Death Song
Hark, now everything is still;
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud;
Much you had of land and rent,
Your length in clay's now competent.
A long war disturbed your mind;
Here your perfect peace is signed.
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,
And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck;
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day,
End your groan and come away.
poem by John Webster
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Related quotes
Hark, now everything is still
HARK, now everything is still,
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud!
Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay's now competent:
A long war disturbed your mind;
Here your perfect peace is signed.
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,
And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck:
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;
End your groan, and come away.
poem by John Webster
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The Shrouding of the Duchess of Malfi
Hark, now everything is still,
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud!
Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay's now competent:
A long war disturbed your mind;
Here your perfect peace is signed.
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,
And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck:
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;
End your groan, and come away.
poem by John Webster
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Sonnet: Great Things Can Be Missed
So narrow’s gap between one’s love and lust!
So brittle’s line between world’s war and peace!
’Tis photo-finish ’tween second and first!
A trifle separates labor from ease!
So narrow’s zone ’tween contempt and friendship!
A hair’s breath decides human love from hate!
Narrow’s the gap ’tween stranger and sib-ship!
A trifle’s ’tween God’s providence and fate!
One mouth of air decides one’s life and death!
A wrong premise turns believer, atheist!
’Tween birth and death, ’tis hair-line in its breath!
The hand that saves can turn into a fist!
But wide’s the gap between Heaven and Hell;
You choose just one and hang onto it well!
poem by John Celes
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Oahu
Here on this island, summer never sleeps.
In the green valleys, smoke in cane-time drifts
With mist—frail tide that laps the chasmed deeps
Between the steep clean hills as the sea-tide
Once washed the silent hidden hollow rifts
And unseen valleys of its unborn bride.
Sea-bride, child of earth’s red molten womb,
Daughter of fire and chaos long since sleeping,
Who were the people that made your green hills bloom?
Wedded to the seas they were, like you;
From the dark sea, while you your watch were keeping,
They came to make their destined rendezvous.
The broad bare feet step forth on virgin sand,
And eyes raise to the green eternal hills:
Gray mist, green hills and fertile red-clay land,
Alone no more. The carefree caroling laughter
Drifts inland, where valley mist distills
The songs that shall be sung forever after.
poem by S.J. Fulton
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Peace Proposal
Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Dirty Weekend
I took you to a B&B
And signed us in as man and wife,
A cosy guest-house by the sea
For the worst weekend in my life.
All night you moaned and cried aloud
Although I tried to make you shush,
And when we came down for our meal
They stared at us in an awful hush.
I suppose I really should have known
That lust turns quickly into hate.
When everyone can hear you groan
It's better to be celibate! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Generals
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Hope Dieth: Hope Liveth
Strong are thine arms, O love, & strong
Thine heart to live, and love, and long;
But thou art wed to grief and wrong:
Live, then, and long, though hope be dead!
Live on, & labour thro’ the years!
Make pictures through the mist of tears,
Of unforgotten happy fears,
That crossed the time ere hope was dead.
Draw near the place where once we stood
Amid delight’s swift-rushing flood,
And we and all the world seemed good
Nor needed hope now cold and dead.
Dream in the dawn I come to thee
Weeping for things that may not be!
Dream that thou layest lips on me!
Wake, wake to clasp hope’s body dead!
Count o’er and o’er, and one by one
The minutes of the happy sun
That while agone on kissed lips shone,
Count on, rest not, for hope is dead.
Weep, though no hair’s breadth thou shalt move
The living Earth, the heaven above
By all the bitterness of love!
Weep and cease not, now hope is dead!
Sighs rest thee not, tears bring no ease,
Life hath no joy, and Death no peace:
The years change not, though they decrease,
For hope is dead, for hope is dead.
Speak, love, I listen: far away
I bless the tremulous lips, that say,
“Mock not the afternoon of day,
Mock not the tide when hope is dead!”
I bless thee, O my love, who say’st:
“Mock not the thistle-cumbered waste;
I hold Love’s hand, and make no haste
Down the long way, now hope is dead.
With other names do we name pain,
The long years wear our hearts in vain.
Mock not our loss grown into gain,
Mock not our lost hope lying dead.
Our eyes gaze for no morning-star,
No glimmer of the dawn afar;
Full silent wayfarers we are
Since ere the noon-tide hope lay dead.
Behold with lack of happiness
The master, Love, our hearts did bless
Lest we should think of him the less:
Love dieth not, though hope is dead!”
poem by William Morris
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Knight's Return
Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.
The were wolves mutter, the night hawks moan,
The raven croaks from the Raven-stone;
What care I for his boding groan,
Riding the moorland to come to mine own?
Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.
Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.
Long have I wander'd by land and by sea,
Long have I ridden by moorland and lea;
Yonder she sits with my babe on her knee,
Sits at the window and watches for me!
Hark! hark! hark!
The lark sings high in the dark.
Written for music, 1857.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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A Christmas Carol
THREE DAMSELS in the queen’s chamber,
The queen’s mouth was most fair;
She spake a word of God’s mother
As the combs went in her hair.
Mary that is of might,
Bring us to thy Son’s sight.
They held the gold combs out from her,
A span’s length off her head;
She sang this song of God’s mother
And of her bearing-bed.
Mary most full of grace,
Bring us to thy Son’s face.
When she sat at Joseph’s hand,
She looked against her side;
And either way from the short silk band
Her girdle was all wried.
Mary that all good may,
Bring us to thy Son’s way.
Mary had three women for her bed,
The twain were maidens clean;
The first of them had white and red,
The third had riven green.
Mary that is so sweet,
Bring us to thy Son’s feet.
She had three women for her hair,
Two were gloved soft and shod;
The third had feet and fingers bare,
She was the likest God.
Mary that wieldeth land,
Bring us to thy Son’s hand.
She had three women for her ease,
The twain were good women:
The first two were the two Maries,
The third was Magdalen.
Mary that perfect is,
Bring us to thy Son’s kiss.
Joseph had three workmen in his stall,
To serve him well upon;
The first of them were Peter and Paul,
The third of them was John.
Mary, God’s handmaiden,
Bring us to thy Son’s ken.
“If your child be none other man’s,
But if it be very mine,
The bedstead shall be gold two spans,
The bedfoot silver fine.”
Mary that made God mirth,
Bring us to thy Son’s birth.
“If the child be some other man’s,
And if it be none of mine,
The manger shall be straw two spans,
Betwixen kine and kine.”
Mary that made sin cease,
Bring us to thy Son’s peace.
Christ was born upon this wise,
It fell on such a night,
Neither with sounds of psalteries,
Nor with fire for light.
Mary that is God’s spouse,
Bring us to thy Son’s house.
The star came out upon the east
With a great sound and sweet:
Kings gave gold to make him feast
And myrrh for him to eat.
Mary, of thy sweet mood,
Bring us to thy Son’s good.
He had two handmaids at his head,
One handmaid at his feet;
The twain of them were fair and red,
The third one was right sweet.
Mary that is most wise,
Bring us to thy Son’s eyes. Amen.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Touchstone
A man there came, whence none could tell,
Bearing a Touchstone in his hand;
And tested all things in the land
By its unerring spell.
Quick birth of transmutation smote
The fair to foul, the foul to fair;
Purple nor ermine did he spare,
Nor scorn the dusty coat.
Of heirloom jewels, prized so much,
Were many changed to chips and clods,
And even statues of the Gods
Crumbled beneath its touch.
Then angrily the people cried,
'The loss outweighs the profit far;
Our goods suffice us as they are
We will not have then tried.'
And since they could not so prevail
To check this unrelenting guest,
They seized him, saying - 'Let him test
How real it is, our jail! '
But, though they slew him with the sword,
And in a fire his Touchstone burn'd,
Its doings could not be o'erturned,
Its undoings restored.
And when to stop all future harm,
They strew'd its ashes on the breeze;
They little guess'd each grain of these
Convey'd the perfect charm.
North, south, in rings and amulets,
Throughout the crowded world 'tis borne;
Which, as a fashion long outworn,
In ancient mind forgets.
poem by William Allingham
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The World
By day she woos me, soft, exceeding fair:
But all night as the moon so changeth she;
Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy
And subtle serpents gliding in her hair.
By day she woos me to the outer air,
Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety:
But through the night, a beast she grins at me,
A very monster void of love and prayer.
By day she stands a lie: by night she stands
In all the naked horror of the truth
With pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands.
Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell
My soul to her, give her my life and youth,
Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell?
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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As Vanquish'd Erin
As vanquish'd Erin wept beside
The Boyne's ill-fated river,
She saw where Discord, in the tide,
Had dropp'd his loaded quiver.
"Lie hid," she cried, "ye venom'd darts,
Where mortal eye may shun you;
Lie hid -- the stain of manly hearts,
That bled for me, is on you."
But vain her wish, her weeping vain --
As Time too well hath taught her --
Each year the Fiend returns again,
And dives into that water;
And brings, triumphant, from beneath
His shafts of desolation,
And sends them, wing'd with worse than death,
Through all her maddening nation.
Alas for her who sits and mourns,
Even now, beside that river --
Unwearied still the Fiend returns,
And stored is still his quiver.
"When will this end, ye Powers of Good?"
She weeping asks for ever;
But only hears, from out that flood,
The Demon answer, "Never!"
poem by Thomas Moore
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Life
Keeping with precarious existence,
life moves with,
inertial steps,
to do a little,
When soil soaked with tears,
weekend breaths smelling foul,
steep wall standing ahead,
Opaque dream overnight,
thunder storm roaring aloud,
One desire of hunting beast,
blowing bruite in the ears,
Paining corns on feet,
and journey.
make me tired
poem by Rafique Farooqi
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O My Baby! ..Where Had You Gone? [ Prologue ]
-The Prologue-
Emotions-Intellect;
How many many relentless duels between these two characters!
Emotion-
It is a molten fire ever on pouncing feet!
Intellect -
Ever on slow steady measured movements!
In the blind ferocity of emotion's eruptions....education, culture,
equanimity...all would drown, demoralize, crumble and crash!
It is a fact that emotions care or leave nobody in their trail of destruction...respect none also!
Only when the emotions slowly subside...only after their boisterous rush recedes, then only one could see the imprints of the intellect.
A Mother-
A very high intellectual personality...with a research degree in a renowned foreign university..marrying an equally competent scholar as husband in the same golden land.
A misfortune strikes that Mother.
Her first conception, like a disturbed dream, meets death during gestation.
Again...
The infant, which is delivered, after as if hatching ten months of her dear dreams, after swimming against the strong currents of pain, the life that sprouted in full shape, dies within a day of its world entry.
Regaining consciousness..
At the moment of saying 'good-bye' to the departing pains..
to hear the special first shrill honey-dripping cry of the baby..
resembling ' ammaa..ammaa'...
Lo..she is not blessed for the supreme moment in a mother's life!
Imagine..what would have been the state of her mind then?
Misery overpowers the intellect and shocks her mind with quakes of sorrow and anger and deceit.
The whole worldly life turns bitter and unbearable.
Wherever she turns and in whatever she associates with...anywhere and everywhere a meaningless and unjustifiable vacuum encounter her.
crushed and crumbled underneath the pulverising feet of death are all her dreams
Even the thoughts about children too frighten her soul.
Why that injustice? for what harm?
Every thing defies reason.
Her mind refuses to accept the death of her innocent infant.
In the heavy mindset of that gloomy Mother
I sink myself for a few poignant moments
And harvest her withered crops of sadness with a poem.
What follow are those poetic tears...
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Well in advance
The destiny is decided well in advance
No one can alter or change it t once
It has to sooner or later surely to come
We have no option but to welcome
Since that has been and is understood by all
Why unnecessarily end the life without its call?
Why in despair we count each moment to come near?
Why has such things gripped our mind with fear?
Human life is not assured in another birth
Not even any body has knowledge of death
We have to breathe till the last as destined
It is clearly understood and well defined
No one may want to deliberate
No one has any insight to narrate
It is purely coincidence that we are human
It is by chance that we are called man or woman
The role is to be played by as willing soul
It may remain as full of error or foul
Yet one must try to act as honest as possible
You need not fear much and allow feet to crumble
You must carry whole burden
It has not come all of sudden
It is meant to be borne by an individual
As it is just routine and must remain casual
We are mere symbol bones and muscles
Yet life is full of wrangles and all tussles
It is just a Skelton and each part countable
Make it to stay in race as far as possible
It will have full identity till the death
People may pay homage with lying of wreath
The show is over and your are thing of past
The moment you have missed the bus and breathed last
It is compared to simple bubble
It can be at any time in trouble
Everything is synchronized with uncertain timing
You are there as long as you are in full tuning
You may carry only well wishes
So many human bodies daily perish
The life span is not at all taken into consideration
The aim is achieved with self motivation
It is hard to live with all sort of inconvenience
Others can be made comfortable with our little lenience
If we have problems then it should not be passed on to others
They have their own life to look after and bother
So let us take it as challenge
It is universal fact that it may end with age
Still we can make fine imprint on page
Love should rule and not the hate with rage
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Dying Gipsy Smuggler
Wasted, weary, wherefore stay,
Wrestling thus with earth and clay?
From the body pass away;-
Hark! the mass is singing.
From thee doff thy mortal weed,
Mary Mother be thy speed,
Saints to help thee at thy need;-
Hark! the knell is ringing.
Fear not snow-drift driving fast,
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast;
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast,
And the sleep be on thee cast
That shall ne'er know waking.
Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone,
Earth flits fast, and time draws on,-
Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan,
Day is near the breaking.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Perfect Part 2
I don’t need perfect cloth
I don’t need perfect hair
What I need is a confidence
I don’t need perfect score
I don’t need perfect job
What I need is a support
I don’t need perfect word
I don’t need perfect dream
What I need is a chance
I don’t need perfect agreement
I don’t need perfect control
What I need is a solution
I don’t need perfect holiday
I don’t need perfect memories
What I need is a peace of mind
I don’t need perfect home
I don’t need perfect family
What I need is a comfort
I don’t need perfect love
I don’t need perfect life
What I need is an understanding
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Of Wolf And Man
Off through the new day's mist I run
off from the new day's mist I have come
I hunt
therefore I am
harvest the land
taking of the fallen lamb
off thruogh the new day's mist I run
off from the new day'smist I have come
we shift
pulsing with the earth
company we keep
roaming the land while you sleep
shape shift nose to the wind
shape shift feeling I've been
move swift all senses clean
earth's gift back to the meaning of life
bright is the moon high in starlight
chill is the air cold as steel tonight
we shift
call of the wild
fear in your eyes
it's later than you realized
shape shift nose to the wind
shape shift feeling I've been
move swift all senses clean
earth's gift back to the meaning of life
I feel I change
back to a better day
hair stands on the back of my neck
in wildness is the preservation of the world
so seek the wolf in thyself
shape shift nose to the wind
shape shift feeling I've been
move swift all senses clean
earth's gift
back to the meaning of wolf and man
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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