To Italy
BRIGHT valor, smitten by so shrewd a blow,
Drooping thy golden wing like wounded plover,
What great, grieved faces o'er the battle hover,
Patriot Mazzini; Fra Angelico,
Forsaking his own seraphs for thy woe;
Savonarola, still his country's lover
Despite the flames; longing for walls to cover
With such a fresco, Michael Angelo.
Pity in those sweet eyes of Raphael
For all Madonnas whose young sons lie slain;
Chagrin in Dante's, that his far-famed hell
Fades to a fantasy but weak and vain
By scenes no wildest dream could parallel,
Vast agony of thy Venetian plain.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Related quotes
The Mourners
I look into the aching womb of night;
I look across the mist that masks the dead;
The moon is tired and gives but little light,
The stars have gone to bed.
The earth is sick and seems to breathe with pain;
A lost wind whimpers in a mangled tree;
I do not see the foul, corpse-cluttered plain,
The dead I do not see.
The slain I would not see . . . and so I lift
My eyes from out the shambles where they lie;
When lo! a million woman-faces drift
Like pale leaves through the sky.
The cheeks of some are channelled deep with tears;
But some are tearless, with wild eyes that stare
Into the shadow of the coming years
Of fathomless despair.
And some are young, and some are very old;
And some are rich, some poor beyond belief;
Yet all are strangely like, set in the mould
Of everlasting grief.
They fill the vast of Heaven, face on face;
And then I see one weeping with the rest,
Whose eyes beseech me for a moment's space. . . .
Oh eyes I love the best!
Nay, I but dream. The sky is all forlorn,
And there's the plain of battle writhing red:
God pity them, the women-folk who mourn!
How happy are the dead!
poem by Robert William Service
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Ballades V - Of His Choice of a Sepulchre
HERE I ’d come when weariest!
Here the breast
Of the Windberg’s tufted over
Deep with bracken; here his crest
Takes the west,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover.
Silent here are lark and plover;
In the cover
Deep below, the cushat best
Loves his mate, and croons above
O’er their nest,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover.
Bring me here, Life’s tired-out guest,
To the blest
Bed that waits the weary rover,—
Here should failure be confest;
Ends my quest,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover!
ENVOY
Friend, or stranger kind, or lover,
Ah, fulfil a last behest,
Let me rest
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Sweet Mountains—Ye tell Me no lie
722
Sweet Mountains—Ye tell Me no lie—
Never deny Me—Never fly—
Those same unvarying Eyes
Turn on Me—when I fail—or feign,
Or take the Royal names in vain—
Their far—slow—Violet Gaze—
My Strong Madonnas—Cherish still—
The Wayward Nun—beneath the Hill—
Whose service—is to You—
Her latest Worship—When the Day
Fades from the Firmament away—
To lift Her Brows on You—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Study In Aesthetics
The very small children in patched clothing,
Being smitten with an unusual wisdom,
Stopped in their play as she passed them
And cried up from their cobbles:
Guarda! Ahi, guarda! Ch’ è be’ a!
But three years after this
I heard the young Dante, whose last name I do not
know--
For there are, in Sirmione, twenty-eight young Dantes
and thirty-four Catulli;
And there had been a great catch of sardines,
And his elders
Were packing them in the great wooden boxes
For the market in Brescia, and he
Leapt about, snatching at the bright fish
And getting in both of their ways;
And in vain they commanded him to stafermo!
And when they would not let him arrange
The fish in the boxes
He stroked those which were already arranged,
Murmuring for his own satisfaction
This identical phrase:
Ch’ è be’ a
And at this I was mildly abashed.
poem by Ezra Pound
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In My Wildest Dreams
Well I built a million ravin beauties out of pure make believe,
Hopin' my imagination might run away with me.
Thought Id picture every vision that a man could dream about,
Hell, you walked through those swing doors and stepped down off that cloud.
Whats an angel like you doin' in my wildest dreams?
A walkin' talkin' lovin' fantasy.
Did you come here tonight just to rescue me?
What's an angel like you doin' in my wildest dreams.
Well, I thought I died and went to heaven when you sat down next to me.
And I said to myself this is too good to believe.
You look like you belong in a Sunday school choir,
Instead of in this honky tonk settin' me on fire.
What's an angel like you doin' in my wildest dreams?
A walkin' talkin' lovin' fantasy.
Darlin' did you come here tonight just to rescue me?
What's an angel like you doin' in my wildest dreams.
Are you just wishful thinkin'? A figment of my mind.
Well, Ill worry 'bout that tomorrow, right now, it's closin time.
What's an angel like you doin' in my wildest dreams?
A walkin' talkin' lovin' fantasy.
Darlin' did you come here tonight just to rescue me?
What's an angel like you doin' in my wildest dreams.
What's an angel like you doin' in my wildest dreams.
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joshua Fit The Battle (take 1)
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
Jericho Jericho
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
God knows that
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
Jericho Jericho
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
Good morning sister Mary
Good morning brother John
Well I wanna stop and talk with you
Wanna tell you how I come along
I know you've heard about Joshua
He was the son of Nun
He never stopped his work until
Until the work was done
God knows that
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
Jericho Jericho
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
You may talk about your men of Gideon
You may brag about your men of Saul
There's none like good old Joshua
At the battle of Jericho
Up to the walls of Jericho
He marched with spear in hand
Go blow them ram horns, Joshua cried
'Cause the battle is in my hands
God knows that
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
Jericho Jericho
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
You may talk about your men of Gideon
You may brag about your king of Saul
There none like Joshua
At the battle of Jericho
They tell me, great God that Joshuas spear
Was well nigh twelve feet long
And upon his hip was a double edged sword
And his mouth was a gospel horn
Yet bold and brave he stood
Salvation in his hand
Go blow them ram horns Joshua cried
'Cause the devil can't do you no harm
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
Jericho Jericho
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
Up to the walls of Jericho
He marched with spear in hand
Go blow them ram horns, Joshua cried
'Cause the battle is in my hands
Then the lamb ram sheep horns began to blow
The trumpets began to sound
Old Joshua shouted glory
And the walls came tumblin' down
God knows that
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
Jericho Jericho
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
Down, down, down, down, down
Tumblin' down
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joshua Fit The Battle
(arranged and adapted by elvis presley)
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
Jericho jericho
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
God knows that
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
Jericho jericho
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
Good morning sister mary
Good morning brother john
Well I wanna stop and talk with you
Wanna tell you how I come along
I know youve heard about joshua
He was the son of nun
He never stopped his work until
Until the work was done
God knows that
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
Jericho jericho
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
You may talk about your men of gideon
You may brag about your men of saul
Theres none like good old joshua
At the battle of jericho
Up to the walls of jericho
He marched with spear in hand
Go blow them ram horns, joshua cried
cause the battle is in my hands
God knows that
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
Jericho jericho
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
You may talk about your men of gideon
You may brag about your king of saul
There none like joshua
At the battle of jericho
They tell me, great God that joshuas spear
Was well nigh twelve feet long
And upon his hip was a double edged sword
And his mouth was a gospel horn
Yet bold and brave he stood
Salvation in his hand
Go blow them ram horns joshua cried
cause the devil cant do you no harm
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
Jericho jericho
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
Up to the walls of jericho
He marched with spear in hand
Go blow them ram horns, joshua cried
cause the battle is in my hands
Then the lamb ram sheep horns began to blow
The trumpets began to sound
Old joshua shouted glory
And the walls came tumblin down
God knows that
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
Jericho jericho
Joshua fit the battle of jericho
And the walls come tumbling down
Down, down, down, down, down
Tumblin down
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song
WHEN the warrior returns, from the battle afar,
To the home and the country he nobly defended,
O! warm be the welcome to gladden his ear,
And loud be the joy that his perils are ended:
In the full tide of song let his fame roll along,
To the feast-flowing board let us gratefully throng,
Where, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
Columbians! a band of your brothers behold,
Who claim the reward of your hearts' warm emotion,
When your cause, when your honor, urged onward the bold,
In vain frowned the desert, in vain raged the ocean:
To a far distant shore, to the battle's wild roar,
They rushed, your fair fame and your rights to secure:
Then, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
In the conflict resistless, each toil they endured,
'Till their foes fled dismayed from the war's desolation:
And pale beamed the Crescent, its splendor obscured
By the light of the Star Spangled flag of our nation.
Where each radiant star gleamed a meteor of war,
And the turbaned heads bowed to its terrible glare,
Now, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
Our fathers, who stand on the summit of fame,
Shall exultingly hear of their sons the proud story:
How their young bosoms glow'd with the patriot flame,
How they fought, how they fell, in the blaze of their glory.
How triumphant they rode o'er the wondering flood,
And stained the blue waters with infidel blood;
How, mixed with the olive, the laurel did wave,
And formed a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
Then welcome the warrior returned from afar
To the home and the country he nobly defended:
Let the thanks due to valor now gladden his ear,
And loud be the joy that his perils are ended.
In the full tide of song let his fame roll along,
To the feast-flowing board let us gratefully throng,
Where, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.
poem by Francis Scott Key
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The Lover Asks Forgiveness Because Of His Many Moods
IF this importunate heart trouble your peace
With words lighter than air,
Or hopes that in mere hoping flicker and cease;
Crumple the rose in your hair;
And cover your lips with odorous twilight and say,
'O Hearts of wind-blown flame!
O Winds, older than changing of night and day,
That murmuring and longing came
From marble cities loud with tabors of old
In dove-grey faery lands;
From battle-banners, fold upon purple fold,
Queens wrought with glimmering hands;
That saw young Niamh hover with love-lorn face
Above the wandering tide;
And lingered in the hidden desolate place
Where the last Phoenix died,
And wrapped the flames above his holy head;
And still murmur and long:
O piteous Hearts, changing till change be dead
In a tumultuous song':
And cover the pale blossoms of your breast
With your dim heavy hair,
And trouble with a sigh for all things longing for rest
The odorous twilight there.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 09: Interlude
The days, the nights, flow one by one above us,
The hours go silently over our lifted faces,
We are like dreamers who walk beneath a sea.
Beneath high walls we flow in the sun together.
We sleep, we wake, we laugh, we pursue, we flee.
We sit at tables and sip our morning coffee,
We read the papers for tales of lust or crime.
The door swings shut behind the latest comer.
We set our watches, regard the time.
What have we done? I close my eyes, remember
The great machine whose sinister brain before me
Smote and smote with a rhythmic beat.
My hands have torn down walls, the stone and plaster.
I dropped great beams to the dusty street.
My eyes are worn with measuring cloths of purple,
And golden cloths, and wavering cloths, and pale.
I dream of a crowd of faces, white with menace.
Hands reach up to tear me. My brain will fail.
Here, where the walls go down beneath our picks,
These walls whose windows gap against the sky,
Atom by atom of flesh and brain and marble
Will build a glittering tower before we die . . .
The young boy whistles, hurrying down the street,
The young girl hums beneath her breath.
One goes out to beauty, and does not know it.
And one goes out to death.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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King And Queen
(Justin Hayward)
It's like awaking from a dream
All I remember is a lullaby
I couldn't tell you where I've been
A thousand images just flutter by
Takin' my time
In a white limousine
If I was the King
She'd be my Queen
And my thoughts are growing louder
And my mind has lost its way
And the flames are getting higher ev'ryday
My mind is back behind my eyes
And there before me sits a butterfly
And as I watch, she gently cries (And as I watch, she gently cries)
Can there be anyone who'll pity her? (Who'll pity her?)
How many faces
Have all of you been?
If I was the King
She'd be my Queen
And my thoughts are getting louder
And my mind has lost its way
And the flames are getting higher ev'ryday
My mind is back behind my eyes
And there before me sits a butterfly
And as I watch, she gently cries (And as I watch, she gently cries)
Can there be anyone who'll pity her? (Who'll pity her?)
How many faces
Have all of you been?
If I was the King
She'd be my Queen
And my thoughts are getting louder
And my mind has lost its way
And the flames are getting higher ev'ry day
And the flames are getting higher ev'ry day
And the flames are getting higher ev'ry day
*************************************************************
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream Or Fantasy
(10/12/11)
When I close my eyes I can trace
every line upon your face.
My fingers touching your soft gentle lips
Those lips that I yearn to kiss.
You are my dream lover - my fantasy come true
When I want you - I dream of you.
I close my eyes and there you are
Always near - never far.
Your love fills my nights and completes my days
And in my heart you will forever stay.
When ever I am feeling down
I close my eyes and you’re around.
You are my dream lover - for me there is no other
People say that you are a fantasy.
A figment of my imagination.
If this is so - why do I get these sensations.
I hold your face in my hands
Knowing you would understand
You have become my hearts desire
Taking me to levels so much higher
You have opened this loves door
And I want to be with you forever more.
How can this be a fantasy? when I have you next to me!
poem by Louis Rams
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In Midnight Sleep
IN midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish,
Of the look at first of the mortally wounded--of that indescribable
look;
Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide,
I dream, I dream, I dream.
Of scenes of nature, fields and mountains;
Of skies, so beauteous after a storm--and at night the moon so
unearthly bright,
Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather
the heaps,
I dream, I dream, I dream.
Long, long have they pass'd--faces and trenches and fields;
Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure--or away
from the fallen,
Onward I sped at the time--But now of their forms at night,
I dream, I dream, I dream. 10
poem by Walt Whitman
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Youth And Lordship
MY young lord's the lover
Of earth and sky above,
Of youth's sway and youth's play,
Of songs and flowers and love.
Yet for love's desire
Green youth lacks the daring;
Though one dream of fire,
All his hours ensnaring,
Burns the boy past bearing—
The dream that girls inspire.
My young lord's the lover
Of every burning thought
That Love's will, that Love's skill
Within his breast has wrought.
Lovely girl, look on him
Soft as music's measure;
Yield him, when you've won him,
Joys and toys at pleasure;
But to win your treasure,
Softly look upon him.
My young lord's the lover
Of every tender grace
That woman, to woo man,
Can wear in form or face.
Take him to your bosom
Now, girl, or never;
Let not your new blossom
Of sweet kisses sever;
Only guard for ever
Your boast within your bosom.
My young lord's the lover
Of every secret thing,
Love-hidden, love-bidden
This day to banqueting.
Lovely girl, with vaunting
Never tempt to-morrow:
From all shapes enchanting
Any joy can borrow,
Still the spectre Sorrow
Rises up for haunting.
And now my lord's the lover
Of ah! so many a sweet,—
Of roses, of spouses,
As many as love may greet.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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War-Song Of The Spanish Patriots
YE who burn with glory's flame!
Ye who love the Patriot's fame;
Ye who scorn oppressive might,
Rise! in freedom's cause unite;
Castilians rise!
Hark! Iberia calls, ye brave!
Haste! your bleeding country save:
Be the palm of bright renown,
Be th' unfading laurel-crown,
The hero's prize!
High the crimson banner wave!
Ours be conquest or the grave!
Spirits of our noble sires,
Lo! your sons, with kindred fires,
Unconquer'd glow!
See them once again advance,
Crush the pride of hostile France;
See their hearts, with ardor warm,
See them, with triumphant arm,
Repel the foe!
By the Cid's immortal name,
By Gonsalvo's deathless fame;
By the chiefs of former time,
By the valiant deeds sublime,
Of ancient days;
Brave Castilians! grasp the spear!
Gallant Andalusians, hear!
Glory calls you to the plain,
Future bards, in lofty strain,
Shall sing your praise!
Shades of mighty warriors dead,
Ye who nobly fought and bled;
Ye whose valor could withstand,
The savage Moor's invading band
Untaught to yield;
Bade victorious Charlemagne,
Own the patriot-arms of Spain;
Ye, in later times renown'd,
Ye who fell with laurels crown'd,
On Pavia's field!
Teach our hearts like yours to burn;
Lawless pow'r like you to spurn;
Teach us but like you to wield,
Freedom's lance and Freedom's shield
With daring might:
Tyrant! soon thy reign is o'er,
Thou shalt waste mankind no more;
Boast no more thy thousands slain,
Jena's, or Marengo's plain;
Lo! the sun that gilds thy day,
Soon will veil its parting ray,
In endless night!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Sonnet CI: The One Hope
When vain desire at last and vain regret
Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
What shall assuage the unforgotten pain
And teach the unforgetful to forget?
Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet,—
Or may the soul at once in a green plain
Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain
And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet?
Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air
Between the scriptured petals softly blown
Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown,—
Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er
But only the one Hope's one name be there,—
Not less nor more, but even that word alone.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Hawking
Whenever i
I close my eyes
Then I dont mind being the way I am
But whenever I try
Explaining why
I know I never can
Now that its
Gone, paths I used to travel
Gone, things I used to handle
Gone, once I had a choice what to be
But then God kissed me
And I lost it when I fainted in his arms
Have pity on me brother
Im trapped behind the mirror
Im out here on the border
Wondering why
Why was it i?
Maybe my mind wouldnt have come this way
If Id taken my time
Answers only unwind
When you cant look away
Maybe cause
I want the secret broken
I want the casket open
I need to see what no eyes can see
And when God kissed me
Then I dreamed them when I fainted in her arms
Now Ive got to go on sleeping
Lean in a little closer
And Ill tell you what Im dreaming
Ill tell you what Im dreaming
I see time without beginning
Space without an ending
I see bodies strong and running
With minds not comprehending
Have pity on your brother
Please have pity on your sister
Take pity on each other
And on every living creature
Whenever i
Open my eyes
I cant believe its real
Its a jungle outside
People just survive
They cant reach the high ideal
But i
Know if I cant recover, at least i
Know, I know the book from cover to cover, and who
Knows, I might dream forever
Since Ive met the worlds greatest lover
When God kissed me
And I knew it when I fainted in his arms
Lets dream together people
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thomas Joseph Byrnes
God gave him gifts: nor gave in vain
The great heart and the master-brain
To dream, to battle, to attain,
To storm the height.
The power that all men strive to gain
Was his by right.
O saddest Spring in all the land!
O Mystery, hard to understand—
When, at the stern unknown command,
With icy breath,
Fate placed within his fearless hand
The gift of Death!
Calm be his sleep who lived to dare.
Go, say a patriot slumbers there
Whose brows were never bent to wear
His loftiest fame,
Yet wrote on Queensland’s page a rare—
A fadeless name!
He fought his fight: he won his goal.
His name is on the battle-scroll;
And, whilst beyond our weak control
The tears we shed
Well deep within a Nation’s soul,
He is not dead.
poem by George Essex Evans
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After Reading Trollope's History Of Florence
My books are on their shelves again
And clouds lie low with mist and rain.
Afar the Arno murmurs low
The tale of fields of melting snow.
List to the bells of times agone
The while I wait me for the dawn.
Beneath great Giotto's Campanile
The gray ghosts throng; their whispers steal
From poets' bosoms long since dust;
They ask me now to go. I trust
Their fleeter footsteps where again
They come at night and live as men.
The rain falls on Ghiberti's gates;
The big drops hang on purple dates;
And yet beneath the ilex-shades--
Dear trysting-place for boys and maids--
There comes a form from days of old,
With Beatrice's hair of gold.
The breath of lands or lilied streams
Floats through the fabric of my dreams;
And yonder from the hills of song,
Where psalmists brood and prophets throng,
The lone, majestic Dante leads
His love across the blooming meads.
Along the almond walks I tread
And greet the figures of the dead.
Mirandula walks here with him
Who lived with gods and seraphim;
Yet where Colonna's fair feet go
There passes Michael Angelo.
In Rome or Florence, still with her
Stands lone and grand her worshipper.
In Leonardo's brain there move
Christ and the children of His love;
And Raphael is touching now,
For the last time, an angel's brow.
Angelico is praying yet
Where lives no pang of man's regret,
And, mixing tears and prayers within
His palette's wealth, absolved from sin,
He dips his brush in hues divine;
San Marco's angel faces shine.
Within Lorenzo's garden green,
Where olives hide their boughs between,
The lovers, as they read betimes
Their love within Petrarca's lines,
Stand near the marbles found at Rome,
Lost shades that search in vain for home.
They pace the paths along the stream,
Dark Vallombrosa in their dream.
They sing, amidst the rain-drenched pines,
Of Tuscan gold that ruddier shines
Behind a saint's auroral face
That shows e'en yet the master's trace.
But lo, within the walls of gray,
E're yet there falls a glint of day,
And far without, from hill to vale,
Where honey-hearted nightingale
Or meads of pale anemones
Make sweet the coming morning breeze--
I hear a voice, of prophet tone,
A voice of doom, like his alone
That once in Gadara was heard;
The old walls trembled--lo, the bird
Has ceased to sing, and yonder waits
Lorenzo at his palace gates.
Some Romola in passing by
Turns toward the ruler, and his sigh
Wanders amidst the myrtle bowers
Or o'er the city's mantled towers,
For she is Florence! 'Wilt thou hear
San Marco's prophet? Doom is near.'
'Her liberties,' he cries, 'restore!
This much for Florence--yea, and more
To men and God!' The days are gone;
And in an hour of perfect dawn
I stand beneath the cypress trees
That shiver still with words like these.
poem by Eugene Field
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Castle In The Air
And if she asks you why you can tell her that I told you
That I'm tired of Castles in the Air
I've got a dream I want the world to share in castle walls
Just leave me to despair
Hills of forest green where the mountains touch the sky
A dream come true, I'll live there 'til I die
I'm asking you, to say my last goodbye
The love we knew, ain't worth another try
Save me from all the trouble and the pain
I know I'm weak but I can't face that girl again
Tell her the reasons why I can't remain
Perhaps she'll understand if you tell it to her plain
Oh, but how can words express the feel of sunlight
In the morning in the hills away from city strife
I need a country woman for my wife
I'm city born but I love the country life
For I can not be part of her "Cocktail-Generation Partner's Waltz,"
Devoid of all romance
The music plays and everyone must dance
I'm bowing out, I need a second chance
Save me from all the trouble and the pain
I know I'm weak but I can't face that girl again
Tell her the reasons why I can't remain
Perhaps she'll understand if you tell it to her plain
And if she asks you why you can tell her that I told you
That I'm tired of Castles in the Air
I've got a dream I want the world to share in castle walls
Just leave me to despair
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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