Song.—The transient time
The transient time, for ever past,
How shall I dare review!—
The fatal day we parted last,
And wept out last adieu!
Alas! that day has swell'd to years—
That sorrow to a sea of tears!
I would the mournful thoughts would fly,
Regretted, loved in vain,
Among the dreams of memory
That never come again!—
Would their remembrance might decay,
Swept like the autumn leaves away!
poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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George Edmunds' Song
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around he here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
How like the hopes of childhood's day,
Thick clust'ring on the bough!
How like those hopes in their decay-
How faded are they now!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
Wither'd leaves, wither'd leaves, that fly before the gale:
Withered leaves, withered leaves, ye tell a mournful tale,
Of love once true, and friends once kind,
And happy moments fled:
Dispersed by every breath of wind,
Forgotten, changed, or dead!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
poem by Charles Dickens
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To Caroline
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay;
And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs,
Which said far more than words can say?
Though keen the grief thy tears exprest,
When love and hope lay both o'erthrown;
Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast
Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own.
But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd,
When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine;
The tears that from my eyelids flow'd
Were lost in those which fell from thine.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek,
Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame,
And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak,
In sighs alone it breath'd my name.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore;
Remembrance only can remain,
But that, will make us weep the more.
Again, thou best belov'd, adieu!
Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret,
Nor let thy mind past joys review,
Our only hope is, to forget!
Autumn.
I in the autumn of my days
Stand by a place of tears,
And hear the unborn children weep
Within the unborn years;
And feel how all God's sorrow must
Go wailing on until
Man's autumn, too, is past, and he
May winter from all ill.
* * * * *
A pale light in the fading wood,
The sob of dying leaves —
A lorn bird lying in the dusk
Of life that wakes and grieves!
O mournful heart whose love is dust,
In the decaying wood
Death's deepening mystery will cling
Round thee like solitude.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Verses To A Child
O raise those eyes to me again
And smile again so joyously,
And fear not, love; it was not pain
Nor grief that drew these tears from me;
Beloved child, thou canst not tell
The thoughts that in my bosom dwell
Whene'er I look on thee!
Thou knowest not that a glance of thine
Can bring back long departed years
And that thy blue eyes' magic shine
Can overflow my own with tears,
And that each feature soft and fair
And every curl of golden hair,
Some sweet remembrance bears.
Just then thou didst recall to me
A distant long forgotten scene,
One smile, and one sweet word from thee
Dispelled the years that rolled between;
I was a little child again,
And every after joy and pain
Seemed never to have been.
Tall forest trees waved over me,
To hide me from the heat of day,
And by my side a child like thee
Among the summer flowerets lay.
He was thy sire, thou merry child.
Like thee he spoke, like thee he smiled,
Like thee he used to play.
O those were calm and happy days,
We loved each other fondly then;
But human love too soon decays,
And ours can never bloom again.
I never thought to see the day
When Florian's friendship would decay
Like those of colder men.
Now, Flora, thou hast but begun
To sail on life's deceitful sea,
O do not err as I have done,
For I have trusted foolishly;
The faith of every friend I loved
I never doubted till I proved
Their heart's inconstancy.
'Tis mournful to look back upon
Those long departed joys and cares,
But I will weep since thou alone
Art witness to my streaming tears.
This lingering love will not depart,
I cannot banish from my heart
The friend of childish years.
But though thy father loves me not,
Yet I shall still be loved by thee,
And though I am by him forgot,
Say wilt thou not remember me!
I will not cause thy heart to ache;
For thy regretted father's sake
I'll love and cherish thee.
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Airs for the Lute
I
When the sobbing lute complains,
Grieving for an ancient sorrow,
This poor sorrow that remains
Fain would borrow,
To give pleading unto sorrow,
Those uncapturable strains.
All, that hands upon the lute
Helped the voices to declare,
Voices mute
But for this, might I not share,
If, alas, I could but suit
Hand and voice unto the lute?
II
If time so sweetly
On true according viols make
Her own completely
The lawless laws of turn and shake;
How should I doubt then
Love, being tuned unto your mood,
Should bring about then
True time and measure of your blood?
III
Why are you sorrowful in dreams?
I am sad in the night;
The hours till morning are white,
I hear the hours' flight
All night in dreams.
Why do you send me your dreams?
For an old love's sake;
I dream if I sleep or wake,
And shall but one heart ache,
For the sake of dreams?
Pray that we sleep without dreams!
Ah, love, the only way
To put sorrow away,
Night or day, night or day,
From the way of dreams!
IV
Strange, to remember tears!
Yet I know that I wept;
And those hopes and those fears,
Strange, were as real as tears!
What's this delicate pain,
Twilight-coloured and grey?
Odour-like through my brain
Steals a shadowy pain.
What's this joy in the air?
Musical as the leaves,
When the white winds are there,
Faint joy breathes in the air.
poem by Arthur Symons
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On Accidentally Meeting A Lady Now No More
When last we parted, thou wert young and fair--
How beautiful let fond remembrance say!
Alas! since then old Time has stol'n away
Nigh forty years, leaving my temples bare:--
So hath it perished, like a thing of air,
That dream of love and youth:--we now are gray;
Yet still remembering youth's enchanted way,
Though time has changed my look, and blanched my hair,
Though I remember one sad hour with pain,
And never thought, long as I yet might live,
And parted long, to hear that voice again;--
I can a sad, but cordial greeting, give,
And for thy welfare breathe as warm a prayer,
Lady, as when I loved thee young and fair!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Autumnal
THE Autumn leaves are dying quietly,
Scarlet and orange, underfoot they lie;
They had their youth and prime
And now's the dying time;
Alas, alas, the young, the beloved, must die!
They are dying like the leaves of Autumn fast,
Scattered and broken, blown on every blast:
The darling young, the brave,
Love had no power to save.
Poor Love-lies-bleeding, Love's in ruins, downcast.
Alas, alas, the Autumn leaves are flying!
They had their Summer and 'tis time for dying.
But these had barely Spring.
Love trails a broken wing,
Walks through deserted woods, moaning and sighing.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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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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Stanzas For Music: They Say That Hope Is Happiness
They say that Hope is happiness;
But genuine Love must prize the past,
And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose the first--they set the last;
And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.
Alas it is delusion all:
The future cheats us from afar,
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.
When Last We Parted
When last we parted, thou wert young and fair,
How beautiful let fond remembrance say!
Alas! since then old time has stolen away
Full thirty years, leaving my temples bare.--
So has it perished like a thing of air,
The dream of love and youth!--now both are grey
Yet still remembering that delightful day,
Though time with his cold touch has blanched my hair,
Though I have suffered many years of pain
Since then, though I did never think to live
To hear that voice or see those eyes again,
I can a sad but cordial greeting give,
And for thy welfare breathe as warm a prayer--
As when I loved thee young and fair!
poem by James Thomson
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I don't often write
I don't often write about the seasons
how the newly budding flowers melt my heart.
I seldom dwell on heat or summer madness,
of how long warm evenings mellow darker thoughts.
Autumnal leaves blow gently over parchment
just like the summer kisses we once shared
and so I dare not speak about the Autumn
for I know that I would cry and that I'm scared.
Winter is so cold and brings the darkness,
within it, misty days and frosty nights,
bringing thoughts of you, my precious lover
and dreams about your sunny face at night.
I don't often write about the seasons
and now I realise why I never do.
It's because with every season comes a memory
and that memory, most often, is of you.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Autumn can make me laugh or cry...
I saw the golden aspens glow,
In the bright sun of the day;
I was transported to a place,
Three thousand miles away.
The color of the autumn trees,
Shone in autumn's light;
And the reflection of it all,
Gave me reds and yellows bright.
The splendor of the leaves,
As they are dying,
Can make you weep,
and start you crying.
Tears for all the things that are,
Tears for all the things to be;
Tears for all the things now past,
and tears for pleasant memories.
Fall can make me laugh or cry,
Fall can bring me joy or sorrow;
The changing of the seasons,
Make me anticipate tommorow.
Autumn goes away too soon,
God, please, make it linger;
Tuck away your summer's ring,
and put autumn on your finger.
poem by David Lessard
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Regret
He sobbed. She wept.
They cried so many tears.
They'd held them in
for too many years.
It was good to feel
the tears all flow.
It lightened their hearts
and let them know
that foolish pride
had held tears back.
It created a wall
and no contact.
What caused the fight?
the memory of it gone.
They faced bitterness
on each new dawn.
He sobbed. She wept.
They dried their tears
and forgave each other
for the rest of their years.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Adieu
The autumn is crying,
cold rains denying,
North wind burns my face,
colorful leaves are flying,
as they are in a race.
I have parted with you
telling quiet adieu,
and it seems for good.
Not having heard I love you,
I quite well everything understood.
There was time I believed
when sweet words I received,
I just wanted to be loved,
but you simply deceived,
she has become your beloved.
You’ll be quite well forgotten
as your love was so rotten.
When my wounds are healed
I will start a new life,
in a new house, on my own field.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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My Memories
Today will be a memory
yesterday is a memory drifting away
memories turn into tears,
tearing us apart.
Fear of moving on, afraid of change,
in a minute this will just be a memory
memories are all pain in vain
memories are like dreams, a reflection of the past.
Memories are vision of what it used to be.
my memories are sadness and struggle
what are yours?
are they sadness and struggle?
You are but a memory
that dwindles as each day passes me by.
and as you slowly vanish
I huddle in my room and cry.
A memory that’s all I have
that’s all that’s left of you
nothing but a mere memory
that still lingers, only for a little while longer in my head.
Don’t forget about the past
without memories there is no yesterday.
make every day one to remember a
memory to move on with no regrets
poem by lizzy Sydney
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The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
Poppies
Poppies they say adieu, goodbye,
men fought, yet did not want to die,
Poppies were tossing, waving free,
as war took lives so poignantly.
Poppies upstanding, boldly grow,
youth enlisted but did not know,
Poppieswould represent such pain,
that they would never forget the slain.
Poppies beautiful, fresh and new,
All one bright colour, flawless hue,
Poppies petals see where they land,
upon a face, an arm or a hand.
Poppies vibrant, stunningly red,
softly surround each silent head,
Poppies fragile, dainty and neat,
guard the space around their feet.
Poppies carpeting the hard ground,
where the marching of boots resound,
Poppies whose wind blown seas of blood,
captured them like a mighty flood.
Poppies tell of their dreams long lost, ,
we hear their names, we count the cost.
Poppies bring tears as we recall,
our loved ones parted from us all.
Poppies they say goodbye, adieu,
men fought for me, they fought for you.
Those tossing poppies, waving free,
mean remembrance to you and me.
Copyright. Ernestine Northover
poem by Ernestine Northover
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My Memories
Today will be a memory
yesterday is a memory drifting away
memories turn into tears,
tearing us apart.
Fear of moving on, afraid of change,
in a minute this will just be a memory
memories are all pain in vain
memories are like dreams, a reflection of the past.
Memories are vision of what it used to be.
my memories are sadness and struggle
what are yours?
are they sadness and struggle?
You are but a memory
that dwindles as each day passes me by.
and as you slowly vanish
I huddle in my room and cry.
A memory that’s all I have
that’s all that’s left of you
nothing but a mere memory
that still lingers, only for a little while longer in my head.
Don’t forget about the past
without memories there is no yesterday.
make every day one to remember a
memory to move on with no pain or anymore regrets
poem by Ralph Acosta
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Act Of Rememberence
Arms of steel, hair of gold
Royal blue eyes, with a rebel soul
You scared me, you still do
But I loved you
More than you ever knew
This is my act of remembrance
My act of remembrance
Doctor's face, said the time had come
I stood up, and began to run
My boy's voice, called your name
You roared back and the silence came
This is my act of remembrance
My act of remembrance
Drove my car, to your street
Hoped a ghost, I would meet
Well that ghost, he's moved on
But his anger, Dad is it gone?
Is the pain gone, is it all gone?
This is my act of remembrance
My act of remembrance
This is my act of remembrance
song performed by by Proclaimers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Adieu
Adieu! I know that I no more
Shall behold you,
Your future lies beyond her door
Who consoled you;
The world has promised to redeem
Each new sorrow,
It beckons, and you lightly dream
Of a morrow.
I weep not, nor shall futile sighs
Hold you longer,
The pity in your loveless eyes
Makes me stronger,
For terrible, past loss of mine,
Hath arisen
The dread to know what was your shrine—
But your prison.
I listen while your lips protest,
Heavy hearted,
For by your wishes unexpress'd—
We are parted:
I listen, and hope's fickle glow
Fades away.
Why mock my grief? If you can go—
Wherefore stay?
In all the past we still were true,
You and I, love;
Few words suffice to bid adieu,
Few to die, love;
The loneliest stand face to face,
Disunited,
And thoughts of love that strain through space
Are requited!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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