Sorrow
I see you in darkness, moping alone,
Hopelessly groping at shadow and bone,
And weeping in vain at the pain and the waste,
Remembering when life was cheerful and chaste!
How weary the wind is! How lonesome the trees!
How feeble the flowers that bow in the breeze!
How Happiness mocks you from up on high,
Crowned with Delight while you tremble and cry!
O beautiful Sorrow who bellows and wails,
Sailing through sunlight on truculent trails,
You come from the distance that echoes and shakes
With the rumble of thunder and the tide as it breaks!
Go Sorrow! Return to your faraway lands,
To the cold, empty tundras and the gold desert sands,
And store your poor dreams in those scenes of decay,
For you long to say more, though, there's no more to say.
poem by Joshua Dinkin
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Related quotes
Lonesome. Lonesome. I know what it means. Here all by my lonesome, dreaming empty dreams. Weary. Weary at the close of day, wondering if tomorrow brings me joy or sorrow.
quote by Leon Redbone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 144 part 2
v.3-6
C. M.
The vanity of man and condescension of God.
Lord, what is man, poor feeble man,
Born of the earth at first?
His life a shadow, light and vain,
Still hasting to the dust.
O what is feeble, dying man,
Or any of his race,
That God should make it his concern
To visit him with grace?
That God who darts his lightnings down,
Who shakes the worlds above,
And mountains tremble at his frown,
How wondrous is his love!
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Joy of Incompleteness
If all our life were one broad glare
Of sunlight, clear, unclouded;
If all our path were smooth and fair,
By no soft gloom enshrouded;
If all life's flowers were fully blown
Without the sweet unfolding,
And happiness were rudely thrown
On hands too weak for holding--
Should we not miss the twilight hours,
The gentle haze and sadness?
Should we not long for storms and showers
To break the constant gladness?
If none were sick and none were sad,
What service could we render?
I think if we were always glad,
We scarcely could be tender.
Did our beloved never need
Our patient ministration,
Earth would grow cold and miss indeed
Its sweetest consolation;
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
And every wish were granted,
Patience would die, and hope depart--
Life would be disenchanted.
And yet in heaven is no more night,
In heaven is no more sorrow!
Such unimagined new delight
Fresh grace from pain will borrow.
As the poor seed that underground
Seeks its true life above it,
Not knowing what will there be found
When sunbeams kiss and love it,
So we in darkness upward grow,
And look and long for heaven,
But cannot picture it below
Till more of light be given.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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High Lonesome
High in a tree on the top of the hill
By the light of the lonesome ol moon
I hear the call of a lone whipporwill
Singing his mournful tune.
Way off in the night blows the long freight train
With a roar and a ramble of wheels
My poor heart is breaking with every refrain
Cause it sounds just like the way I feel.
And it's high lonesome
High lonesome, heartbroken and blue
High lonesome
Lil darling, I'm lonesome for you.
--- Instrumental ---
Do you ever get weary roamin around
Do you think of the sweet love we knew
Do you ever get lonesome the way I am now
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you.
And it's high lonesome
High lonesome heartbroken and blue
Its a high lonesome
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you.
It's high lonesome
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song II: Have No Thought for Tomorrow
Love is enough: have no thought for to-morrow
If ye lie down this even in rest from your pain,
Ye who have paid for your bliss with great sorrow:
For as it was once so it shall be again.
Ye shall cry out for death as ye stretch forth in vain
Feeble hands to the hands that would help but they may not,
Cry out to deaf ears that would hear if they could;
Till again shall the change come, and words your lips say not
Your hearts make all plain in the best wise they would
And the world ye thought waning is glorious and good:
And no morning now mocks you and no nightfall is weary,
The plains are not empty of song and of deed:
The sea strayeth not, nor the mountains are dreary;
The wind is not helpless for any man's need,
Nor falleth the rain but for thistle and weed.
O surely this morning all sorrow is hidden,
All battle is hushed for this even at least;
And no one this noontide may hunger, unbidden
To the flowers and the singing and the joy of your feast
Where silent ye sit midst the world's tale increased.
Lo, the lovers unloved that draw nigh for your blessing!
For your tale makes the dreaming whereby yet they live
The dreams of the day with their hopes of redressing,
The dreams of the night with the kisses they give,
The dreams of the dawn wherein death and hope strive.
Ah, what shall we say then, but that earth threatened often
Shall live on for ever that such things may be,
That the dry seed shall quicken, the hard earth shall soften,
And the spring-bearing birds flutter north o'er the sea,
That earth's garden may bloom round my love's feet and me?
poem by William Morris
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Untitled 4
Mother! Darling mother, you are seeking me I know,
And I feel thy love will follow through the world where'er I go;
But I cannot come, dear mother; I am sadly altered now:
The once fair wreath of innocence that garlanded my brow
Has faded ne'er to bloom again; and from the things of yore-
The fair, the good, the beautiful - I'm severed ever-more.
My onward way must be a path of darkness and of pain,
But I must tread it all alone - I cannot come again.
Of all the changes that have come, I know that this will be,
Where all the changes have been sad, the saddest change to thee.
I know how much thou'lt weep, mother, for thy dear boy so lost,
And 'tis the sorrow thou must feel that makes me sorrow most.
I strove against this darker fate, I struggled, mother, long.
I starved and suffered months, mother, ere I was linked to wrong:
And even now good angels plead to win me - but in vain!
Once fallen is forever lost - I cannot come again.
I'm severed from thee by my sin, but cannot say 'forget,'
Thy love is such a hollowed thing, I ask it even yet;
But let it be a memory that images all fair
The child that with uplifted hands in faith knelt by thy chair.
Think of me, mother, as I was, when joy lit up my brow
And my young heart was innocent, but not as I am now.
Pray for me. This I know thou'lt do; but seek me not, 'tis vain!
I'd throw a shadow on thy home - I cannot come again.
They say that in desert drear some greenness may be found,
Some oasis in contrast strange to all the waste around,
And even thus, within my heart, guilt darkened though it be,
There is a love all-beautiful, that lives and clings to thee.
I'm weeping very bitterly, I cannot help these tears,
They are the tribute memory pays to joys of fleeted years,
Goodbye! God bless thee, mother dear! I sorrow for thy pain.
Oh! If I were but innocent, I'd gladly come again.
poem by Owen Suffolk
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Beautiful Life, Beautiful!
Beautiful is life, beautiful,
So beautiful it will be,
With beloved share smile and laugh
When the one share his own,
Seeing and feeling not alone,
Not only sharing sorrow and happiness,
Everything they feel and think,
But also sharing everything they eat and drink!
Sharing the same cloth,
Sharing all weight and burden,
Sharing the same umbrella,
In hot Sun and rain!
Sharing the weight of bag and luggage,
Smiling together like kids of tender age!
Beautiful is life, beautiful,
When both stay together,
Lay together on Same cot,
Drink from same pot,
same room if they share,
Same eyes to look at things,
Same ears to listen to music,
Same taste in all and Everything,
Beautiful life, beautiful,
How beautiful mind is,
When heart sees
sweet heart,
we feel our beloved share
Everything with,
pain and sorrow,
But not the pain of heart,
as we are so feeble that,
we can't share his grief and sorrow
One day we will be with him and share his burden with ever lasting smile!
Beautiful life, beautiful will be,
Beautiful days will be
when I grow up to share his pain!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Distance Between Us
the distance between us
is a beautiful landmark of
mutual respect
when i sit alone savoring
the essence of my silence
you be the moon
when you speak your sorrow
to the sea
i shall be the beautiful corals
underneath
there is beauty in the wilderness
of our existence
i am the desert and you shall be
the wind
in the extreme heat of my sands
you shall be the
purple flower at dawn
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Shall Not Forget
I shall not forget you. The years may be tender,
But vain are their efforts to soften my smart;
And the strong hands of Time are too feeble and slender
To garland the grave that is made in my heart.
Your image is ever about me, before me,
Your voice floats abroad on the voice of the wind;
And the spell of your presence, in absence, is o'er me,
And the dead of the past, in the present I find.
I cannot forget you. The one boon ungiven,
The boon of your love, is the cross that I bear.
In the midnight of sorrow I vainly have striven
To crush in my heart the sweet image hid there;
To banish the beautiful dreams that are thronging
The halls of my memory, dreams worse than vain;
For the one drop withheld, I am thirsting and longing,
For the one joy denied, I am weeping in pain.
I would not forget you. I live to remember
The beautiful hopes that bloomed but to decay,
And brighter than June glows the bleakest December,
When peopled with ghosts of the dreams passed away.
Once loving you truly, I love you forever;
I mourn not in weak, idle grief for the past;
But the love in my bosom can never, oh never
Pass out, or another pass in, first or last.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Alibama
Proud in the morning sun
Day has just begun
Shes a queen riding on the waves
So many miles away
Sailing many a day
Brave in dark storms and hurricanes
Bringing something for everyone
From far-off lands underneath the sun
Here comes the alibama, the alibama from over the sea
Here comes the alibama, sailing homewards to you and to me
The alibama, the alibama, the alibama from over the sea
The alibama, the alibama, the alibama from over the sea
Here comes the alibama-ma
Here comes the alibama-ma
Here comes the alibama-ma
Here comes the alibama-ma
Sailing the seven seas
Like a bird on the breeze
Oh how she travelled far and wide
Now she is nearly at home
Not much longer alone
Coming back on the morning tide
Unreleased:
Bring us home, wind up high in the mast
Keep us safe, hold her steady and fast
(unreleased verse:) and the people at home
Have been waiting so long
Through the tears and the pain
cause theyre sailing home again
Bringing something for everyone
From far-off lands underneath the sun
Here comes the alibama, the alibama from over the sea
Here comes the alibama, sailing homewards to you and to me
The alibama, the alibama, the alibama from over the sea
The alibama, the alibama, the alibama from over the sea
The alibama, the alibama, the alibama from over the sea
The alibama, the alibama...
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God, I Am Weary
tired...
and frustrated,
walking through
endless sands...
no path ahead,
and the wind removes
all traces behind.
god, i am weary...
this body is worn,
these eyes fade.
and the songs i sing
in the desert night,
haunt the distance with sadness.
Lover, where are you?
i've forgotten your face!
even the smell of your perfume,
fades in the darkness.
the trees are weeping,
even the moon sheds a tear.
as the small fire i built
fades down to embers!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Joy and Sorrow chapter VIII
Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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A Sweet Comparison Between Flowers And Us
Flowers blossom in the sunlight,
As we all need sunlight to blossom
too.
Flowers love a good shower of
cool and refreshing water,
Like we all need a refreshing
shower too.
Flowers are cheerful when music
plays that beautiful song,
In the same way that favorite
song cheers us up.
The breeze of the wind gives us
that breath of life,
Flowers are filled with the
breath of life,
That the breeze provides.
Delicate flowers lose their petals
in need of nourishment,
Just like we lose a strand of hair
that needs to be nourished to grow
back again.
A good night's sleep help us to feel
refreshed,
Flowers need a good night's sleep
to feel refreshed and to blossom
beautifully.
A sweet comparison between flowers
and us,
Knowing how we are very much alike,
It makes a beautiful story.
poem by Derek James
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I Saw God Today.... For My Pal Smoky
I saw God today, on a mountain high,
As the wind blew through my hair.
I saw God today in the clear blue sky,
I felt small and humble there.
I saw God today, in the desert sands,
As the Joshua Trees reached for the sky.
I saw God today in the arid sands,
And heard the coyotes mournful cries.
I saw God today in the desert sun,
And in the desert willow bells.
I saw God today, just one on one,
In beautiful stones and ancient sea shells.
I saw God today and he saw me,
I could reach out and touch his face.
I saw God in that vast dry sea,
And now my soul is full of grace.
I saw God today, in the great Southwest,
God saw my heart, and I saw his.
I can't still the thunder in my chest,
You see, that's where heaven is.
4/4/12 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Written on a Summer Evening
this melancholy dusk
as the rain falls into night
ever so softly
the breath of a dying woman
this bonechilling wind
trails the air
the darkened roofs
of the malay houses
add a solemnness to the place
filled with flowers
fruit trees, wild trees
a koranic verse is heard
and another cool breeze blows
the leaves rustle
the way a man shivers
big leaves, small leaves
twirl in succession
a twist dance
so cold the night
the old woman
sick bedridden woman
so long she feels she has been ill
a feeble mind
that could not make out
dawn from dusk
the old woman
her sigh
soft as the wind
bids her quiet farewell
around her grandchildren run
impervious to her pain
the leaves rustle again
the children's cry
divides her and the world
so long ago when she was a child herself
all seems a game, a film
heartfelt images of her own life
run through her mind
long lost husband, children, grandchildren
the breeze blows again
she feels its coldness
and slowly, slowly, surely
she feels herself inching
away from the alien surroundings
slowly and slowly
death to her has become something
to be embraced
she takes another weak look at the children
rewritten from:
this melancholy evening
as the rain falls into night
ever so softly
the breath of a dying woman
and as it stops
this bonechilling wind
trails the air
the darkened roofs of malay houses
add a solemn atmosphere to the place
filled with trees, fruit trees, garden trees and wild trees
a koranic verse is heard
and another cool breeze blows
a trail of ruslte
the trees waves, big leaves, small leaves
so cold the night
an old woman
old sick bedridden woman
so long she feels she has been ill
a feeble mind trailing the world
the old woman
bids farewell to the world
her sigh
soft as the wind
a solemness pervades her room
as grandchildren run around
impervious to her pain
the leaves rustle again
the children's cry
divides her and the world
so long ago when she was a child herself
all seems like a game, a film now
the breeze blows
she feels its coldness
and slowly, slowly, surely
she feels herself inching
away from the alien surroundings
slowly and slowly
death to her has become something
to be embraced
she takes another weak look at the children
inspired by
Written on a Summer Evening
Written on a Summer Evening
The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crowned.
Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,
A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
That they are dying like an outburnt lamp, -
That 'tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go
Into oblivion -that fresh flowers will grow,
And many glories of immortal stamp.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Elysium
Past the despairing wail--
And the bright banquets of the Elysian vale
Melt every care away!
Delight, that breathes and moves forever,
Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river!
Elysian life survey!
There, fresh with youth, o'er jocund meads,
His merry west-winds blithely leads
The ever-blooming May!
Through gold-woven dreams goes the dance of the hours,
In space without bounds swell the soul and its powers,
And truth, with no veil, gives her face to the day.
And joy to-day and joy to-morrow,
But wafts the airy soul aloft;
The very name is lost to sorrow,
And pain is rapture tuned more exquisitely soft.
Here the pilgrim reposes the world-weary limb,
And forgets in the shadow, cool-breathing and dim,
The load he shall bear never more;
Here the mower, his sickle at rest, by the streams,
Lulled with harp-strings, reviews, in the calm of his dreams,
The fields, when the harvest is o'er.
Here, he, whose ears drank in the battle roar,
Whose banners streamed upon the startled wind
A thunder-storm,--before whose thunder tread
The mountains trembled,--in soft sleep reclined,
By the sweet brook that o'er its pebbly bed
In silver plays, and murmurs to the shore,
Hears the stern clangor of wild spears no more!
Here the true spouse the lost-beloved regains,
And on the enamelled couch of summer-plains
Mingles sweet kisses with the zephyr's breath.
Here, crowned at last, love never knows decay,
Living through ages its one bridal day,
Safe from the stroke of death!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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What is beautiful?
The breeze
That comes after a cyclone is beautiful;
The calmness
That comes after furious anger is beautiful;
The quietness
That comes after ferocity is beautiful;
The happiness
That comes after sorrow is beautiful;
The light
That comes after darkness is beautiful;
The victory
That comes after a defeat is beautiful;
The union
That comes after separation is beautiful;
The poem
That comes after your imagination and intuition
Is still very beautiful!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Long Years Have Past Since Last I Stood
LONG years have past since last I stood
Alone amid this mountain scene,
Unlike the future which I dreamed,
How like my future it has been!
A cold grey sky o'erhung with clouds,
With showers in every passing shade,
How like the moral atmosphere
Whose gloom my horoscope has made!
I thought if yet my weary feet
Could rove my native hills again,
A world of feeling would revive,
Sweet feelings wasted, worn in vain.
My early hopes, my early joys,
I dreamed those valleys would restore;
I asked for childhood to return,
For childhood, which returns no more.
Surely the scene itself is changed!
There did not always rest as now
That shadow in the valley's depth,
That gloom upon the mountain-brow.
Wild flowers within the chasms dwelt
Like treasures in stone fairy hold,
And morning o'er the mountains shed
Her kindling world of vapoury gold.
Another season of the year
Is now upon the earth and me;
Another spring will light these hills—
No other spring mine own may be:
I must retune my unstrung harp,
I must awake the sleeping tomb,
I must recall the loved and lost,
Ere spring again for me could bloom.
I've wandered, but it was in vain,
In many a far and foreign clime,
Absence is not forgetfulness,
And distance cannot vanquish time.
One face was ever in my sight,
One voice was ever on my ear,
From all earth's loveliness I turned
To wish, Ah that the dead were here!
Oh! weary wandering to no home,
Oh! weary wandering alone,
I turned to childhood's once glad scenes
And found life's last illusion flown.
Ah! those who left their childhood's scenes
For after-years of toil and pain,
Who but bring back the breaking heart
Should never seek those scenes again.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Your World
How can you lose your world, as the world is you yourself?
Why you lose your dreams
If they are so beautiful?
Why the tears fall down from your eyes
And disappear in the ground?
Why your heart breaks
If its beats represent life?
But how can you lose your world, as the world is you yourself?
Then why you lose your world
If love is your world?
Why your eyes full with tears
If your eyes are so beautiful?
Why sorrow comes
After every happiness?
And how can you lose your world, as the world is you yourself?
As life is nothing but ups and downs
You feel pain and cry,
And you forget everything with the time.
If you do not gain anything, you do not lose anything too.
So, how can you lose your world, as the world is you yourself?
Oh it’s nothing but life!
No one can become your world
You yourself is the whole world for you.
So, how can you lose your world, as the world is you yourself?
Tears trickle down your cheeks like droplets of rain,
And after every sorrow happiness comes
And after every sunset there is a sunrise
So, how can you lose the world, as the world is you yourself?
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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