The Columbine
Still, still my eye will gaze long fixed on thee,
Till I forget that I am called a man,
And at thy side fast-rooted seem to be,
And the breeze comes my cheek with thine to fan.
Upon this craggy hill our life shall pass,
A life of summer days and summer joys,
Nodding our honey-bells mid pliant grass
In which the bee half hid his time employs;
And here we'll drink with thirsty pores the rain,
And turn dew-sprinkled to the rising sun,
And look when in the flaming west again
His orb across the heaven its path has run;
Here left in darkness on the rocky steep,
My weary eyes shall close like folding flowers in sleep.
poem by Jones Very
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My Summer Days <3
Summer breeze blowing the grass around,
whirling my hair in every direction.
Summer sun kissing my face,
Leaving me red, and all sunburned.
Summer warmth hugs me,
Every time I walk out the door.
Summer rain dances with me
Who could ask for anything more?
Summer brings swimming,
And long walks on the beach and in the park.
Summer days leave and bring starry nights
So we can stare into them after dark.
Summer gives me lazy days
To hang out with my friends.
Summer nights bring the crickets,
To sing with when the day ends.
Summer brings yummy sweet tea,
And reading books under the sun,
Summer comes with lots of things,
But most of all, it brings fun for all!
poem by Ashley Meyers
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Mean Sleep
Written by: cree summer
What can we scrape together
With just the flesh as evidence
Handfuls of hate and the bittersweet ambivalence
'cause i am pushing cobwebs and i'm folding into myself
Who will find me under this mean sleep
How could the clouse tease us into thinking it might rain
How could the need deceive us into thinking things might change
I had a mean sleep over you and it hurts coming back to life
You could burn a thousand days
And i would need no other light
You could die a thousand ways
And i'd still love you back to life
But my needs rising angry and loneliness like quicksand
Who will find me under still mean sleep
How could the clouse tease us into thinking it might rain
How could the need deceive us into thinking things might change
I had a mean sleep over you and it hurts coming back to life
I am lost to the longing
I am moulded by my memory
Had shut down half my mind
Just to still the space you left behind
'cause i am pushing cobwebs and i'm folding into myself
Who will find me under this mean sleep
How could the clouse tease us into thinking it might rain
How could the need deceive us into thinking things might change
I had a mean sleep over you and it hurts coming back to life
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Reading Ballads
We lay upon a flowery hill
Close by the railway lines,
Apollo dusted gold on us
Between the windy pines.
We watched the London trains go by
Full of the weary folk,
Who travelled back that Sunday night
To six more days of smoke.
They stared out at the whirling fields,
And when they saw us two,
They turned their heads to follow us
Till we were snatched from view.
The year was at the summer’s spring
When grass grows fresh and long,
And flowers are more in bud than bloom,
And cuckoos slacken song.
The sainfoin and the purple vetch
Nodding above our lair
Sighed on the western breeze, whose might
Could barely stir our hair.
The hawkweed on our ballad book
Sprinkled its pollen fine,
And now and then a beetle dropped
And wandered through a line.
“Sir Patrick Spens” we loitered down,
“Tam Lin” and “Young Beichan,”
And almost felt the sunshine weep
For the “Lass of Lochroyan.”
Stanza on stanza endlessly
From her lips or from mine
Benumbed our dreaming souls, like drops
Of a Circean wine.
I watched her while she read to me,
As children watch their nurse,
Until my being throbbed to hear
This solitary verse:
“O western wind, when wilt thou blow
That the small rain down can rain?
Christ! That my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!”
This little verse cut thorugh the twists
Of the dream-twinèd spell,
And “Robin Hood” sank back again
With the “Wife of Usher’s Well.”
And an illimitable desire
Quickened our souls with pain.
We knew that we were still at one
With the people in the train.
poem by Arthur Graeme West
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Edward
HEAVY is my trembling heart, mine own love, my dearest,
Heavy as the hearts whose love is poured in vain;
All the bright day I watch till thou appearest,
All the long night I dream of thee again.
When the whisp'ring summer breeze is waving o'er me lightly,
When the moaning winter winds their wail of sadness make;
Then dearest, then, thine image riseth brightly,
I am weary of my life, for Edward's sake.
When in the halls of light, all bright and happy faces,
Smiling turn to greet a friend, and wander on
Far through the distant crowd, my heart thy proud form traces,
My eye is sadly fixed on thee alone.
When that dear, familiar voice, some careless word hath spoken,
When thy brow a moment bends, a cold farewell to take;
Then, dearest, then, my heart is well nigh broken,
I am weary of my life, for Edward's sake.
Oh, Edward! dark my doom!--this heart will love for ever,
Though thou wilt never share its joy or pain,
Thine eye will turn to mine, and meet its glance, but never
Beam fondly back on hers who loves in vain.
But when weary life is o'er, and in the grave I'm lying,
(Silently a woman's heart should hide its love and break; )
Then, dearest, then, some voice shall tell thee, sighing,
How weary was my life to me, for Edward's sake.
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Stream Of Life
Oh silvery streamlet of the fields,
That flowest full and free!
For thee the rains of spring return,
The summer dews for thee;
And when thy latest blossoms die
In autumn's chilly showers,
The winter fountains gush for thee,
Till May brings back the flowers.
Oh Stream of Life! the violet springs
But once beside thy bed;
But one brief summer, on thy path,
The dews of heaven are shed.
Thy parent fountains shrink away,
And close their crystal veins,
And where thy glittering current flowed
The dust alone remains.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Bullocky
Beside his heavy-shouldered team
thirsty with drought and chilled with rain,
he weathered all the striding years
till they ran widdershins in his brain:
Till the long solitary tracks
etched deeper with each lurching load
were populous before his eyes,
and fiends and angels used his road.
All the long straining journey grew
a mad apocalyptic dream,
and he old Moses, and the slaves
his suffering and stubborn team.
Then in his evening camp beneath
the half-light pillars of the trees
he filled the steepled cone of night
with shouted prayers and prophecies.
While past the campfire's crimson ring
the star struck darkness cupped him round.
and centuries of cattle-bells
rang with their sweet uneasy sound.
Grass is across the wagon-tracks,
and plough strikes bone beneath the grass,
and vineyards cover all the slopes
where the dead teams were used to pass.
O vine, grow close upon that bone
and hold it with your rooted hand.
The prophet Moses feeds the grape,
and fruitful is the Promised Land.
poem by Judith Wright
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The Magnetic Lady To Her Patient
I.
'Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain;
My hand is on thy brow,
My spirit on thy brain;
My pity on thy heart, poor friend;
And from my fingers flow
The powers of life, and like a sign,
Seal thee from thine hour of woe;
And brood on thee, but may not blend
With thine.
II.
'Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not;
But when I think that he
Who made and makes my lot
As full of flowers as thine of weeds,
Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine
Might then have charmed his agony
As I another's--my heart bleeds
For thine.
III.
'Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of
The dead and the unborn
Forget thy life and love;
Forget that thou must wake forever;
Forget the world's dull scorn;
Forget lost health, and the divine
Feelings which died in youth's brief morn;
And forget me, for I can never
Be thine.
IV.
'Like a cloud big with a May shower,
My soul weeps healing rain
On thee, thou withered flower!
It breathes mute music on thy sleep
Its odour calms thy brain!
Its light within thy gloomy breast
Spreads like a second youth again.
By mine thy being is to its deep
Possessed.
V.
'The spell is done. How feel you now?'
'Better—Quite well,' replied
The sleeper.--'What would do
You good when suffering and awake?
What cure your head and side?--'
‘What would cure, that would kill me, Jane:
And as I must on earth abide
Awhile, yet tempt me not to break
My chain.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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a Summer Day
--A SUMMER DAY--
The coolness of a Summer breeze
On the hottest of Summer days
The briskness of a trickling brook
Beneath this steamy haze.
The comfort of a shady tree
With a book propped on my knee.
The whisper of a Father's word
So gently sent to me.
I love this time when none can see
Away from all the world
When you send each breeze to touch my cheek
And my life is now unfurled.
When mysteries that I've kept inside
Can be released to You
And all those worries that I hide
Can be cleansed from me anew.
And now I go back into life
Refreshed by God's own hand.
He has, to me, given new strength
And by His side, I'll ever stand.
Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
Ms. Caroline
poem by Carolyn Ford Witt
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Old Times
Friend of my youth, let us talk of old times;
Of the long lost golden hours.
When "Winter" meant only Christmas chimes,
And "Summer" wreaths of flowers.
Life has grown old, and cold, my friend,
And the winter now, means death.
And summer blossoms speak all too plain
Of the dear, dead forms beneath.
But let us talk of the past to-night;
And live it over again,
We will put the long years out of sight,
And dream we are young as then.
But you must not look at me, my friend,
And I must not look at you,
Or the furrowed brows, and silvered locks,
Will prove our dream untrue.
Let us sing of the summer, too sweet to last,
And yet too sweet to die.
Let us read tales, from the book of the past,
And talk of the days gone by.
We will turn our backs to the West, my friend,
And forget we are growing old.
The skies of the Present are dull, and gray,
But the Past's are blue, and gold.
The sun has passed over the noontide line
And is sinking down the West.
And of friends we knew in days Lang Syne,
Full half have gone to rest.
And the few that are left on earth, my friend
Are scattered far, and wide.
But you and I will talk of the days
Ere any roamed, or died.
Auburn ringlets, and hazel eyes
Blue eyes and tresses of gold.
Winds joy laden, and azure skies,
Belong to those days of old.
We will leave the Present's shores awhile
And float on the Past's smooth sea.
But I must not look at you, my friend,
And you must not look at me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Travel Flowers
When you travel ‘cross the country
You see along the roadways
Bright and cheerful flowers especially
In the warm spring and summer days
I love the beautiful sunflowers
Bold yellow blooms you see
Nodding in the gentle winds
Seem to say “hello” to me
White flowers ‘long side a trail
Roots go deep in red dirt
Stand out just beautifully
As they crop up in little spurts
Old barns off in the distance
In the midst of a field of dry grass
Are dotted with many flowers
Oh, I enjoy them when I pass
When spring time sets in and we have
Warm and gentle spring showers
I love to start my trips to see
Delightful travel flowers!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Summer Melanoma
‘That's nice, ' I said, as Juno bathed me
In her sun.
Soon, a bronze Adonis - ogling girls!
It must be done!
I rolled over; bared a snowy skin
To bake and burn and sear beneath a din
Of ultraviolet rays…
Now I'm on the ward, I count the days to
Lesser pain, torrential rain; accepting
I'm a fool to be so vain!
I bore an awful mole, you see -
A growth, a blighted entity
Presenting as an ugly melanoma!
Oh! how tricky life can be
When unprotected by the sea, to
Sizzle with a barbecue aroma!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
All rights reserved
summer summer summer summer summer
summer summer summer summer summer - what a bummer
summer summer summer summer summer
summer summer summer summer summer - what a bummer
summer summer summer summer summer
summer summer summer summer summer - what a bummer
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Wisdom
Wisdom
What life has taught me
Importance is transitory
Sacrifice vacant
Israel is a postscript
Life is but a summer breeze
Life is meaningless
Happiness is to understand this
Not wait for heaven
False prophets and promises
Life is but a summer breeze
Nonexistence
Has no memory of pasts
Rapids do not sing
Stillness tells not of love
Life is but a summer breeze
poem by Oskar Hansen
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From The Upland To The Sea
Shall we wake one morn of spring,
Glad at heart of everything,
Yet pensive with the thought of eve?
Then the white house shall we leave,
Pass the wind-flowers and the bays,
Through the garth, and go our ways,
Wandering down among the meads
Till our very joyance needs
Rest at last; till we shall come
To that Sun-god’s lonely home,
Lonely on the hill-side grey,
Whence the sheep have gone away;
Lonely till the feast-time is,
When with prayer and praise of bliss,
Thither comes the country side.
There awhile shall we abide,
Sitting low down in the porch
By that image with the torch:
Thy one white hand laid upon
The black pillar that was won
From the far-off Indian mine;
And my hand nigh touching thine,
But not touching; and thy gown
Fair with spring-flowers cast adown
From thy bosom and thy brow.
There the south-west wind shall blow
Through thine hair to reach my cheek,
As thou sittest, nor mayst speak,
Nor mayst move the hand I kiss
For the very depth of bliss;
Nay, nor turn thine eyes to me.
Then desire of the great sea
Nigh enow, but all unheard,
In the hearts of us is stirred,
And we rise, we twain at last,
And the daffodils downcast,
Feel thy feet and we are gone
From the lonely Sun-Crowned one.
Then the meads fade at our back,
And the spring day ’gins to lack
That fresh hope that once it had;
But we twain grow yet more glad,
And apart no more may go
When the grassy slope and low
Dieth in the shingly sand:
Then we wander hand in hand
By the edges of the sea,
And I weary more for thee
Than if far apart we were,
With a space of desert drear
’Twixt thy lips and mine, O love!
Ah, my joy, my joy thereof!
poem by William Morris
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Help Myself
A hungry boy
In a town of one hundred more
The food is out the door
Makes me want to help myself, help my-
A river red
Pouring from the side of his head
A bullet through the brain
Make him feel different today
Oh, colder grow the days
Oh, must faster pass the years by
til we die
A treasure not my own
I take it, tuck it, nobody will notice
Well that suits me well
Big house, big yard, help myself, help myself
You know, every once in a while
To help the helpless comes into style
Mercy, mercy mile
1-800-help-myself, help myself
Oh, colder grow the days
Oh, much fast pass the years by
Oh, colder grow the days
Oh, much faster pass the years by
til we die
Summers here were dancing in the daisies
Summers rain burns holes in the flowers
Dangerous hours
Dangerous hours
Dangerous hours
Every now and then
Tv preachers tell of heaven
Redemption for a penny a soul
1-800- help-yourself, help yourself
Help yourself, oh
Summers here, were swimming in the river
Summer rain, come down, come down, come down, come down yeah
Summers here, were dancing in the daisies
Summer rain burns holes in the flowers
Dangerous hours
Dangerous hours
Dangerous hours
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Compensation
In that new world toward which our feet are set,
Shall we find aught to make our hearts forget
Earth's homely joys and her bright hours of bliss?
Has heaven a spell divine enough for this?
For who the pleasure of the spring shall tell
When on the leafless stalk the brown buds swell,
When the grass brightens and the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song?
O sweet the dropping eve, the blush of morn,
The starlit sky, the rustling fields of corn,
The soft airs blowing from the freshening seas,
The sunflecked shadow of the stately trees,
The mellow thunder and the lulling rain,
The warm, delicious, happy summer rain,
When the grass brightens and the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song!
O beauty manifold, from morn till night,
Dawn's flush, noon's blaze and sunset's tender light!
O fair, familiar features, changes sweet
Of her revolving seasons, storm and sleet
And golden calm, as slow she wheels through space,
From snow to roses, - and how dear her face,
When the grass brightens, when the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song!
O happy earth! O home so well beloved!
What recompense have we, from thee removed?
One hope we have that overtops the whole, -
The hope of finding every vanished soul,
We love and long for daily, and for this
Gladly we turn from thee, and all thy bliss,
Even at thy loveliest, when the days are long,
And little birds break out in rippling song.
poem by Celia Thaxter
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In Snow-Time
How should I chose to walk the world with thee,
Mine own beloved? When green grass is stirred
By summer breezes, and each leafy tree
Shelters the nest of many a singing bird?
In time of roses, when the earth doth lie
Dressed in a garment of midsummer hues,
Beneath a canopy of sapphire sky,
Lulled by a soft wind's song? Or should I choose
To walk with thee along a wintry road,
Through flowerless fields, thick-sown with frosty rime,
Beside an ice-bound stream, whose waters flowed
In voiceless music all the summer-time?
In winter dreariness, or summer glee,
How should I choose to walk the world with thee?
The time of roses is the time of love,
Ah, my dear heart! but winter fires are bright,
And in the lack of sunshine from above
We tend more carefully love's sacred light.
The path among the roses lieth soft,
Sun-kissed and radiant under youthful feet;
But on a wintry way true hands more oft
Do meet and cling in pressure close and sweet.
There is more need of love's supporting arm
Along life's slippery pathway, in its frost;
There is more need for love to wrap us warm
Against life's cold, when summer flowers are lost.
Let others share thy life's glad summer glow,
But let me walk beside thee in its snow.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Lookin' For The Summer
Look deep into the April face
A change has clearly taken place
Looking for the summer
The eyes take on a certain gaze
And leave behind the springtime days
Go looking for the summer
This ain't no game of kiss and tell
The implications how you know so well
Go looking for the summer
The time has come and they must go
To play the passion out that haunts you so
Looking for the summer
Remember love how it was the same
We scratched and hurt each others growing pains
We were looking for the summer
And still I stand this very day
With a burning wish to fly away
I'm still looking
Looking for the summer
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Summer's Ode
~0~
A summer's fallen from the sky, it seems,
with heat a'waving in the sultry breeze.
Though June has fled 'pon wings of time, now gone,
its goodbye echoes through the swaying trees.
And July brings its days of warmth to hold,
with sun a'melting in a sapphire sky.
O'summer's middle-aged by now, alas,
breathing fire upon the days that pass us by.
A gentle turn of earth brings August near,
with fleeting day and ever-ending night.
And July passes through the summer's rain,
its thunder heard within a season's flight.
And so, a summer's aged with sweet remorse,
with days a'dwindling down 'til chill's return.
Yet, September still must sing its last refrain,
'ere summer days of memory swiftly burn.
A summer's fallen from the sky, it seems,
with heat a'wavering as its days grow old.
Though bittersweet the parting soon will be,
goodbye echoes with a promise ~ made of gold.
~0~
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Summer Side Of Life
He came down throught fields of green
On the summer side of life
His love was ripe
There were no illusions
On the summer side of life
Only tenderness
And if you saw him now
Youd wonder why he would cry
The whole day long
There were young girls everywhere
On the summer side of life
The talked all night
To the young men that they knew
On the summer side of life
Goin off to fight
And if you saw them now
Youd wonder why they would cry
The whole day long
He came down through field of green
On the summer side of life
He prayed all night
Then he walked into a house
Where love had been misplaced
His chance to waste
And if you saw him now
Youd wonder why he would cry
The whole day long
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hunter's Vision
Upon a rock that, high and sheer,
Rose from the mountain's breast,
A weary hunter of the deer
Had sat him down to rest,
And bared to the soft summer air
His hot red brow and sweaty hair.
All dim in haze the mountains lay,
With dimmer vales between;
And rivers glimmered on their way,
By forests faintly seen;
While ever rose a murmuring sound,
From brooks below and bees around.
He listened, till he seemed to hear
A strain, so soft and low,
That whether in the mind or ear
The listener scarce might know.
With such a tone, so sweet and mild,
The watching mother lulls her child.
'Thou weary huntsman,' thus it said,
'Thou faint with toil and heat,
The pleasant land of rest is spread
Before thy very feet,
And those whom thou wouldst gladly see
Are waiting there to welcome thee.'
He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky
Amid the noontide haze,
A shadowy region met his eye,
And grew beneath his gaze,
As if the vapours of the air
Had gathered into shapes so fair.
Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers
Showed bright on rocky bank,
And fountains welled beneath the bowers,
Where deer and pheasant drank.
He saw the glittering streams, he heard
The rustling bough and twittering bird.
And friends--the dead--in boyhood dear,
There lived and walked again,
And there was one who many a year
Within her grave had lain,
A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride--
His heart was breaking when she died:
Bounding, as was her wont, she came
Right towards his resting-place,
And stretched her hand and called his name
With that sweet smiling face.
Forward with fixed and eager eyes,
The hunter leaned in act to rise:
Forward he leaned, and headlong down
Plunged from that craggy wall;
He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown,
An instant, in his fall;
A frightful instant--and no more,
The dream and life at once were o'er.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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