Brook Farm
Down the long road, bent and brown,
Youth, that dearly loves a vision,
Ventures to the gate Elysian,
As a pilgrim from the town.
Coming not so late, so far,
Rocks and birches! for your story;
Not to prate on vanished glory
Where of old was quenched a star;
Where of old, in lapse of toil,
Time but mocked a prayer pathetic;
Where the flower of good prophetic
Starved in our New England soil.
Ah! to Youth with radiant eyes,
For whom grief is not, nor daunting,
Lost glad voices still are chanting
‘Neath those unremaining skies,
Still the dreams of fellowship
Beat their wings of aspiration;
And a smile of soft elation
Trembles from its haughty lip
If another dare deride
Hopes heroic snapped and parted,
Disillusion so high-hearted
All success is mean beside.
poem by Louise Imogen Guiney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Age considers, youth ventures
Age considers, youth ventures
Age visualizes, youth dreams
Age makes theories, youth experiments
Age loves, youth longs
Age sees people, youth sees places
Age knows belongings, youth discovers them
Age pains to gain, youth gains to others' pain
Age has heart, youth has mind
Age is thoughtful, youth is tactful
Age ponders, youth wonders
Age recounts, youth counts
Age is experienced, youth is in experience
Age is cautious, youth dashes
Age floats, youth swims
Age lives, youth still making a living
Age is in touch with termination, youth with determination
Age is confident, youth is competent
Age adds years to living, youth adds life to living
Age is lost in past, youth is drowned in future
Age is grown, youth is crown
Ageless is youth, youthless is age
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
His Youth
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.
'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.
'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.
'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.
'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?
''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.
'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.
'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.
'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Black Charger
There's a terrible steed that rests not night nor day,
But onward and onward, for ever away,
Through hamlet, through village, through country, through town,
Is heard the dread thud of his hoofs beating down;
Is seen the fierce eye, is felt the hot breath;
And before it, behind it, spreads ruin and death:
By castle, by cottage, by hut, and by hall,
Still faster and fiercer he passes them all.
He breathes on the youth with the face of the morn,
He leaves him a mark for the finger of scorn;
He cries, 'Mount and ride! I will bear you away
To the fair fields of pleasure. Come, mount me, I say!'
And, alas for the youth! he is borne like the wind,
And he leaveth his manhood, his virtue, behind;
And faster, still faster, he speeds down the track,
Where many shall follow, and few shall come back.
He breathes on the heart that is stricken with grief:
'Come, mount me! and fly to the plains of relief.
I will bear you away to the fair fields elysian,
Where your sorrows shall seem but a long-vanished vision.
With the future before you, forgetting the past,
You shall revel in pleasure, rejoicing at last.'
Ah! whoso shall mount shall ride to his doom:
Shall be sunk in the marshes of terror and gloom.
He breathes on the king, and he breathes on the slave;
On the young and the old from the crib to the grave;
On masterly minds, and they wither away
As the flower droops and dies 'neath a torrid sun's ray;
On beautiful souls that are pure as the light,
And they shrivel, polluted with mildew and blight:
The master, the servant, the high and the low,
He bears them all down to the regions of woe.
Ho! ho! temperance clan! rest ye not night nor day:
Watch, watch for the steed! starve him down! block his way!
Throw him into the dust! seize his long, flowing mane!
Bind his terrible limbs till he quivers in pain.
Stab him through to the heart! beat him down till he lies
Stark and stiff on the earth-beat him down till he dies!
Till never by castle, by cottage, by hall,
Shall again pass the black-hearted steed, Alcohol!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sestina
I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth,
And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height
Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies.
Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad highway
I caught the glimmer of a golden goal,
While from a blooming bower smiled siren Love.
Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at Love,
With all the haughty insolence of youth,
As past her bower I strode to seek my goal.
'Now will I climb to glory's dizzy height, '
I said, ' for there above the common way
Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skies.'
But when I reached that summit near the skies,
So far from man I seemed, so far from Love-
'Not here, ' I cried, 'doth Pleasure find her way, '
Seen from the distant borderland of youth.
Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height,
But frowns in shadows when we reach the goal.
Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal,
Dear to all sense-sunk souls beneath the skies.
Gold tempts the artist from the lofty height,
Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love,
Gold buys the fresh ingenuous heart of youth,
'And gold, ' I said, 'will show me Pleasure's way.'
But ah! the soil and discord of that way,
Where savage hordes rushed headlong to the goal,
Dead to the best impulses of their youth,
Blind to the azure beauty of the skies;
Dulled to the voice of conscience and of love,
They wandered far from Truth's eternal height.
Then Truth spoke to me from that noble height,
Saying: 'Thou didst pass Pleasure on the way,
She with the yearning eyes so full of Love,
Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal.'
Two blending paths beneath God's arching skies
Lead straight to Pleasure. Ah, blind heart of youth,
Not up fame's height, not toward the base god's goal,
Doth Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies
Where Duty walks with Love in endless youth.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At Long Last
Late, late the prize is drawn, the goal attained,
The Heart's Desire fulfilled, Love's guerdon gained.
Wealth's use is past, Fame's crown of laurel mocks
The downward-drooping head and grizzled locks.
The end is reached - the end of toil and strife -
The end of life.
Love flowers and fades like grass, and flowers again;
The spendthrift lovers waste themselves in vain;
Their fiery passions burn out one by one,
And then, alas! when their best days are done,
Spirit and body find their perfect mate -
So late! So late!
Long-sought, long seeking, through the lonely years,
The wanderers meet to weep their useless tears
For time and chance irrevocably flown,
Dear hopes outlived and happy faiths outgrown,
Children unborn, the myriad joys unseen
That might have been.
Not for the spring and morning-time of youth
The perfect flower of slow-unfolding truth,
The perfect love, that dreams of youth foretell,
But youth knows not and youth could never tell;
That light celestial, as of sunset fires
When day expires.
Late comes the gift that crowns the hungry quest,
Like ripe wheat-harvest in a land at rest,
And comes alone, a consecrated cup,
To those proved worthy to sit down and sup.
To them - aye, aye, despite their treasure lost,
'T'is worth the cost.
'T'is worth the cost to reach the heights at last,
Ere eyes are dim and daylight overpast.
To see one aim achieved, one dream fulfilled,
Ere striving brain and trusting heart are stilled.
To live one glorious hour - its price of pain
Is never paid in vain.
poem by Ada Cambridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Star Struck
Where is your inspiration, you lost it, oh so long ago
so much for innovation, I saw this coming long before
You had no motivation, your hopes are high but trapped below,
This constant competition, we've won but your still keeping score
But I grew up, wishing on a star
You think I won't ever get too far.
So high on dedication, it feels so good to get away,
From all this repetition, this angry town, this battleground
So now we'll break tradition, we'll leave you swimming in our wake
Without your inspiration, you won't survive, you'll surely drown
But I grew up, wishing on a star
You think I won't ever get too far
So now I am wishing on a star
You think I won't ever get too far
Where is your inspiration, you lost it oh so long ago
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Star Struck
Where is your inspiration, you lost it, oh so long ago
so much for innovation, I saw this coming long before
You had no motivation, your hopes are high but trapped below,
This constant competition, we've won but your still keeping score
But I grew up, wishing on a star
You think I won't ever get too far.
So high on dedication, it feels so good to get away,
From all this repetition, this angry town, this battleground
So now we'll break tradition, we'll leave you swimming in our wake
Without your inspiration, you won't survive, you'll surely drown
But I grew up, wishing on a star
You think I won't ever get too far
So now I am wishing on a star
You think I won't ever get too far
Where is your inspiration, you lost it oh so long ago
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Song Of Success
Ho! we were strong, we were swift, we were brave.
Youth was a challenge, and Life was a fight.
All that was best in us gladly we gave,
Sprang from the rally, and leapt for the height.
Smiling is Love in a foam of Spring flowers:
Harden our hearts to him -- on let us press!
Oh, what a triumph and pride shall be ours!
See where it beacons, the star of success!
Cares seem to crowd on us -- so much to do;
New fields to conquer, and time's on the wing.
Grey hairs are showing, a wrinkle or two;
Somehow our footstep is losing its spring.
Pleasure's forsaken us, Love ceased to smile;
Youth has been funeralled; Age travels fast.
Sometimes we wonder: is it worth while?
There! we have gained to the summit at last.
Aye, we have triumphed! Now must we haste,
Revel in victory . . . why! what is wrong?
Life's choicest vintage is flat to the taste --
Are we too late? Have we laboured too long?
Wealth, power, fame we hold . . . ah! but the truth:
Would we not give this vain glory of ours
For one mad, glad year of glorious youth,
Life in the Springtide, and Love in the flowers.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Salutation
High-hearted Surrey! I do love your ways,
Venturous, frank, romantic, vehement,
All with inviolate honor sealed and blent,
To the axe-edge that cleft your soldier-bays:
I love your youth, your friendships, whims, and frays;
Your strict, sweet verse, with its imperious bent,
Heard as in dreams from some old harper's tent,
And stirring in the listener's brain for days.
Good father-poet! if to-night there be
At Framlingham none save the north-wind's sighs,
No guard but moonlight's crossed and trailing spears,
Smile yet upon the pilgrim named like me,
Close at your gates, whose fond and weary eyes
Sought not one other down three hundred years!
poem by Louise Imogen Guiney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tramps
Can you recall, dear comrade, when we tramped God's land together,
And we sang the old, old Earth-song, for our youth was very sweet;
When we drank and fought and lusted, as we mocked at tie and tether,
Along the road to Anywhere, the wide world at our feet --
Along the road to Anywhere, when each day had its story;
When time was yet our vassal, and life's jest was still unstale;
When peace unfathomed filled our hearts as, bathed in amber glory,
Along the road to Anywhere we watched the sunsets pale?
Alas! the road to Anywhere is pitfalled with disaster;
There's hunger, want, and weariness, yet O we loved it so!
As on we tramped exultantly, and no man was our master,
And no man guessed what dreams were ours, as, swinging heel and toe,
We tramped the road to Anywhere, the magic road to Anywhere,
The tragic road to Anywhere, such dear, dim years ago.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Struck
Where is your inspiration,
you lost it oh so long ago
so much for innovation,
I saw this coming long before
You had no motivation,
your hopes are high but Trapped below,
This constant competition,
we've won but your still keeping score
But I grew up, wishing on a star
You think, I won't ever get too far
So high on dedication,
it feels so good to get away
From all this repetition,
this angry town, this battleground
So now we'll break tradition
we'll leave you swimming in our wake
Without your inspiration,
you won't survive
you'll surely drown
But I grew up, wishing on a star
You think, I won't ever get too far (2x)
Where is your inspiration,
you lost it oh so long ago
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Struck
Where is your inspiration,
you lost it oh so long ago
so much for innovation,
I saw this coming long before
You had no motivation,
your hopes are high but Trapped below,
This constant competition,
we've won but your still keeping score
But I grew up, wishing on a star
You think, I won't ever get too far
So high on dedication,
it feels so good to get away
From all this repetition,
this angry town, this battleground
So now we'll break tradition
we'll leave you swimming in our wake
Without your inspiration,
you won't survive
you'll surely drown
But I grew up, wishing on a star
You think, I won't ever get too far (2x)
Where is your inspiration,
you lost it oh so long ago
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The World
See, the world for youth prepares,
Harlot-like, her gaudy snares!
Pleasures round her seem to wait,
But 'tis all a painted cheat.
Rash and unsuspecting youth
Thinks to find thee always smooth,
Always kind, till better taught,
By experience dearly bought.
So the calm, but faithless sea
(Lively emblem, world, of thee)
Tempts the shepherd from the shore
Foreign regions to explore.
While no wrinkled wave is seen,
While the sky remains serene,
Fill'd with hopes, and golden schemes
Of a storm he little dreams.
But ere long the tempest raves,
Then he trembles at the waves;
Wishes then he had been wise,
But too late—he sinks and dies.
Hapless thus, are they, vain world,
Soon on rocks of ruin hurl'd,
Who admiring thee, untry'd,
Court thy pleasure. wealth, or pride.
Such a shipwreck had been mine,
Had not Jesus (name divine!)
Sav'd me with a mighty hand,
And restor'd my soul to land.
Now, with gratitude I raise
Ebenezers to his praise;
Now my rash pursuits are o'er,
I can trust thee, world, no more.
poem by John Newton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ghost Town
This town is coming like a ghost town
All the clubs have been closed down
This place is coming like a ghost town
Bands wont play no more
Too much fighting on the dance floor
Do you remember the good old days before the ghost town?
We danced and sang as the music played in any boomtown
This town is coming like a ghost town
Why must the youth fight against themselves?
Government leaving the youth on the shelf
This place is coming like a ghost town
No job to be found in this country
Cant go on no more
The people getting angry
song performed by by Prodigy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
To Cry You A Song
Flying so high, trying to remember
How many cigarettes did I bring along?
When I get down Ill jump in a taxi cab
Driving through london town
To cry you a song.
Its been a long time --
Still shaking my wings.
Well, Im a glad bird
I got changes to ring.
Closing my dream inside its paper-bag.
Thought I saw angels
But I could have been wrong.
Search in my case,
Cant find what theyre looking for.
Waving me through
To cry you a song.
Its been a long time --
Still shaking my wings.
Well Im a glad bird
I got changes to ring.
Lights in the street,
Peeping through curtains drawn.
Rattling of safety chain taking too long.
The smile in your eyes was never so sweet before --
Came down from the skies
To cry you a song.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When Nature Resounds
God has graced Nature with beauty and utmost esteem.
A crown has rested upon her head all her life long.
In my youth, a flower bud made my eyes gleam;
Its radiant loveliness being praised by the birds’ song.
The vision of ripening fruit made my mouth lust,
Nestled graciously on a branch above the fences.
The melodic whisper of a gentle morning gust
Sounds like a symphony to music starved senses.
The golden warmth of an early morning sun
Brings to mind visions of still unseen dreams
Of our hibernal daystar that lasts ‘til victory is won
And nature has harnessed her most fearful extremes.
God prepare me, I pray, for when nature resounds,
And she possesses the glory which is fully deserved.
The earth will be filled with birds’ melodious sounds,
When a feast of sweet songs my ears are served.
And let a shapely damsel in a floral patterned dress
Allow me a moment to relax my infinite necessities.
May the ripest sweetest fruit withstand my test,
And all the rest avail their succulent identities.
Let my vision behold nature as she abounds
When her colorful blossoms give off radiant beams.
Might I be blessed by the Divine when Nature resounds
And reality becomes a field of never before seen dreams.
poem by Albert Price
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Glory To God; To Men Good Will!
Opposed to Jewish Temple-rites,
Strange to the lore of Greece,
That message comes from starry heights,
A key to lasting Peace.
What-e'er our creed, we own its thrill —
'Glory to God; to men good will!'
Though Art may strive for utterance yet,
And Science grope her way,
A wider zone of thought is set
Where shines the perfect day;
A motive passing earthly skill —
'Glory to God; to men good will!'
For let the wise and prudent know,
As trustful children would,
That oracle of long ago
Contains the Greatest Good;
Unvex'd by doubt, unmix'd with ill —
'Glory to God; to men good will!'
A wiser world grows sick of strife,
Of mockery dearly bought;
And man, achieving truer life,
And brave, unselfish thought,
That high behest shall yet fulfil —
'Glory to God; to men good will!'
So lies millennial peace in reach,
While empires rise and fall;
For, age on age, and new to each,
That glad prophetic call
Comes pealing down the cycles still —
'Glory to God; to men good will!'
poem by Joseph Furphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Your Loves Been A Long Time Coming
(words & music by r. bourke)
The first time I saw you I knew I was hooked on somebody other than me
The first time I held you, your soft lips and blue eyes
Were as far as my eyes could see
Yes here in my arms I knew I had found the reason that Im living for
And I felt the feeling, such a wonderful feeling
That Id never felt before
Baby, youre loves been a long time coming
Baby your loves got a hold on me
Baby your loves sure got me humming
Baby your loves been a long time coming
Deep in my heart theres a feeling I never knew
Until I saw a love that was very new
Im gonna tell everyone what good love can do
Baby, youre loves been a long time coming
Baby your loves got a hold on me
Baby your loves sure got me humming
Baby your loves been a long time coming
Baby, youre loves been a long time coming
Baby your loves got a hold on me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Guitar
With burdens bearing heavy down a road that's hard and long
My body's bent and weary so I'm reaching for a song;
My sorrows flicker - fading..., faint... - beneath the morning star,
While worried fingers seethe across the strings of my guitar.
Though seagulls fly forever, streaking, striving for the strand,
My troubles ebb, evaporate, with my guitar in hand;
Their turbulency's writhing neath the notes within the air -
And hunted by the haunting beat, they're vanquished everywhere.
With melodies erupting, bursting, splashing night with dawn,
The drifting dancing demons die, as time goes swirling on;
Guitars are roaming randomly across the rusty skies,
While cares have vanished, draped in dust of distant lullabies.
poem by Terry O'Leary
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Though some Saith that Youth Ruleth me
1 Though some saith that youth ruleth me,
2 I trust in age to tarry.
3 God and my right and my duty,
4 From them I shall never vary,
5 Though some say that youth ruleth me.
6 I pray you all that aged be,
7 How well did ye your youth carry?
8 I think some worse, of each degree:
9 Therein a wager lay dare I,
10 Though some saith that youth ruleth me.
11 Pastimes of youth sometime among,
12 None can say but necessary.
13 I hurt no man, I do no wrong,
14 I love true where I did marry,
15 Though some saith that youth ruleth me.
16 Then soon discuss that hence we must.
17 Pray we to God and Saint Mary
18 That all amend, and here an end,
19 Thus saith the king, the eighth Harry,
20 Though some saith that youth ruleth me.
poem by Henry VIII King of England
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!