Then And Now
Beneath her window in the fragrant night
I half forget how truant years have flown
Since I looked up to see her chamber-light,
Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow thrown
Upon the casement; but the nodding leaves
Sweep lazily across the unlit pane,
And to and fro beneath the shadowy eaves,
Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain
Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street
When all is still, as if the very trees
Were listening for the coming of her feet
That come no more; yet, lest I weep, the breeze
Sings some forgotten song of those old years
Until my heart grows far too glad for tears.
poem by John McCrae
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The Red Rose
The little red rose tapped at my window—
Tapped at my window long years ago;
Glad would I run then, trip to the shadow,
Who was in hiding well did I know.
Last night I, nodding, heard at the casement
Soft knock-a-knocking come on the pane.
'Hush! 'Tis the lost rose taps at my window—
Red rose, oh, sweet rose, come back again!'
Listless I moved then, laughed at my fancies—
Wept at my fancies of years ago.
Slow went a-seeking who was in hiding,
Who came a-tapping—how should I know?
Pushed wide the window, leaned to the silence—
'Red rose, oh, sweet rose, come back again!'
'Twas but a dead branch, broken and brown branch,
Soft knock-a-knocking there on the pane.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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Rain Keeps Fallin
I remember the night so well.
The rain was fallin but I just couldnt tell,
If it was you that was callin to my love-sick brain.
But the rain kept fallin on my window pane.
Out of the night the thunder rang in my ear.
I cant fight the feelin, lord, that brings forth my fears.
I wish it was over, lord, please stop the rain.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
Every night the rains on time, I can feel it in this heart of mine.
But I dont know what to do.
Well, I guess I could go back home, cause you know back home is where I belong.
But it just aint home without you.
And I dont know what to do, baby.
Well, I guess Im a looser but it just dont seem fair.
I lost all my life so tell me, why should I care?
The night that you left me is the night that it came.
And the rains still fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain ...
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
... keeps right on fallin.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said, the rain keeps fallin ...
song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Early March Seems Middle May
When country roads begin to thaw
In mottled spots of damp and dust,
And fences by the margin draw
Along the frosty crust
Their graphic silhouettes, I say,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When morning-time is bright with sun
And keen with wind, and both confuse
The dancing, glancing eyes of one
With tears that ooze and ooze--
And nose-tips weep as well as they,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When suddenly some shadow-bird
Goes wavering beneath the gaze,
And through the hedge the moan is heard
Of kine that fain would graze
In grasses new, I smile and say,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When knotted horse-tails are untied,
And teamsters whistle here and there.
And clumsy mitts are laid aside
And choppers' hands are bare,
And chips are thick where children play,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When through the twigs the farmer tramps,
And troughs are chunked beneath the trees,
And fragrant hints of sugar-camps
Astray in every breeze,--
When early March seems middle May,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When coughs are changed to laughs, and when
Our frowns melt into smiles of glee,
And all our blood thaws out again
In streams of ecstasy,
And poets wreak their roundelay,
The Spring is coming round this way.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Coming Rain Coming
Over there from the forests,
Of the Oak trees....
Coming, coming the troop
Of rains with heavy breeze.
Charging like the troops
Of soldiers coming so fast.
The clouds heavy with water,
Have burst atlast.
They are coming from,
The north hills, coming to my place.
The trees around my house,
Are now waiting in embrace.
They waited long to have bath,
Under the shower of rain.
In heat and in dry dust,
How long can they remain?
Branches are nodding their,
Heads, signing, come o rain soon.
After such a scorching heat,
Come as God's boon! .
poem by Nilakshi Das
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A Boring Day
as he opens the window
there is only the shadow of leaves on the trees
on a gray background
it is twilight, midway between night and day
sounds of a cold wind from the forest
the rooster crows and some chirping birds
you sit and gaze through the window
light comes in
this happens everyday and there is nothing significant
after 49 years, and this time a hole is bored inside your heart
you fear that love is gone.
that the birds do not chirp musical notes
the wind much colder now and you shiver
light seeps in trickles like rain on your wrinkled skin
it is the same morning, and it will be same mornings all over again.
you do not move. You let time go and your hands are frozen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thread of Pain
Let the blue bird sings a song
A song that turns right from wrong
Song that commands the wind to blow
In order to fade away the sorrow.
The song that makes the rain falls
And let the trees stand tall
Takes and fades away the pain
When it is being washed out by the rain.
The birds that sings through out the years
Wipes away all the tears
And cuts away the thread of pain
In every countless dropp of the rain.
poem by Dustin Catingub
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Footfalls
The embers were blinking and clinking away,
The casement half open was thrown;
There was nothing but cloud on the skirts of the Day,
And I sat on the threshold alone!
And said to the river which flowed by my door
With its beautiful face to the hill,
'I have waited and waited, all wearied and sore,
But my love is a wanderer still!'
And said to the wind, as it paused in its flight
To look through the shivering pane,
'There are memories moaning and homeless to-night
That can never be tranquil again!'
And said to the woods, as their burdens were borne
With a flutter and sigh to the eaves,
'They are wrinkled and wasted, and tattered and torn,
And we too have our withering leaves.'
Did I hear a low echo of footfalls about,
Whilst watching those forest trees stark?
Or was it a dream that I hurried without
To clutch at and grapple the dark?
In the shadow I stood for a moment and spake -
'Bright thing that was loved in the past,
Oh! am I asleep - or abroad and awake?
And are you so near me at last?
'Oh, roamer from lands where the vanished years go,
Oh, waif from those mystical zones,
Come here where I long for you, broken and low,
On the mosses and watery stones!
'Come out of your silence and tell me if Life
Is so fair in that world as they say;
Was it worth all this yearning, and weeping, and strife
When you left it behind you to-day?
'Will it end all this watching, and doubting, and dread?
Do these sorrows die out with our breath?
Will they pass from our souls like a nightmare,' I said,
'While we glide through the mazes of Death?
'Come out of that darkness and teach me the lore
You have learned since I looked on your face;
By the summers that blossomed and faded of yore -
By the lights which have fled to that place!
'You answer me not when I know that you could -
When I know that you could and you should;
Though the storms be abroad on the wave;
Though the rain droppeth down with a wail to the wood,
And my heart is as cold as your grave!'
poem by Henry Kendall
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Wind And Window Flower
Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.
When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the cagèd yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,
He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
To come again at dark.
He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.
But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.
Perchance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.
But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.
poem by Robert Frost
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King Of Trees
He was the king of trees
Keeper of the leaves
A deep green God of young
Love stained memory
We used to meet by him
Far from the hustling town
I loved you
Now theyve come to cut you down
..down
He was the guardian of days
We held the same
Beneath the shade he gave
Shelter from the rain
Oh lord how its empty now
With nothing save the breeze
Now theyve come to burn the leaves
Dont burn the leaves
And if my mind breaks up
In all so many ways
I know the meaning of
The words I love you
And if my body falls inside
An early grave
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
So slowly as I roll
Down the track
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
The forest and the evergreens
Are coming to take me back
Please take me back
He was the king of trees
Keeper of the glades
The way he enchanted my life
Makes me so amazed
We used to meet by him
Many years ago
I love you
Now theyve come to lay the road
Dont lay the road
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shadow March
All around the house is the jet-black night;
It stares through the window-pane;
It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light,
And it moves with the moving flame.
Now my little heart goes a beating like a drum,
With the breath of the Bogies in my hair;
And all around the candle and the crooked shadows come,
And go marching along up the stair.
The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp,
The shadow of the child that goes to bed--
All the wicked shadows coming tramp, tramp, tramp,
With the black night overhead.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Changing Time
THE cloud looked in at the window,
And said to the day, 'Be dark!'
And the roguish rain tapped hard on the pane,
To stifle the song of the lark.
The wind sprang up in the tree tops
And shrieked with a voice of death,
But the rough-voiced breeze, that shook the trees,
Was touched with a violet's breath.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Indefinite Impression
Woke up this morning
looked out my window pane,
gray clouds coming
bringing on that old falling rain -
highly indicitive
are drops made of dust,
the punctuality
of all things working out the way they must -
a rabbit under the bush
lays sleeping,
as birds gather to trees
weeping -
some
glad,
some
sad -
not a one can still
what must come,
the seasons shall roll on
until time itself is done -
and I a mere mortal
alone,
can only decipher so much
of the great unknown -
while these vaporous
indefinite impressions,
go right on recklessly teaching
life's most resolute lessons -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Stranded (Lyrics)
Your waves come crashing down
Like a semi-auto trailer
I dive so deep in the sea
To avoid killer whales
A perfect moment here and gone
It has sailed
I'll use a hammerhead to drive
Rusty nail inside
I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me
Imagine if our world was blue and weightless
I never meant to do wrong to you
You're my starfish
You moan a tone so low beyond me
A telepathic sub-sonic frequency
I need a little air for emergency
You have to understand this urgency
I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
White sand beneath my feet
No brain between my ears
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me
I know that if I had one
I'd spare us both these years
I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
White sand beneath my feet
No brain between my ears
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me
I know that if I had one
I'd spare us both these years
A sea anemone, you're my enemy
poem by Satan's Sibling
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I Dreamt Of Robin
I opened the casement this morn at starlight,
And, the moment I got out of bed,
The daisies were quaking about in their white
And the cowslip was nodding its head.
The grass was all shivers, the stars were all bright,
And Robin that should come at e'en--
I thought that I saw him, a ghost by moonlight,
Like a stalking horse stand on the green.
I went bed agen and did nothing but dream
Of Robin and moonlight and flowers.
He stood like a shadow transfixed by a stream,
And I couldn't forget him for hours.
I'd just dropt asleep when I dreamed Robin spoke,
And the casement it gave such a shake,
As if every pane in the window was broke;
Such a patter the gravel did make.
So I up in the morning before the cock crew
And to strike me a light I sat down.
I saw from the door all his track in the dew
And, I guess, called 'Come in and sit down.'
And one, sure enough, tramples up to the door,
And who but young Robin his sen?
And ere the old folks were half willing to stir
We met, kissed, and parted agen.
poem by John Clare
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 04: Up high black walls, up sombre terraces
Up high black walls, up sombre terraces,
Clinging like luminous birds to the sides of cliffs,
The yellow lights went climbing towards the sky.
From high black walls, gleaming vaguely with rain,
Each yellow light looked down like a golden eye.
They trembled from coign to coign, and tower to tower,
Along high terraces quicker than dream they flew.
And some of them steadily glowed, and some soon vanished,
And some strange shadows threw.
And behind them all the ghosts of thoughts went moving,
Restlessly moving in each lamplit room,
From chair to mirror, from mirror to fire;
From some, the light was scarcely more than a gloom:
From some, a dazzling desire.
And there was one, beneath black eaves, who thought,
Combing with lifted arms her golden hair,
Of the lover who hurried towards her through the night;
And there was one who dreamed of a sudden death
As she blew out her light.
And there was one who turned from clamoring streets,
And walked in lamplit gardens among black trees,
And looked at the windy sky,
And thought with terror how stones and roots would freeze
And birds in the dead boughs cry . . .
And she hurried back, as snow fell, mixed with rain,
To mingle among the crowds again,
To jostle beneath blue lamps along the street;
And lost herself in the warm bright coiling dream,
With a sound of murmuring voices and shuffling feet.
And one, from his high bright window looking down
On luminous chasms that cleft the basalt town,
Hearing a sea-like murmur rise,
Desired to leave his dream, descend from the tower,
And drown in waves of shouts and laughter and cries.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Autumn
HE autumn comes, a maiden fair
In slenderness and grace,
With nodding rice-stems in her hair
And lilies in her face.
In flowers of grasses she is clad;
And as she moves along,
Birds greet her with their cooing glad
Like bracelets' tinkling song.
A diadem adorns the night
Of multitudinous stars;
Her silken robe is white moonlight,
Set free from cloudy bars;
And on her face (the radiant moon)
Bewitching smiles are shown:
She seems a slender maid, who soon
Will be a woman grown.
Over the rice-fields, laden plants
Are shivering to the breeze;
While in his brisk caresses dance
The blossomed-burdened trees;
He ruffles every lily-pond
Where blossoms kiss and part,
And stirs with lover's fancies fond
The young man's eager heart.
Faded Words Among the Footprints
Mystic beneath the moonlight beckons
Forever humbled at my feet
The shooting star that rises in the heavens
To only fall upon the light of flint and bone
To break away the burdens of the flesh
Within the light of Heaven's soul
Am I forever humbled by the swaying in the breeze
As the lonesome traveller
Comes to pass amongst us in the trees?
For now the light has faded
Beneath the beat of Heaven's wings
The sound of angels singing
Within the depths of my very heart
As the tears fall from the heavens
Will my soul be swept away?
In the distance there's a beacon
That lights the passage of my way
Only in the shadow shall I wait
For the light of the rising day
Swept away by life's sweet sorrow
Beneath the light of Heaven cleft
Where I wait within the light of gentle slumber
Where the footprints leave no mark
Be still my beating heart for I am forever humbled
By the light within my soul
poem by Darryn John Murphy
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Unbroken Chain
Blue light rain, whoa unbroken chain,
Looking for familiar faces in an empty window pane.
Listening for the secret, searching for the sound
But I could only hear the preacher and the baying of his hounds.
Willow sky, whoa, I walk and wonder why,
They say love your brother, but you will catch it when you try.
Roll you down the line boy, drop you for a loss,
Ride you out on a cold railroad and nail you to a cross.
November and more, as I wait for the score,
Theyre telling me forgiveness is the key to every door.
A slow winder day a night like forever,
Sink like a stone, float like a feather.
(instrumental)
Lilac rain, unbroken chain, song of the sawhet owl.
Out on the mountain, itll drive you insane, listening to the winds howl
Unbroken chain of sorrow and pearls, unbroken chain of shy and sea.
Unbroken chain of the western wind, unbroken chain of you and me.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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November
The vine leaves against the brick walls of my house,
Are rusty and broken.
Dead leaves gather under the pine-trees,
The brittle boughs of lilac-bushes
Sweep against the stars.
And I sit under a lamp
Trying to write down the emptiness of my heart.
Even the cat will not stay with me,
But prefers the rain
Under the meagre shelter of a cellar window.
poem by Amy Lowell
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