NIght And Morning
THE night was loud with tumult; trees were torn
Sheer from their roots by the delirious wind;
In some waste dreamland wandered all forlorn
A smitten soul, bewildered, broken, blind.
The mists had lifted; evanescent gleams
Of tender emerald lighted every leaf,
While from a casement smiled, escaped from dreams,
A quiet face made exquisite by grief.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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There Is a Solemn Wind Tonight
There is a solemn wind to-night
That sings of solemn rain;
The trees that have been quiet so long
Flutter and start again.
The slender trees, the heavy trees,
The fruit trees laden and proud,
Lift up their branches to the wind
That cries to them so loud.
The little bushes and the plants
Bow to the solemn sound,
And every tiniest blade of grass
Shakes on the quiet ground.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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The Evening of the Year
Wan mists enwrap the still-born day;
The harebell withers on the heath;
And all the moorland seems to breathe
The hectic beauty of decay.
Within the open grave of May
Dishevelled trees drop wreath on wreath;
Wind-wrung and ravelled underneath
Waste leaves choke up the woodland way.
The grief of many partings near
Wails like an echo in the wind:
The days of love lie far behind,
The days of loss lie shuddering near.
Life's morning-glory who shall bind?
It is the evening of the year.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Dreams Dreams Dreams
I dream of you, dreaming of me
In thy imagination, lovely and free
Astray on a unimaginable path
Where me and you are all we hath
Dreaming of dreams that should be
The mind of you to bind with me
In my dreams its thou I see
I see thou with my harmony
Dreams, Dreams, Dreams
Gleams, Gleams, Gleams
Gleams of you and gleams of me
In dreams of you in dreams of me
The gleams that hope
The gleams that elope
You to me and me to you
In dreams, dreams come true!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The Pool
COME with me, follow me, swift as a moth,
Ere the wood-doves waken.
Lift the long leaves and look down, look down
Where the light is shaken,
Amber and brown,
On the woven ivory roots of the reed,
On a floating flower and a weft of weed
And a feather of froth.
Here in the night all wonders are,
Lapped in the lift of the ripple's swing,–
A silver shell and a shaken star,
And a white moth's wing.
Here the young moon when the mists unclose
Swims like the bud of a golden rose.
I would live like an elf where the wild grapes cling,
I would chase the thrush
From the red rose-berries.
All the day long I would laugh and swing
With the black choke-cherries.
I would shake the bees from the milkweed blooms,
And cool, O cool,
Night after night I would leap in the pool,
And sleep with the fish in the roots of the rush.
Clear, O clear my dreams should be made
Of emerald light and amber shade,
Of silver shallows and golden glooms.
Sweet, O sweet my dreams should be
As the dark, sweet water enfolding me
Safe as a blind shell under the sea.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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A Light In The Window
Rain and wind and candlelight
And let us pray a prayer to-night:
For every soul, since life is brief,
Little of trouble and less of grief.
And set a light at the windowpane,
To guide Love home through the night and rain.
Rain and wind and candlelight
And what shall we pray again to-night?
For every life, whose way is dim,
The grace of God and trust in Him.
A word, a song, till the tears be dried,
And Faith and Hope sit down beside.
Rain and wind and candlelight
And one last prayer to pray to-night:
For every heart in the dark and rain
To know its prayer is not in vain:
A door flung wide, and a face aglow
Love come back from the Long-Ago.
Then let the rain and the wind without
Threaten their worst and rave and shout:
For who will care, though the night is black
Love to his own has wandered back.
Has wandered back through the rain and night,
Led home again by her candle's light.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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A Voice On The Wind
I
She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
II
Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
III
She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
IV
Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
V
'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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The Dreamland Is Fading
on the early years of our union
this marriage
this institution of always being together
we know
we entered a dreamland
of what you and i ought to be
in our own dreams and expectations
we were disappointed
for a time
we wanted to be gods
we will never be
we fall again
to this earth
on the ugliness that opens
to our faces
mocking us
for dreams that never come true
by then we recall our promises
we remember the love
we invoke what we are from the beginning
dreamers in dreamland
now waking up
touching our eyes rubbing them again
to these realities
we are still in love
our bodies have changed
we feel the soul inside us
still with so much life
we hold hands again
taking the slow steps
we will be there
looking to the same direction
we shall be together
despite the odds
the dreamland fades
we shall touch the barks of the trees
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer Light...
Summer Light -Thru the Trees
Summer Light - Spotted Me
Summer Light - Palest Gold
Summer Light - Bright and Bold
I Saw Summer Light Descend
Summer Light, Made Shadows Bend
Summer Light, On An Emerald Pond
I Reached Out… It Touched My Palm
Summer Light, It Fell Like Powder
Or a Floating Incandescent Feather
Came Down, Like A Sheer, White Swan
Summer Light – Lifted Wing-Like Arms
So Sunrays Slanted – Shone-Misty
Summer Light-Beams, Embraced Me
Warm, Wonderful Summer Light
Touch Me Tender, Solar- Might
Summer Light, When I Was Lost
Summer Light, Found Me Before Frost
Summer Light - None Else Looked For Me…
Summer Light Said, “I Always See…”
I Love Summer Light
poem by MoonBee Canady
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I Took Your Face into My Dreams
I took your face into my dreams,
It floated round me like a light;
Your beauty's consecrating beams
Lay mirrored in my heart all night.
As in a lonely mountain mere,
Unvisited of any streams,
Supremely bright and still and clear,
The solitary moonlight gleams,
Your face was shining in my dreams.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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But he didn't love (Russian romance)
He said be mine dear, be mine forever
And I will live with burning desire.
Charming his smile was, bliss in the glances
And all that promised Garden of Eden.
Sweet words deceptive
My heart was broken
Sweet words deceptive
My heart was broken
But it was not love
He didn't love me,
No, he didn't love me.
He said I lighted his gloomy soul,
His gloomy soul with blazing star.
He said I gave him
Gave him some hopes
Filling his heart with
Sweet dreams and wishes.
First he was smiling
Then he shed tears
First he was smiling
Then he shed tears
But it was not love
He didn't love me.
No, he didn't love me.
He promised dreamland, he promised passion
Happiness, fortune, blue stars to my heart.
He swore so tender make life delightful
With love forever in seventh heaven.
Sweet words deceptive, my heart was broken,
Sweet words deceptive, my heart was broken.
But it was not love,
He didn't love me.
No, he didn't love me.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Frost Magic
I
Now, in the moonrise, from a wintry sky,
The frost has come to charm with elfin might
This quiet room; to draw with symbols bright
Faces and forms in fairest charactery
Upon the casement; all the thoughts that lie
Deep hidden in my heart's core he would tell,
How the red shoots of fancy strike and swell,
How they are watered, what soil nourished by.
With eerie power he piles his atomies,
Incrusted gems, star-glances overborne
With lids of sleep pulled from the moth's bright eyes,
And forests of frail ferns, blanched and forlorn,
Where Oberon of unimagined size
Might in the silver silence wind his horn.
II
With these alone he draws in magic lines,
Faces that people dreams, and chiefly one
Happy and brilliant as the northern sun,
And by its darling side there gleams and shines
One of God's children with the laughing signs
Of dimples, and glad accents, and sweet cries,
That angels are and heaven's memories:
The wizard thus my soul's estate divines;
All it holds dear he sets alone apart,
Etches the past in likeness of dim groves
Silvered in quiet rime and with rare art,
In crystal spoils and fairy treasure-troves,
He draws the picture of the happy heart,
By those who love it most, whom most it loves.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Smitten
Who must I be for you to love me
Endlessly, hopelessly, like I, do you
And where do I touch, when I need to so much
In a rush, wish you trust like I do
And I have tried to please her (oh, yeah)
Much to my demise
Please say somethin' to ease my mind
She gets quiet every time
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Yeah, yeah
Tricked by her smile, she needs me for a while
And I yearn, in return I am burned
Confess, I'm a mess, and there ain't too much left
But if she asked for it I'd give it in a minute (ah, yeah)
And I have tried to please her (yes, I am)
Much to my demise
Please, please say somethin' to ease my achin' mind
She gets quiet every time
Every time
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less (now listen)
I'm the one with quiet anger in oblivion
Tear tracks smear the smile on my face
And I am deep in love
I'm in love, I'm in love, y'all
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less (care less, care less, care less)
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Care less (oh, yes)
Hello, allow me to introduce myself
I am smitten
And she couldn't care less
Yeah, she, she couldn't care less
She couldn't care less
There ain't nothin' I can do about it
No, no, no, no, no
There ain't nothin' I can do about it
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Composed During a Storm
One who was suffering tumult in his soul,
Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,
Went forth--his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl
Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;
While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers, tear
The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,
And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, howl
As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear
Large space ('mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
An azure disc--shield of Tranquillity;
Invisible, unlooked-for, minister
Of providential goodness ever nigh!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Irony
ALL night a great wind blew across the land,
Come fresh from wild and salty seas,
With many voices loud and low
Appealing to the sympathies
Of those with whom long, long ago
It had been friends, but who
Had lost the way to know and understand
Its weird and tearless woe.
A sleeper, drawn from ancient fancies, stirred,
And strangely breathed in deep unrest
As though his heart were choked with grief;
The moon down-stealing in the west
Threw every move of limb and leaf
Upon his blind. Now this
Was he the wind sought wildly, had he heard —
Alas, the friend was deaf!
All time a great Thought wandered round the world
Naked and breathing loveliness,
Seeking in alien souls a home
And thwarted, yet a-seek no less
At every door, till forced to roam
A wonder unexpressed:
A sense of strangeness, as of wings unfurled,
Hovered at times o'er some.
He heard the knocking at the inner door;
He saw her face a light intense,
And stood amazed, irresolute.
'Now, thou who hast the poet-sense
In song serene and absolute
Proclaim my hidden worth!'
He sobbed; she drooped her wings . . .Woe evermore!
The chosen mind was mute.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Voluntary
HERE in the quiet eve
My thankful eyes receive
The quiet light.
I see the trees stand fair
Against the faded air,
And star by star prepare
The perfect night.
And in my bosom, lo!
Content and quiet grow
Toward perfect peace.
And now when day is done,
Brief day of wind and sun,
The pure stars, one by one,
Their troop increase.
Keen pleasure and keen grief
Give place to great relief:
Farewell my tears!
Still sounds toward me float;
I hear the bird's small note,
Sheep from the far sheepcote,
And lowing steers.
For lo! the war is done,
Lo, now the battle won,
The trumpets still.
The shepherd's slender strain,
The country sounds again
Awake in wood and plain,
On haugh and hill.
Loud wars and loud loves cease.
I welcome my release;
And hail once more
Free foot and way world-wide.
And oft at eventide
Light love to talk beside
The hostel door.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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With blazing, electric blue thunder
(after Pablo Neruda)
With blazing, electric blue thunder
the morning is alive in this summer.
The wind tosses the threatening clouds like washing
torn from the line, waving goodbye without hands.
The mouthless harsh voice of the wind
howls right through our blissful silence.
Thunder bolts rock exploding in bright white light
while the wind rips leaves, branches and trees
as if in remembrance of long gone battles and wars
while it tosses squalls of pattering buckets of rain
sounding like the roar of a havoc orchestra
from the very gates of destruction, right from hell
while big oak trees sway as if only twigs,
some topple torn right out from their roots
and against me storm tossed in passion you are laying,
coming weightless full of fiery blazing desire,
with tender sweet lips that are kissing bringing bliss
and outside the wind roars as if its power is endless.
[Reference: “Es La Mañana Llena” “The Morning Is Full” by Pablo Neruda.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Or Existence
look at you
you take pride of myriad leaves
of branching twigs
of a sturdy trunk
you are saying you are
well rooted
and strong and no
wind is good enough
to uproot you
look at me
i have no roots
i am bald for i have not
a single leaf
from my imaginary
branches
from my twigs which you say
do not exist at all
you laugh and take pride
with what you are
and what you own andwhat you keep
i am invisible and i have no word
that i own
i am not even a wind
since i do not touch your leaf
and cannot let you feel
i do not doubt that it is my mere silence
that horrifies you
and i thank myself
for just being this way
i have no name
i have no self
i merely pass by
and i do not come
back
and so beyond myself and all these
you are nothing too
as i perceived myself to be
not a wind not a sound
nothing about roots
or existence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Roger Casement
THEY have hanged Roger Casement to the tolling
of a bell,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
And their Smiths, and their Murrays, and their Cecils say it's well,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
But there are outcast peoples to lift that
spirit high,
Flayed men and breastless women who laboured
fearfully,
And they will lift him, lift him, for the eyes
of God to see,
And it's well, after all, Roger Casement!
They've ta'en his strangled body from the gallows to the pit,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
And the flame that eats into it, the quicklime, brought to it,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!
To waste that noble stature, the grave and brightening face,
In which courtesy and kindliness had eminence of place,
But they they'll die to dust which the wind will take a-pace,
While 'twas yours to die to fire, Roger Casement!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Last Bliss (Letztes Glück)
Void of life slides leaf by leaf
from the silent branches sadly,
but the heart wants hope, not grief,
and it dreams of springtime gladly.
Yet a ray of sunshine's kiss
touches roses ere eloping;
tender, like a final bliss:
full of sweetness, past of hoping.
poem by Max Kalbeck, translated by Walter Aue
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St. Irvyne's Tower
I.
How swiftly through Heaven's wide expanse
Bright day's resplendent colours fade!
How sweetly does the moonbeam's glance
With silver tint St. Irvyne's glade!
II.
No cloud along the spangled air,
Is borne upon the evening breeze;
How solemn is the scene! how fair
The moonbeams rest upon the trees!
III.
Yon dark gray turret glimmers white,
Upon it sits the mournful owl;
Along the stillness of the night,
Her melancholy shriekings roll.
IV.
But not alone on Irvyne's tower,
The silver moonbeam pours her ray;
It gleams upon the ivied bower,
It dances in the cascade's spray.
V.
'Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal
The hour, when man must cease to be?
Why may not human minds unveil
The dim mists of futurity?--
VI.
'The keenness of the world hath torn
The heart which opens to its blast;
Despised, neglected, and forlorn,
Sinks the wretch in death at last.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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