to her and said
my beloved
ask of Me whatsoever you wish
and she said
without hesitation
my Lord,
fill my life
with difficulty
for at those times
I cry out
for You
and feel nearest to You
and if, for the working-out
of my own destiny
or for the love of Your world
must I be born again
have me born
in the most difficult of times
in the most difficult of places
and make me a man
that I may walk barefoot
and bloody
with only one leg
over a path of swords
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Dying - I Only Feel Apathy
Now as I am to be bereaft of my troth
I cry aloud my last words of lost hope.
A violent gust of wind is my frame of mind;
Huxes like moisture through pores.
I am unwilling to forgive
Him who depriev'd me of my life -
Gloaming the sequence -
A momentary view.
Perishing intervals of rejoice -
My supreme happiness is lost!
Baleful emotions of fear - my body is the earth -
The earth is now destined to be made forlorn -
Forlorn from the enlivening energies.
Am I not anylonger living?
In mournful silence I suffer -
In peace I now will rest.
My hard-working hands
Are now reposed.
I close thee my beloved into my heart -
Conceal thy memory in my inner sanctum.
In my thoughts thou shalt forever be -
As a dear and precious remembrance.
I'm dethroned in the reign of entity -
My tears descend like of abony -
Life is the theatre of tragedy -
Dying - I only feel apathy!
song performed by by Theatre Of Tragedy from Theatre Of Tragedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Lillian
She was so dear, so fair. Her memory stays,
Even her dying robs me not of this,
That I have walked with her in mortal ways
Whose tender beauty now immortal is.
There are sweet flowers that bloom in ways forlorn
And sad sweet eyes whose beauty is a flower
Blown in the night to which there is no morn,
Dream-born and dying in its dewy bower;
And she was such a flower, her sweet eyes such;
The secret hours that only the heart knows
Thrill with the glamour of her tone and touch
Like music that is sweetest at the close,
Falling to death as falls the fairest thing
Beyond the power of love's recovering.
poem by Robert Crawford
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