Blessings
God bless the little orchard brown
Where the sap stirs these quickening days.
Soon in a white and rosy gown
The trees will give great praise.
God knows I have it in my mind,
The white house with the golden eaves.
God knows since it is left behind
That something grieves and grieves.
God keep the small house in his care,
The garden bordered all in box,
Where primulas and wallflowers are
And crocuses in flocks.
God keep the little rooms that ope
One to another, swathed in green,
Where honeysuckle lifts her cup
With jessamine between.
God bless the quiet old grey head
That dreams beside the fire of me,
And makes home there for me indeed
Over the Irish Sea.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Doves
The house where I was born,
Where I was young and gay,
Grows old amid its corn,
Amid its scented hay.
Moan of the cushat dove,
In silence rich and deep;
The old head I love
Nods to its quiet sleep.
Where once were nine and ten
Now two keep house together;
The doves moan and complain
All day in the still weather.
What wind, bitter and great,
Has swept the country's face,
Altered, made desolate
The heart-remembered place ?
What wind, bitter and wild,
Has swept the towering trees
Beneath whose shade a child
Long since gathered heartease ?
Under the golden eaves
The house is still and sad,
As though it grieves and grieves
For many a lass and lad.
The cushat doves complain
All day in the still weather;
Where once were nine or ten
But two keep house together.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Landlords
Bless is your house as you move in,
Bless is your house as you walk around,
Bless is your house as you cook and wash,
Bless is your house as you take a rest,
Bless is your house as visitors come and go,
Bless is your house as you switch off at night,
Bless is your house every day and night.
UK.
poem by Enitan Onikoyi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Kentish Garden
THERE is a grey-walled garden, far away
From noise and smoke of cities, where the hours
Pass with soft wings among the happy flowers,
And lovely leisure blossoms every day.
There, tall and white, the sceptral lily blows;
There grow the pansy, pink, and columbine,
Brave hollyhocks, and star-white jessamine,
And the red glory of the royal rose.
There greeny glow-worms gem the dusky lawn,
The lime-trees breathe their fragrance to the night,
Pink roses sleep, and dream that they are white,
Until they wake to colour with the dawn.
There, in the splendour of the sultry noon,
The sunshine sleeps upon the garden bed
Where the white poppy droops a drowsy head
And dreams of kisses from the white full moon.
And there, some days, all wild with wind and rain,
The tossed trees show the white side of their leaves,
While the great drops drip from the ivied eaves,
And birds are still--till the sun shines again.
And there, all days, my heart goes wandering,
Because there, first, my heart began to know
The glories of the summer and the snow,
The loveliness of harvest and of spring.
There may be fairer gardens; but I know
There is no other garden half so dear;
Because 'tis there, this many, many a year,
The sacred, sweet, white flowers of memory grow!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Madona Mia
UNDER green apple-boughs
That never a storm will rouse,
My lady hath her house
Between two bowers;
In either of the twain
Red roses full of rain;
She hath for bondwomen
All kind of flowers.
She hath no handmaid fair
To draw her curled gold hair
Through rings of gold that bear
Her whole hair’s weight;
She hath no maids to stand
Gold-clothed on either hand;
In all the great green land
None is so great.
She hath no more to wear
But one white hood of vair
Drawn over eyes and hair,
Wrought with strange gold,
Made for some great queen’s head,
Some fair great queen since dead;
And one strait gown of red
Against the cold.
Beneath her eyelids deep
Love lying seems asleep,
Love, swift to wake, to weep,
To laugh, to gaze;
Her breasts are like white birds,
And all her gracious words
As water-grass to herds
In the June-days.
To her all dews that fall
And rains are musical;
Her flowers are fed from all,
Her joy from these;
In the deep-feathered firs
Their gift of joy is hers,
In the least breath that stirs
Across the trees.
She grows with greenest leaves,
Ripens with reddest sheaves,
Forgets, remembers, grieves,
And is not sad;
The quiet lands and skies
Leave light upon her eyes;
None knows her, weak or wise,
Or tired or glad.
None knows, none understands,
What flowers are like her hands;
Though you should search all lands
Wherein time grows,
What snows are like her feet,
Though his eyes burn with heat
Through gazing on my sweet,
Yet no man knows.
Only this thing is said;
That white and gold and red,
God’s three chief words, man’s bread
And oil and wine,
Were given her for dowers,
And kingdom of all hours,
And grace of goodly flowers
And various vine.
This is my lady’s praise:
God after many days
Wrought her in unknown ways,
In sunset lands;
This was my lady’s birth;
God gave her might and mirth
And laid his whole sweet earth
Between her hands.
Under deep apple-boughs
My lady hath her house;
She wears upon her brows
The flower thereof;
All saying but what God saith
To her is as vain breath;
She is more strong than death,
Being strong as love.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All You Pretty Girls
Do something for me, boys
If I should die at sea, boys
Write a little note, boys
Set it off afloat, saying
Bless you, bless you, all of you pretty girls
Village and city girls by the quayside
Bless you, bless you, all of you pretty girls
Watching and waiting by the sea
Bless you, bless you, all of you pretty girls
Quiet or witty girls by the quayside
Bless you, bless you, all of you pretty girls
Watching and waiting by the sea
I think about your pale arms waving
When I see the caps upon the green
And the rocking roller-coaster ocean
Think about you every night when Im fathoms asleep
And in my dreams
We are rocking in a similar motion
I think about the salt sea rolling
Down in pearly tears upon your cheeks
Just like the day the harbour pulled away
I think about your warm white sheets unfolding
The more I have to drink
The more that I can think to say
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The white rose and the red rose
The white rose and the red rose,
So sisters two were named, yes, named.
The white one was so quiet,
The red one laughed and flamed.
But different was their doing, yes,
When came the time of wooing, yes.
The white one turned so red, so red,
The red one turned so white.
For him the red one favored,
Him father would not bless, not bless.
But him the white one favored,
He got at once his 'Yes.'
The red one now was paling, yes,
With sorrow, psalms, and wailing, yes.
The white one turned so red, so red,
The red one turned so white.
Then father grew so fearful
And had to give his 'Yes,' oh, yes!
With songs and music cheerful
The wedding rang, oh, yes!
And soon sprang children rosen, yes,
In shoes and little hosen, yes.
The red one's, they were white,-and oh,
The white one's, they were red.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fragment
Faint white pillars that seem to fade
As you look from here are the first one sees
Of his house where it hides and dies in a shade
Of beeches and oaks and hickory trees.
Now many a man, given woods like these,
And a house like that, and the Briony gold,
Would have said, "There are still some gods to please,
And houses are built without hands, we're told.
There are the pillars, and all gone gray.
Briony's hair went white. You may see
Where the garden was if you come this way.
That sun-dial scared him, he said to me;
"Sooner or later they strike," said he,
But he knew too much for the life he led.
And who knows all knows everything
That a patient ghost at last retrieves;
There's more to be known of his harvesting
When Time the thresher unbinds the sheaves;
And there's more to be heard than a wind that grieves
For Briony now in this ageless oak,
Driving the first of its withered leaves
Over the stones where the fountain broke.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Wrong House
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has big steps and a great big hall;
But it hasn't got a garden,
A garden,
A garden,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has a big garden and great high wall;
But it hasn't got a may-tree,
A may-tree,
A may-tree,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house -
Slow white petals from the may-tree fall;
But it hasn't got a blackbird,
A blackbird,
A blackbird,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and I thought it was a house,
I could hear from the may-tree the blackbird call…
But nobody listened to it,
Nobody
Liked it,
Nobody wanted it at all.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Still We Rise
The White House Is Still White, Hmm! , really, must be a figment or someones migration working on their concentration, collaboration of devastation trying to be an infiltrator of motivation.
Why has racial discrimination become so tenement in the white house?
A man and the people behind him made a dream reality, Martin Luther King Jr said it better one day and that day, when President Obama moved into the white house.
The white house is still white so why fight people there are enough wars going on around the world, let President Obama do his job, he cannot appease all he has to regulate one thing at a time.
Written by James Brown
poem by James Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Prayer Prompt Psalm 45: God Bless Us All
GOD bless leaders of nations
God bless all workers
God bless golden sunshine
God bless seasons of time
God bless fathers and mothers
God bless sons and daughters
God bless whole earth and sky
God bless our lives, and till we die.
Thank you, dear God.
poem by Rose Flores Rosevoc2
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
God Bless the Freaks
God bless the freaks
And the deranged,
The ones who are
Violent and strange,
God bless the retards
And the geeks.
God bless the butches
And the femmes,
God bless all those
We condemn,
God bless the brainless
And the meek.
God bless the lowlives
Riding bikes
And punks in leather
Wearing spikes,
God bless the water
And the piss.
God bless the beer
And the sun,
God bless the soldier
And his gun,
God bless the bombs
That kill the kids.
God bless you all
For being numb,
God bless the dead,
God bless Vietnam,
And thousands more
That will be killed.
God bless all those
Who don't think,
Who scratch their ass
And have a drink,
God bless their shit
That doesn't stink.
God bless the holy
And the wise,
God bless the moon
And the sunrise,
God bless the war,
God bless the lies,
God bless this world
About to sink.
God bless the poem,
God bless the muse,
God bless abusers
And abused,
God bless your cock,
Your ass and tits.
God bless your mom,
God bless your dad,
God bless the sane,
God bless the mad,
God bless the ones
Who cannot speak.
God bless all those
Who say: 'God bless',
While working more
And earning less,
While blessing their
Oppressive pricks.
God bless you all,
I say to you,
This world you see
Is nothing new -
Whether it's cursed,
Ignored or blessed -
It is our home
Nonetheless.
March 20,2006
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Home, Sweet Home.....
There is no place like home in this world
Home sweet home where I always live so happily
A light from the sky seems to bless us there
and God's love is spread all over there
How happy when you sit with loved ones
and to see their faces full of love smile
How nice to sit near our parents and great parents
and listen to their old stories that bring us lessons too
Our garden full of greenery and the flowers are
bloomed to give us pleasure
All those birds on the trees singing gaily
to give us a peace of mind
Our pets run freely in and out of the house
and keep us busy to watch their naughtiness
When I look at the mountains in their great splendor
that blows with cool breeze that give us healthy life
Our neighbors are dear and so helpful without fear
An exile from home, bring nothing but sadness
Because home is sweet home.
(Sri Lanka/2007)
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sleepytime Prayer (Children)
God bless my bedroom
God bless my bed
God bless the pillow
where I lay my head.
God bless my mommy
bless my dad, too.
They chased away monsters
that live in my room.
God bless my brother
bless my dog and my cat
and, OK, my sister
even though she's a brat.
Thanks God, and Amen
Now, up off my knees.
Wait! I forgot somethin'
God bless me too, please.
Chanson
A RING of gold and a milk-white dove
Are goodly gifts for thee,
And a hempen rope for your own love
To hang upon a tree.
For you a House of Ivory
(Roses are white in the rose-bower)!
A narrow bed for me to lie
(White, O white, is the hemlock flower)!
Myrtle and jessamine for you
(O the red rose is fair to see)!
For me the cypress and the rue
(Fairest of all is rose-mary)!
For you three lovers of your hand
(Green grass where a man lies dead)!
For me three paces on the sand
(Plant lilies at my head)!
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Margaret
I KNOW a garden where white lilies grow,
Under the grey sweet-laden apple boughs;
It is a garden where the roses blow,
And honeysuckle covers half the house.
O happy garden, do you keep the vows
Breathed in your quiet ear beneath the rose,
Or do you tell the tale to each soft wind that blows?
Across your grassy paths she used to stray,
She moved among you like a living flower,
Her beauty drank your beauty every day,
Your beauty decked her beauty every hour.
You gave her rose and lily for a dower,
With all sweet flowers and fruits your bosom bore--
She took them all--and now she comes not any more.
O garden, if you breathe such secret things
To the south wind who loves you, tell him this:
To spread the scented softness of his wings,
And seek that other garden where she is,
And bid him bear no blossom and no kiss;
Only, dear garden, tell the wind to say
How grey the world is grown since Margaret went away!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bless us, our Lord
Bless us, our Lord
Bless our soul, night and day
We are going out
We are trying to live
Bless everyone we met
Bless every hope they make
Give us time to be back home
Give us strength to pray
Because we are not strong enough
to bless ourself
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Something That Flows Away
FINALLY you tell me
you like an empty house
something minimal
all white with no curves
just straight lines
your want is small now
something that makes us close
something that shrinks
to make an intimacy
you want a house just
for the two of us
i am thinking if these thoughts
are a little bit late
my dreams are different
i am thinking of a bird-house
i am thinking of grains
i am thinking of water
something that i can leave
something that i can give
something that flows away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Into White
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice
Tables of paper wood, windows of light
And everything emptying into white.
A simple garden, with acres of sky
A brown-haired dogmouse
If one dropped by
Yellow delanie would sleep well at night
With everything emptying into white.
A sad blue eyed drummer rehearses outside
A black spider dancing on top of his eye
Red legged chicken stands ready to strike
And everything emptying into white.
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice...
And everything emptying into white
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Triolets
Triolet One
That little house so cramped and small
Where first as newlyweds we came
Became for us a magic hall
That little house so cramped and small
Helped our love grow.Now we recall
With Memory's warm and steady flame,
That little house so cramped and small
Triolet Two
'Good Night', we both say, 'And God Bless.'
Then snuggle together for sleep.
To banish all cares and all stress,
'Good Night' we both say, 'And God Bless.'
Whilst gently your hair I caress
Until, just before slumbers creep,
'Good Night, ' we both say, 'And God Bless'
Then snuggle together for sleep.
Triolet Three
Where I used to play as a child
Has become a Leisure Centre.
In Eden's days it was woods run wild,
Where I used to play as a child.
And Eve with her slow smile beguiled
And there became my mentor.
Where I used to play as a child
Has become a Leisure Centre.
poem by Michael Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Opened The Casements Of My House
I opened the casements of my house
Onto the wild, wild sea
The billows were on it austere and free
The sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
At dice or in the games of life at will
And still the casements opened and opened
As if by magic trance or guided else
By a thousand small invisible goblin-hands
That from the sea-main seemed to fly and come
Over the billows austere and free
As the sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
Beyond, beyond the vista low and large
A plain of beach sand lapped by the waves
And here and there an oasis of sweet palms
That bent their olive heads in the winds’ waffling
And coming and going over the sea.
Where the white billows raged saliva-like
Or like bent god-thrones cool and flexible
In that long windy plain, in that salt sea
Upon the which my magic casements opened
That day, that long and windy day of life
The sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
And that was long ago, not days or months,
But years, whole years and now my hair
Is turning fast to white and my breath shorter goes
Than it was then that long and windy day
The sea-cliff raged all white like the salt sea
And hid unseen the waves in the inlet small
All hidden from the eyes of curious men
Waxed green and green – ah! it is so to-day
And still
Long windy days come oft and come as go:
And the sea-wind with every house-corners neighs
And with the bending palms in the garden plays.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!