And Yet You Sing - 0246 - 2009 Version
Is pure voice stilled, vast vision spilled despite
heart's hidden beauty? Hesitant, soothing sting,
stumbling, humble hand sends offering
to show true scope, not stillborn, dimmed delight.
Symphony should spirit sweep, cleave tight,
touch friendship's tendrils, letting loose wound spring
to free the wealth of tenderness within.
Forswear forebodings for swift arrow's flight,
aim feathered well, no longer's doomed to fail.
Why should stored Future pale before sore Past,
feelings forlorn, torn, gusted by ghost gale?
Beyond the pale, once outcast, heart beats fast.
And yet you sing so sweetly, song hope deems
may turn new leaf, spurn grief, to answer dreams.
(30 April 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
And Still Soul Sings - 0246 - Current Version
Is soul's pure voice stilled, vast vision spilled despite
heart's hidden beauty? Hesitant, soothing sting,
stumbling, humble hand sends offering
to show true flow, not stillborn, dimmed delight.
Symphony should spirit sweep, cleave tight,
touch friendship's tendrils, letting loose wound spring
to free the wealth of tenderness within.
Forswear forebodings for swift arrow's flight,
aim feathered well, refutes pride ride to fail.
Why should stored Future pale before sore Past,
feelings forlorn, torn, gusted by ghost gale?
Beyond the pale, once outcast, heart beats fast.
Soul peaks, speaks sweetly, song's strong beauty deems
hope turns new leaf, spurns grief, scope answers dreams.
(16 February 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And Yet You Sing - 0246 - Initial Version
Is this voice voided, vision silenced spite
its pregnant beauty. Paling, stumbling
hesitating here, an offering
I've ventured though it stillborn seems tonight.
Sweet, I would sweep your soul to hold you tight,
touch friendship's tendrils, letting loose the spring
to free the wealth of tenderness within
despite forebodings, - for the arrow's flight
aim feathered well, tonight seems doomed to fail.
Why should the Future pale before the Past,
feelings forgotten, tossed before the gale?
Beyond the pale an outcast heart beats fast.
And yet you sing, and so the song it seems
may soothe a soul which still believes in dreams.
(25 April 1989)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Reverie of Tenderness
Slipping down the pane
soothing former pain,
looking through reflections
of miss mission's misdirections,
je suis
From epidermal ephemerality
to thermal collaterality
feelings, scent, sent reeling
former barriers, thereby healing
tu es
Heart beats' drum from tympan pulse
to tears torn through relief repulse
grief's leaf, as lief two share in joy
repudiating puppet, toy
il[e] est
Contact confirm steam dreams' supreme
while wild eyes rain, hope's reign is theme
that 'out on limb' translates to goal,
gaol free, hearts whole, no longer sole
... id est
reverie of tenderness...
31 May 2010 PXX_KLZ
N; B;
je suis - I am... or I follow?
tu es - you are... not tué - killed
il{e] est... is an island ... or he is?
id est... that is (to say]
poem by Jonathan Robin
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To
I remember the marvellous moment
you appeared before me,
like a transient vision,
like pure beauty’s spirit.
Lost in hopeless sadness,
lost in the loud world’s turmoil,
I heard your voice’s echo,
and often dreamed your features.
Years passed. The storm winds scattered,
with turbulent gusts, that dreaming.
I forgot your voice, its tenderness.
I forgot your lovely face.
Remote in my darkened exile,
the days dragged by so slowly,
without grace, without inspiration,
without life, without tears, without love.
Then my spirit woke
and you, you appeared again,
like a transient vision,
like pure beauty’s spirit.
And my heart beats with delight,
and ecstasy, inside me,
and grace and inspiration,
and tears, and life, and love.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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The German Legion
In the cot beside the water,
In the white cot by the water,
The white cot by the white water,
There they laid the German maid.
There they wound her, singing round her,
Deftly wound her, singing round her,
Softly wound her, singing round her,
In a shroud like a cloud.
And they decked her as they wound her,
With a wreath of leaves they bound her,
Lornest leaves they scattered round her,
Singing grief with every leaf.
Singing grief with every leaf.
Sadder grief with sadder leaf,
Sweeter leaf with sweeter grief,
So't was sung in a dark tongue.
Like a latter lily lying,
O'er whom falling leaves are sighing,
And Autumn vapours crying,
Pale and cold on misty mould,
So I saw her sweet and lowly,
Shining shining pale and holy,
Thro' the dim woe slowly slowly,
Said and sung in that dark tongue.
Such an awe her beauty lent her,
While they sang I dared not enter
That charmed ring where she was centre,
But I stood with stirring blood
Till the song fell like a billow,
And I saw them leave her pillow,
And go forth to the far willow,
For the wreath of virgin death.
And I stood beside her pillow,
While they plucked the distant willow,
And my heart rose like a billow
As I said to the pale dead-
'Oh, thou most fair and sweet virginity,
Of whom this heart that beats for thee doth know
Nor name nor story, that these limbs can be
For no man evermore, that thou must go
Cold to the cold, and that no eye shall see
That which thine unsolved womanhood doth owe
Of the incommunicable mystery
Shakes me with tears. I could kneel down by thee,
And o'er thy chill unmarriageable rest
Cry, 'Thou who shalt no more at all be prest
To any heart, one moment come to this!
And feel me weeping with thy want of bliss,
And all the unpraisèd beauties of thy breast-
Thy breast which never shall a lover kiss!''
Then I slowly left her pillow,
For they came back with the willow,
And my heart sinks as a billow
Doth implore towards the shore,
As I see the crown they weave her,
And I know that I must leave her,
And I feel that I could grieve her
Sad and sore for evermore.
And again they sang around her,
In a richer robe they wound her,
With the willow wreath they bound her,
And the loud song like a cloud
Of golden obscuration,
With the strange tongue of her nation,
Filled the house of lamentation,
Till she lay in melody,
Like a latter lily lying,
O'er whom falling leaves are sighing,
And the Autumn vapours crying,
In a dream of evening gleam.
And I saw her sweet and lowly,
Shining shining pale and holy,
Thro' the dim woe slowly slowly
Said and sung in a dark tongue.
In the cot beside the water,
The white cot by the white water,
English cot by English water
That shall see the German sea.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Sing To Me
Sing to me! Something of sunlight and bloom,
I am so compassed with sorrow and gloom,
I am so sick with the world’s noisse and strife, -
Sing of the beauty and brightness of life –
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing to me! Something that’s jubilant, glad!
I am so weary, my soul so sad.
All my earth riches are covered with rust,
All my bright dreams are but ashes and dust.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing og the blossoms that open in spring,
How the sweet flowers blow, and the long lichens cling,
Say, though the winter is round about me,
There are bright summers and springs yet to be.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Sing me a song full of hope and of truth,
Brimming with all the sweet fancies of youth!
Say, though my sorrow I may not forget,
I have not quite done with happiness yet.
Sing to me, sing to me!
Lay your soft fingers just here, on my cheek;
Turn the light lower – there- no, do not speak,
But sing! My heart thrills at your beautiful voice;
Sing till I turn from my grief and rejoice.
Sing to me, sing to me!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Before the Mirror
I.
WHITE ROSE in red rose-garden
Is not so white;
Snowdrops that plead for pardon
And pine for fright
Because the hard East blows
Over their maiden rows
Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.
Behind the veil, forbidden,
Shut up from sight,
Love, is there sorrow hidden,
Is there delight?
Is joy thy dower or grief,
White rose of weary leaf,
Late rose whose life is brief, whose loves are light?
Soft snows that hard winds harden
Till each flake bite
Fill all the flowerless garden
Whose flowers took flight
Long since when summer ceased,
And men rose up from feast,
And warm west wind grew east, and warm day night.
II.
“Come snow, come wind or thunder
High up in air,
I watch my face, and wonder
At my bright hair;
Nought else exalts or grieves
The rose at heart, that heaves
With love of her own leaves and lips that pair.
“She knows not loves that kissed her
She knows not where.
Art thou the ghost, my sister,
White sister there,
Am I the ghost, who knows?
My hand, a fallen rose,
Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.
“I cannot see what pleasures
Or what pains were;
What pale new loves and treasures
New years will bear;
What beam will fall, what shower,
What grief or joy for dower;
But one thing knows the flower; the flower is fair.”
III.
Glad, but not flushed with gladness,
Since joys go by;
Sad, but not bent with sadness,
Since sorrows die;
Deep in the gleaming glass
She sees all past things pass,
And all sweet life that was lie down and lie.
There glowing ghosts of flowers
Draw down, draw nigh;
And wings of swift spent hours
Take flight and fly;
She sees by formless gleams,
She hears across cold streams,
Dead mouths of many dreams that sing and sigh.
Face fallen and white throat lifted,
With sleepless eye
She sees old loves that drifted,
She knew not why,
Old loves and faded fears
Float down a stream that hears
The flowing of all men’s tears beneath the sky.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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力 Aura of Felicity 爱
He meets by chance he'll ever bless
a maiden, and some hidden hand
unveils an inner loveliness
too few take time to understand.
Time stands stock still, clock can't progress,
as second sight's embracing strand
second-thoughts disbands - caress
sends shivers through pores which expand.
His promise, through her presence, grows
to match the merits in her eyes,
to blushing envy turns the rose
acknowledging true Paradise.
They flow together, former woes -
in ways no verse may summarize -
replaced by links which cannot close
metamorphosis supplies.
Thought trains awake dreams skeins asleep,
her aura haunts him day and night,
one image still will senses sweep
with wonder, worship, and delight.
Warm aura rippling, rich and deep,
excites, incites to more insight,
love's neurones bridge synaptic leap
like salmon fording stream, scales bright.
Drawn by strong dreams nightlong he longs,
most humble where he most aspires,
to offer sacred, secret songs
to her he honours and desires
where 'we belong' may know no wrongs,
all echoes joy's celestial choirs,
where happiness itself prolongs,
no guarantees, no pleas requires.
Her graces make him rich. He'd ask
no golden ring engraven while
he may not prove himself to task
the equal of that precious smile.
Meanwhile would pleasure find and bask
in soft reflection, reconcile
hopes, fears, fears, hopes, and, shedding mask,
beguiled by feelings versatile.
He aims to catch flame's eye, perform
some labour, famed reward immense,
anticipates ways to transform
bright bloom in new-born innocence
to future shared, trust crystal clear.
Hope holds key to true happiness.
He trembles, mixing joy and fear,
would stand beside her, nothing less...
September 2006,4 July 2008
see below for previous versions: previous titles Her aura Haunts
Her Aura Haunts
He meets by chance he'll ever bless
a maiden, and some hidden hand
unveils an inner loveliness
too few take time to understand.
His promise, through her presence, grows
to match the merits in her eyes,
to blushing envy turns the rose
acknowledging true Paradise.
Thought trains awake dreams skeins asleep,
her aura haunts him day and night,
one image still will senses sweep
with wonder, worship, and delight.
(20 April 1990 and 2 September 2006 see below for first version)
Her Beauty Haunts
He meets by chance, he must confess,
a damsel, and some hidden hand
unveils her inner loveliness
that others fail to understand.
His promise, through her presence, grows
to match the merits in her eyes,
to blushing envy turns the rose
who knows that She is Paradise.
For joy of her he finds no sleep,
her beauty haunts him day and night,
dreams melt his heart, his senses sweep
with wonder, worship, and delight.
Inspired by her nightlong he longs,
most humble where he most aspires,
to offer sacred, secret songs
to her he honours and desires.
Her graces make him rich. He'd ask
no golden ring engraven while
he may not prove himself to task
the equal of that precious smile.
He hopes to catch her eye, and do
some labour, joy's reward immense,
anticipates the date she'll, too,
see bloom in new-born innocence
shared future - vision crystal clear
which holds the key to happiness, -
he trembles, mixing joy and fear,
to stand beside her, nothing less...
(20 April 1990)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Song of April!
Is it that incomplete song
you sing for me April
or the soulful song of
a nightingale or a song
from the heart of Earth
A song long heard
which is lost in the waves
or one melody which melts
the rocks so hard you want
to sing for me April
A song I can sing from the
notes so perfect or the one
so loud to compete with
the wild clouds and forests
Is it that song incomplete April
you sing for me now...
April 17, 2009
poem by Rema Prasanaa
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Polyacrostic Palimpsest - Gift of Love
Polyacrostic Palimpsest - Gift of Love
Lift glad eye, live lauded, new dream's due destined stream
O I at murky care oil magic eased, view so
Vision is seen all loving, fresh oaths twinned souls sow.
Earth I bless, heed anew, trust to love's lifelong gleam.
Let heart flow free, reap strong emotional shared theme
Yet find mind-share where all is rare, close kin souls grow.
Radiant fair, each may ever forwards free go
As scope one's way could hope to scrap base evil scheme
Remorse steps back. Unroll, dear, your true talents' beam,
Each must share, maid unite for happy future's flow.
May our decree play out, fear old melts, joys gold glow.
As sunny skies, prayers blend to lend hope, past redeem.
Gaudeamus echo if tenderness free sun
I Come to you, sing on, mauled config draw now won.
external acrostic
Lovely Rare Magic
Internal acrostic palimpsests
Girl may care, love
Now won ward gift of love enlivens life's mosaic
Listen to the song of your heart's dream's due destined stream
22 March 2009 robi3_1872_robi3_0000 BQS_KLX
see also below
using essentially the same internal acrostics
Polyacrostic Palimpsest - Laugh, Share Magic
Lift upward drive, laugh to share dream on stream,
Ail not, new dare oils pro-active vast flow.
Unspent talent lilliputians nowhere know
Gut triumph speeds, new light tells growth may gleam.
Hid heart-flow free, reap strong exalting theme.
Shining mind-share, where all rare spirits grow,
He, trustful, teaching, special harvests sow,
As scope one's way shows, hope, no scrappy scheme
Reacts to take back stray heyday insight's beam.
Each must shine, more, unite for talents glow
May offer useful growth, autonomy show
Assuring this, grey past taos to light's dream.
Gauge this echo. If sonnet sets free soul,
I come to you, sing on, heart aspiring whole.
external acrostic
Laugh, Share Magic
Internal acrostic palimpsests
Girl may care, love
Gift of hope enlivens life's mosaic
Listen to the song of your heart see dream on stream
23 March 2009 robi3_1073_robi3_0000 BQS_KXX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sing A Song For You My Love
SING A SONG FOR YOU MY LOVE
A lovely song a love song
Sing a song for you my love
Sung in a wonderful soothing voice
Sending a melody message by the dove
Invites you to take your choice
Catch this ultimate chance to share
Truly wherever you will be I’ll dare
Musical notes show how much I care
To loose you I wouldn’t bare
Never ever let me down again
Open up the shutters of your heart
Don’t ask for another bargain
Pull out with strength the poisoned dart
Can this time be meaning for ever
Love has got such strangely ways
No understanding even though being clever
Deep different emotions filling our days
Want to sing a song for you my love
Higher notes song in my voice
Your love places spirit high above
Counting heartbeats final choice
Sing a song for you my love
A lovely song a love song
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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Earth’s Moments Of Gloom
“The heart knoweth its own bitterness”
The heart hath its moments of hopeless gloom,
As rayless as is the dark night of the tomb;
When the past has no spell, the future no ray,
To chase the sad cloud from the spirit away;
When earth, though in all her rich beauty arrayed,
Hath a gloom o’er her flowers—o’er her skies a dark shade,
And we turn from all pleasure with loathing away,
Too downcast, too spirit sick, even to pray!
Oh! where may the heart seek, in moments like this,
A whisper of hope, or a faint gleam of bliss?
When friendship seems naught but a cold, cheerless flame,
And love a still falser and emptier name;
When honors and wealth are a wearisome chain,
Each link interwoven with grief and with pain,
And each solace or joy that the spirit might crave
Is barren of comfort and dark as the grave.
Lift—lift up thy sinking heart, pilgrim of life!
A sure spell there is for thy spirit’s sad strife;
’Tis not to be found in the well-springs of earth,—
Oh! no, ’tis of higher and holier birth.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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The First Spring Day
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing;
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the springtide of this year
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;
If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me;
Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring,
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Sing a song
Baby! My Baby
Sing with me a song
At the sound of your voice
To mutual words of our choice
I will like a shot rejoice
Baby! My Baby
Sing with me a song
Together we can compose
With a lyrical structure
Watch our song transpose
We can sing a song of hope
Beyound any scope
You can change the tempo
I can go fast or you can go slow
We can sing a song of determination
Inspired by collective imagination
Baby, I am not here to compete
Or this song itself will not complete
Let’s put behind unwanted sorrows
Sing our hearts out until tomorrow
We can sing a song of harmonious hearts
Which no one should set apart!
We can sing of passion and romance
Release our tensions with a dance
Baby! Sing with me a song
I can feel it right inside my skin
For the words are rooted deep within
Lingering for your vocal touch
Yearning for your words so much
We can sing a song of faith
And how it is worth the wait
Together we can consume in delight
In the darkness or in the light
All that is wrong or right
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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May I Turn You into a Beautiful Flower!
May I turn you into a beautiful flower!
More beautiful than it sounds, in the garden;
No wind shall turn you pale, with its power,
Your beauty covering it, as a shield and hidden.
The roses have a beauty, for them to bow,
And the children pose a charm, for them to pluck.
A flower so pure and gentle to touch, a dove,
And the others, decline to shine and duck.
A flower in the hair of the princess of the castle,
That the jewels in her crown and her heart shall envy.
And as long as my eyes can see, and my heart can beat,
So long shall you shine, as the beauty, as this flower.
©Anees Rahman
poem by Anees Rahman
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Theopathy
Evening memory,
whisper from your sweet flower sight,
as birds float delight.
World beauty,
sow some sweet simple spring season,
sky and sun without end.
Things combine
And seem to make little sense
When the great Beauty is bold
Singing its own song intense...
Sensations and seasons are best
When sowed in the simplicity
Of the pureness of poetry.
The dancing desert does delight
In the epiphanic voice,
Crying in the wilderness
Calling in the heart
Pleading in the mind, and
Claiming in the soul.
Beauty is the mysterious memory
Of what once was... and, by grace,
Shall someday return.
Known, unknown,
Wild, free, deep and true...
Nature speaks of
Gives hints toward, and
Causes contemplation for
What we know we barely know
And yet craving after
Do not understand...
Natures cryptic call
Seizes the soul and hungers the heart
Of all who willingly hear, and quietly listen
To the Voice
Crying, crying, and crying tears of longing
Throughout our own wilderness trek...
Sunrises to find,
softly speak visions in light,
as butterflies show freedom of flight.
Universe magnanimous,
moons and stars brilliant to send,
deep divine eternal hope from the final true,
Friend.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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To Cesario
CESARIO, thy Lyre's dulcet measure,
So sweetly, so tenderly flows;
That could my sad soul taste of pleasure,
Thy music would soften its woes.
But ah, gentle soother, where anguish
Takes root in the grief-stricken heart;
'Tis the triumph of sorrow to languish,
'Tis rapture to cherish the smart.
The mind where pale Mis'ry sits brooding,
Repels the soft touch of repose;
Shrinks back when blest Reason intruding,
The balm of mild comfort bestows.
There is luxury oft in declining,
What pity's kind motives impart;
And to bear hapless fate, unrepining,
Is the proudest delight of the heart.
Still, still shall thy Lyre's gentle measure,
In strains of pure melody flow;
While each heart beats with exquisite pleasure,
SAVE MINEthe doom'd VICTIM OF WOE.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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What Does My Name Mean To You?
What does my name mean to you?
Does it rustle like an autumn leaf?
Does it sound for you like a belief
Or just a word said in brief?
What does my name mean to you?
Is it pure like the first winter snow?
Is it a heart breaking arrow
Or a severe cold winds blow?
What does my name mean to you?
Does it splatter like a stream in spring?
Does it matter for you and you’d like to sing
Or it just sounds like a broken string?
What does my name mean to you?
Is it a flight of a seagull over the ocean?
Does it show you my sincere devotion
Or it’s just a word for communication?
I saw you shrugging and understood,
You just need hugging to be in mood.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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On The Purple And White Carnation
'TWAS a bright May morn, and each opening flower
Lay sunning itself in Flora's bower;
Young Love, who was fluttering round, espied
The blossoms so gay in their painted pride;
And he gazed on the point of a feathered dart,
For mischief had filled the boy-god's heart;
And laughed as his bowstring of silk he drew,
And away that arrow at random flew:
Onward it sped like a ray of light,
And fell on a flower of virgin white,
Which glanced all snowy and pure at the sun,
And wept when his glorious course was run:
Two little drops on its pale leaves lay
Pure as pearls, but with diamond ray,
(Like the tear on Beauty's lid of snow,
Which waits but Compassion to bid it flow
It rested, that dart; and its pointed tip
Sank deep where the bees were wont to sip;
And the sickening flower gazed with grief
On the purple stains which dimmed each leaf,
And the crystal drops on its leaves that stood
Blushed with sorrow and shame till they turned to blood.
It chanced that Flora, wandering by,
Beheld her flow'ret droop and die;
And Love laughed in scorn at the flower-queen's woe,
As she vainly shook its leaves of snow.
Fled from her lip was the smile of light :--
'Oh! who hath worked thee this fell despite!
Thou who did'st harm, alas! to none,
But joyed'st all day in the beams of the sun!'
''Twas Love!' said the flower, and a scented sigh
Loaded the gale that murmured by.
'Twas Love! and the dew-drops that blushed on the wound
Sank slow and sad to the pitying ground.
''Twas Love!' said Flora: 'accursed be the power
That could blight the bloom of so fair a flower.
With whispers and smiles he wins Beauty's ears,
But he leaves her nothing save grief and tears.
Ye gods! shall he bend with such tyranny still
The weak and the strong to his wanton will?
No! the hearts that he joins may rude discord sever;
Accursed be his power for ever and ever.'
She spoke, and wept; and the echo again
Repeated the curse, but all in vain--
The tyrant laughed as he fluttered away,
Spreading his rainbow wings to the day,
And settling at random his feathered darts
To spoil sweet flowers, or break fond hearts.
He fled--and the queen o'er her flower in vain
Poured the evening dew and the April rain,
The purple spots on her heart still were.
And she said, as she wept her fruitless care,
'The blight and the stain may be washed away,
But what Love hath ruined must sink in decay.'
And she sent it on earth, to dwell below
In the autumn fog and the winter snow.
And even, 'tis said, on summer eves
O'er that sad lost flower she wails and grieves;
And the drops that by mortals as dew are seen
Are the tears of the mourning flower-queen.
And when men are gazing with fond delight
On its varied leaves, and call them bright,
And praise the velvet tints, and say
There never was flower more pure and gay:
That flow'ret says, as it droops its head,
'Alas! for the day when by love I bled;
When my feathery flowers were pure and white,
And my leaves had no earthly stain or blight,
When no chilling blasts around me blew,
And in Flora's garden of light I grew.
Oh! the blight and the stain may be washed away,
But what Love hath ruined must sink in decay.'
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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With The Wind
'Twas when the wind was blowing from the billow-breaking sea,
The grey and stormy sea, I heard her calling me,
And in the woods and on the ways where leaves were whirling down,
And weeds were rustling brown,
I caught a glimpse of face and feet, a glimmer of her gown.
And there between the forest and a strip of wandering sea,
Of dark and dreaming sea, I heard her laugh at me;
And, oh! her voice was bugle-wild as are the wind and rain,
And drew my heart again
With all the lures of all the past and joy more keen than pain.
Upon a fir-dark hilltop by the sunset-jewelled sea,
The old and wrinkled sea, she shook her hair at me,
And I caught a misty shimmer of her frosty gown and veil,
And her hand waved rosy pale,
And my heart was fain to follow her upon the old-time trail.
Within a ferny hollow by the mermaid-calling sea,
The far and foaming sea, she turned her face to me:
Again I saw her beauty; and again she held me fast,
As she'd held me in the past,
And let her wild heart beat to mine as beats the autumn blast.
Beside a rib of wreckage by the tempest-haunted sea,
The sad and severing sea, she bade good-bye to me:
Oh, paler than the foam her face, and wilder than the night,
When not a star gives light,
And rain and wind and winter sweep like harpies from the height.
Oh, she who joined her gipsy joy to sorrow of the sea,
The gaunt and ghostly sea, will come again to me:
When Autumn leads the wild-fowl home and lights, like wandering gleams,
The camp-fires of her dreams,
Again my heart shall hear her call upon the gale that streams.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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