Tornfallet
There is a meadow in Sweden
where I lie smitten,
eyes stained with clouds'
white ins and outs.
And about that meadow
roams my widow
plaiting a clover
wreath for her lover.
I took her in marriage
in a granite parish.
The snow lent her whiteness,
a pine was a witness.
She'd swim in the oval
lake whose opal
mirror, framed by bracken,
felt happy, broken.
And at night the stubborn
sun of her auburn
hair shone from my pillow
at post and pillar.
Now in the distance
I hear her descant.
She sings "Blue Swallow,"
but I can't follow.
The evening shadow
robs the meadow
of width and color.
It's getting colder.
As I lie dying
here, I'm eyeing
stars. Here's Venus;
no one between us.
poem by Joseph Brodsky
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Related quotes
Törnfallet
There is a meadow in Sweden
where I lie smitten,
eyes stained with clouds'
white ins and outs.
And about that meadow
roams my widow
plaiting a clover
wreath for her lover.
I took her in marriage
in a granite parish.
The snow lent her whiteness,
a pine was a witness.
She'd swim in the oval
lake whose opal
mirror, framed by bracken,
felt happy broken.
And at night the stubborn
sun of her auburn
hair shone from my pillow
at post and pillar.
Now in the distance
I hear her descant. She sings "Blue Swallow,"
but I can't follow.
The evening shadow
robs the meadow
of width and color.
It's getting colder.
As I lie dying
here, I'm eyeing
stars.Here's Venus;
no one between us.
poem by Joseph Brodsky
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Danny Boy
The valley is hushed
The flowers are all dying
The meadow is white with the winter snow
Lord as I stand at the place where daddies lying
I say a silent prayer and somehow I know
He hears me there, though soft I tread above him
So now he sleeps in peace
His danny boys come home
................. the pipes the pipe are calling
From glen to glen and down the moutainside
The summers gone and all the leaves are falling
Its you, its you must go and I must bide
O come ye back when the sun shines on the meadow
Or when the valleys hushed and white with snow
For Ill be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh danny boy, oh danny boy I love you so
I close my eyes and still I can see
Him standing there on the hill
Tears filled his eyes as he waved goodbye to me
I cant forget, I guess I never will
He said, the valley is hushed
The flowers are all dying
The meadow is white with the winter snow
Come find the place
Where you know that Ill be lying
Say a silent prayer
So Ill know
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Across the Meadow
Across the meadow
Across the sea
Their life is brighter
Their life you should see
Across the meadow
Across the sea
Their leader so sagacious
To there, why don't we flee?
Across the meadow
Across the sea
Life is greener on the other side
Same goes for the village
Across the meadow and across the sea
Close your eyes, and then you will see
poem by Solomon Crane
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Venevil
Fair Venevil hastened with tripping feet
Her lover to meet.
He sang, so it rang o'er the church far away:
"Good-day! Good-day!"
And all the little birds sang right merrily their lay:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath of the flowers blue:
"My eyes for you!"
He tossed it and caught it and to her did bend:
"Good-by, my friend!"
And loudly he exulted at the field's far distant end:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath: "Do at all you care
For my golden hair?"
She twined one, and gave in life's hour so rare
Her red lips' pair;
He took them and he pressed them, and he blushed as she did there.
She twined one all white as a lily-band:
"'T is my right hand."
She twined one blood-red, with her love in each strand:
"'T is my left hand."
He took them both and kept them both, but would not understand.
She twined of the flowers that bloomed around
"Every one I found!"
She gathered and twined, while tears would her eyes fill:
"Take them you will!"
In silence then he took them, but to flight he turned him still.
She twined one so large, of discordant hue:
"My bride's-wreath true!"
She twined it and twined, till her fingers were sore:
"Crown me, I implore!"
But when she turned, he was not there, she never saw him more.
She twined yet undaunted without a stay
At her bride's-array.
But now it was long past the Midsummer Day,
All the flowers away:
She twined it of the flowers, though they all were now away!
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Could I but ride indefinite
661
Could I but ride indefinite
As doth the Meadow Bee
And visit only where I liked
And No one visit me
And flirt all Day with Buttercups
And marry whom I may
And dwell a little everywhere
Or better, run away
With no Police to follow
Or chase Him if He do
Till He should jump Peninsulas
To get away from me—
I said "But just to be a Bee"
Upon a Raft of Air
And row in Nowhere all Day long
And anchor "off the Bar"
What Liberty! So Captives deem
Who tight in Dungeons are.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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In The Meadow
I asked the silver one on one
Tell me who I am
Lines on your finger says
You wouldnt understand
I asked the silver one on one
Tell me whats the score
Lies on your picture says
You wouldnt need much more
In the meadow
I asked oblivion just for fun
Tell me what to say
Climb up the mountain boy
And look the other way
I asked a million questions
Of the world I want to be
And the signs I remember
Whos the one they got to me
In the meadow,
Looking for life in the world
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
We asked a wonder one on one
Please tell me what to be
Call down the miracles
And save yourself for me
We asked a river one on one
Please tell me what you see
I see forever
And it looks like you and me
In the meadow
Looking for life in the world
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
Looking for life in the world
In the meadow
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
In the meadow
Looking for life
In the meadow
Feeling so fine
In the meadow
Seeming so high
Life might be listening
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0010 A day, a meadow, a miracle
This is the meadow.
It slopes from bright South
down to the West and North
from the primroses in the southern hedge
down through the violets, sometimes white,
in the western hedge tipping down
to the rabbit warren and
down to the wild garlic
in perpetual shadow in the northern ditch
shouting among the nettles
this is where, each morning in May,
the world is made anew;
there are more wild flowers in this meadow
than you’ll ever see together –
cowslips, oxslips, pink mayflowers,
wild orchids, red scabious,
yellow celandines, clover, cuckoo-pint...
and as the sun curves slowly round,
and the shadow moves aside,
the flowers, saturated with the morning dew,
shine each with a crystal drop
and it’s not until you step among them
and a small cloud of moths and butterflies rise up,
that you see the meadow is so full of life,
sipping its daily bread of dew
and in an hour or so, pollen, honey;
every day this meadow
invites, invents anew
words fresh as dew –
joy, constancy, innocence,
love, freedom, rest,
wonder, praise, and gratitude –
if every day this miracle,
what of tomorrow
and the heart?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Under the Pines
"LIFE is sad," says the wind in the pines
To the still soul listening,
While the pale, pale day declines
Like a white bird on the wing.
"Life is sad," says the quiet earth
5
Under the churchyard wall,
Where the spring flowers have their birth
And the autumn leaflets fall.
"Life is sad," say the daisies that blow there
And stretch out their heads to the sun;
10
"Life is sad," say the poor hearts that go there
To weep when the day's work is done.
"Life is sad," from below, from on high,
From forest and meadow and tree,
From the clouds that drift over the sky
15
And the days that die into the sea.
Then up and be brave with thy sorrow,
Like a man with his face to the blast;
Not from hope of the joys of to-morrow,
Nor rest when the warfare is past;
20
But strong that weak souls may grow strong,
That men may take heart by the way,
Till the heavens break forth with the song
That will herald eternal day.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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When Someone Says: "Alexandria"
When someone says: "Alexandria,"
I see the white walls of a house,
a small garden row of gillyflowers,
an autumn evening's pale sunlight
and hear the music of distant flutes.
When someone says: "Alexandria,"
I see stars above the hushed city,
drunken sailors in dark quarters,
a dancing girl performing the "wasp,"
and hear tambourines and the noise of fights.
When someone says "Alexandria,"
I see a pale purple sunset above the green sea,
the flickering of furry stars
and the light grey eyes beneath thick brows
that I see even when
no one says: "Alexandria!"
poem by Mikhail Alekseevich Kuzmin
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Danny Boy
(Traditionallyrics by Fred E. Weatherly)
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come you back when summer's in the meadow
Or all the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
But when you come, when all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
Then if you bend and tell me that you love me
I'll sleep in peace until you come to me
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or all the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come Into the Garde, Maud
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune:
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.
I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lordlover, what sighs are those
For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,
"For ever and ever, mine."
And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;
From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewelprint of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.
The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Oldest Song
For before Eve was Lilith. -- Old Tale.
"These were never your true love's eyes.
Why do you feign that you love them?
You that broke from their constancies,
And the wide calm brows above them!
This was never your true love's speech.
Why do you thrill when you hear it?
You that have ridden out of its reach
The width of the world or near it!
This was never your true love's hair, --
You that chafed when it bound you
Screened from knowledge or shame or care,
In the night that it made around you!"
"All these things I know, I know.
And that's why my heart is breaking!"
"Then what do you gain by pretending so?"
"The joy of an old wound waking."
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Spring
(After Rilke)
Spring has returned! Everything has returned!
The earth, just like a schoolgirl, memorizes
Poems, so many poems. ... Look, she has learned
So many famous poems, she has earned so many prizes!
Teacher was strict. We delighted in the white
Of the old man's beard, bright like the snow's:
Now we may ask which names are wrong, or right
For "blue," for "apple," for "ripe." She knows, she knows!
Lucky earth, let out of school, now you must play
Hide-and-seek with all the children every day:
You must hide that we may seek you: we will! We will!
The happiest child will hold you. She knows all the things
You taught her: the word for "hope," and for "believe,"
Are still upon her tongue. She sings and sings and sings.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Night-Scented Stock
White, white in the milky night
The moon danced over a tree.
"Wouldn't it be lovely to swim in the lake!"
Someone whispered to me.
"Oh, do-do-do!" cooed someone else,
And clasped her hands to her chin.
"I should so love to see the white bodies--
All the white bodies jump in!"
The big dark house hid secretly
Behind the magnolia and the spreading pear-tree;
But there was a sound of music--music rippled and ran
Like a lady laughing behind her fan,
Laughing and mocking and running away...
"Come into the garden--it's as light as day!"
"I can't dance to that Hungarian stuff,
The rhythm in it is not passionate enough,"
Said somebody. "I absolutely refuse...."
But he took off his socks and his shoes
And round he spun. "It's like Hungarian fruit dishes
Hard and bright--a mechanical blue!"
His white feet flicked in the grass like fishes...
Someone cried: "I want to dance, too!"
But one with a queer Russian ballet head
Curled up on a blue wooden bench instead.
And another, shadowy--shadowy and tall--
Walked in the shadow of the dark house wall,
Someone beside her. It shone in the gloom,
His round grey hat, like a wet mushroom.
"Don't you think perhaps..." piped someone's flute.
"How sweet the flowers smell!" I heard the other say.
Somebody picked a wet, wet pink,
Smelled it and threw it away.
"Is the moon a virgin or is she a harlot?"
Asked somebody. Nobody would tell.
The faces and the hands moved in a pattern
As the music rose and fell,
In a dancing, mysterious, moon-bright pattern
Like flowers nodding under the sea...
The music stopped and there was nothing left of them
But the moon dancing over the tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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I Am The Dawn
Sun splashed drops of sugar candy
White gold flicks of molten light
A horizon boysenberry stained
Quick to come and fast to leave
Oh fickle is the dawn
I am this ever-changing dawn
Sweet and pleasing; a lovers candy
Yet men forget how quick I leave
Fleeting as those pale beams of morning moon light
"Come and stare, " they say " at this rising sun."
They yearn a kiss of my passion red lips stained
I am the harlot you see at night, shadow stained
Most who see me don't believe I am a child of the dawn
But as my grandmother would always say all women are part sun
She knew what I couldn't see, that I was sunlit orange candy
That even those who lives are lived in midnight darkness, must have star light
She told me that some lights never leave
To watch, dream and wish and my sun would never leave
But fickle and young I became stained
I forgot what I could be with light
I never watched the rising dawn
Dreamed of clouds of soft spun candy
Or wished of flying in the warming sun
I spent my thoughts in corners hidden from beams of sun
"I bid you leave me" I would yell, "Leave! "
Then in my night a man came to me with a gift of sunlit orange candy
A man so young, I called him boy, his cheeks becoming sunrise red stained
It was like he hadn't noticed I was living night, he called me dawn
No man had ever reminded me of my light
"I am a shadow! " And he would protest, "Even shadows need light"
""But I am wicked", "Yes", he would say, "So is the sun"
"But I am fickle", "Ah and so is the dawn"
"Stop! " he shouts "enough I will not leave"
I know you think you are darkened and stained
But to me you are filled of sunlit orange candy
So glow my dawn, your love filled light
You are my toot-sweet candy, my bright and burning sun
I am your light that shall not leave; your sunrise whirl has me stained
poem by Natalie Linda Harrison
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If this is "fading"
120
If this is "fading"
Oh let me immediately "fade"!
If this is "dying"
Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
If this is "sleep,"
On such a night
How proud to shut the eye!
Good Evening, gentle Fellow men!
Peacock presumes to die!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Egg-Shell
The wind took off with the sunset--
The fog came up with the tide,
When the Witch of the North took an Egg-shell
With a little Blue Devil inside.
"Sink," she said, "or swim," she said,
"It's all you will get from me.
And that is the finish of him!" she said
And the Egg-shell went to sea.
The wind fell dead with the midnight--
The fog shut down like a sheet,
When the Witch of the North heard the Egg-shell
Feeling by hand for a fleet.
"Get!" she said, "or you're gone," she said.,
But the little Blue Devil said "No!
"The sights are just coming on," he said,
And he let the Whitehead go.
The wind got up with the morning--
The fog blew off with the rain,
When the Witch of the North saw the Egg-shell
And the little Blue Devil again.
"Did you swim?" she said. "Did you sink?" she said,
And the little Blue Devil replied:
"For myself I swam, but I think," he said,
"There's somebody sinking outside."
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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In The Meadow - What In The Meadow?
In the meadow - what in the meadow?
Bluebells, buttercups, meadowsweet,
And fairy rings for the children's feet
In the meadow.
In the garden - what in the garden?
Jacob's-ladder and Solomon's-seal,
And Love-lies-bleeding beside All-heal
In the garden.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Boys
Where are they?--the friends of my childhood enchanted--
The clear, laughing eyes looking back in my own,
And the warm, chubby fingers my palms have so wanted,
As when we raced over
Pink pastures of clover,
And mocked the quail's whir and the bumblebee's drone?
Have the breezes of time blown their blossomy faces
Forever adrift down the years that are flown?
Am I never to see them romp back to their places,
Where over the meadow,
In sunshine and shadow,
The meadow-larks trill, and the bumblebees drone?
Where are they? Ah! dim in the dust lies the clover;
The whippoorwill's call has a sorrowful tone,
And the dove's--I have wept at it over and over;--
I want the glad luster
Of youth, and the cluster
Of faces asleep where the bumblebees drone!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Samuel Sewall
Samuel Sewall, in a world of wigs,
Flouted opinion in his personal hair;
For foppery he gave not any figs,
But in his right and honor took the air.
Thus in his naked style, though well attired,
He went forth in the city, or paid court
To Madam Winthrop, whom he much admired,
Most godly, but yet liberal with the port.
And all the town admired for two full years
His excellent address, his gifts of fruit,
Her gracious ways and delicate white ears,
And held the course of nature abolute.
But yet she bade him suffer a peruke,
"That One be not distinguished from the All";
Delivered of herself this stern rebuke
Framed in the resonant language of St. Paul.
"Madam," he answered her, "I have a Friend
Furnishes me with hair out of His strength,
And He requires only I attend
Unto His charity and to its length."
And all the town was witness to his trust:
On Monday he walked out with the Widow Gibbs,
A pious lady of charm and notable bust,
Whose heart beat tolerably beneath her ribs.
On Saturday he wrote proposing marriage,
And closed, imploring that she be not cruel,
"Your favorable answer will oblige,
Madam, your humble servant, Samuel Sewall."
poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
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