An April Night
The moon comes up o'er the deeps of the woods,
And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills,
Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds
Over the pools and the whimpering rills;
And with her the mists, like dryads that creep
From their oaks, or the spirits of pine-hid springs,
Who hold, while the eyes of the world are asleep,
With the wind on the hills their gay revellings.
Down on the marshlands with flicker and glow
Wanders Will-o'-the-Wisp through the night,
Seeking for witch-gold lost long ago
By the glimmer of goblin lantern-light.
The night is a sorceress, dusk-eyed and dear,
Akin to all eerie and elfin things,
Who weaves about us in meadow and mere
The spell of a hundred vanished Springs.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Related quotes
Dryads
When meadows are grey with the morn
In the dusk of the woods it is night:
The oak and the birch and the pine
War with the glimmer of light.
Dryads brown as the leaf
Move in the gloom of the glade;
When meadows are grey with the morn
Dim night in the wood has delayed.
The cocks that crow to the land
Are faint and hollow and shrill:
Dryads brown as the leaf
Whisper, and hide, and are still.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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The Hills Of Youth
Once, on the far blue hills,
Alone with the pine and the cloud, in those high still places;
Alone with a whisper of ferns and a chuckle of rills,
And the peat-brown pools that mirrored the angels’ faces,
Pools that mirrored the wood-pigeon’s grey-blue feather,
And all my thistledown dreams as they drifted along;
Once, oh, once, on the hills, thro’ the red-bloomed heather
I followed an elfin song.
Once, by the wellsprings of joy,
In the glens of the hart’s-tongue fern, where the brooks came leaping
Over the rocks, like a scrambling bare-foot boy
That never had heard of a world grown old with weeping;
Once, thro’ the golden gorse (do the echoes linger
In Paradise woods, where the foam of the may runs wild?)
I followed the flute of a light-foot elfin singer,
A god with the eyes of a child.
Once, he sang to me there,
From a crag on a thyme-clad height where the dew still glistened;
He sang like the spirit of Spring in that dawn-flushed air,
While the angels opened their doors and the whole sky listened:
He sang like the soul of a rainbow, if heaven could hear it,
Beating to heaven, on wings that were April’s own;
A song too happy and brave for the heart to bear it,
Had the heart of the hearer known.
Once, ah, once, no more,
The hush and the rapture of youth in those holy places,
The stainless height, the hearts that sing and adore
Till the sky breaks out into flower with the angels’ faces!
Once, in the dawn, they were mine; but the noon bereft me.
At midnight now, in an ebb of the loud world’s roar,
I catch but a broken stave of the songs that left me
On hills that are mine no more.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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How was it
Why ask, dear one? I think I cannot tell,
More than I know how clouds so sudden lift
From mountains, or how snowflakes float and drift,
Or springs leave hills. One secret and one spell
All true things have. No sunlight ever fell
With sound to bid flowers open. Still and swift
Come sweetest things on earth.
So comes true gift
Of Love, and so we know that it is well.
Sure tokens also, like the cloud, the snow,
And silent flowing of the mountain-springs,
The new gift of true loving always brings.
In clearer light, in purer paths, we go:
New currents of deep joy in common things
We find. These are the tokens, dear, we know!
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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The River Path
No bird-song floated down the hill,
The tangled bank below was still;
No rustle from the birchen stem,
No ripple from the water's hem.
The dusk of twilight round us grew,
We felt the falling of the dew;
For, from us, ere the day was done,
The wooded hills shut out the sun.
But on the river's farther side
We saw the hill-tops glorified,--
A tender glow, exceeding fair,
A dream of day without its glare.
With us the damp, the chill, the gloom
With them the sunset's rosy bloom;
While dark, through willowy vistas seen,
The river rolled in shade between.
From out the darkness where we trod,
We gazed upon those bills of God,
Whose light seemed not of moon or sun.
We spake not, but our thought was one.
We paused, as if from that bright shore
Beckoned our dear ones gone before;
And stilled our beating hearts to hear
The voices lost to mortal ear!
Sudden our pathway turned from night;
The hills swung open to the light;
Through their green gates the sunshine showed,
A long, slant splendor downward flowed.
Down glade and glen and bank it rolled;
It bridged the shaded stream with gold;
And, borne on piers of mist, allied
The shadowy with the sunlit side!
'So,' prayed we, 'when our feet draw near
The river dark, with mortal fear,
'And the night cometh chill with dew,
O Father! let Thy light break through!
'So let the hills of doubt divide,
So bridge with faith the sunless tide!
'So let the eyes that fail on earth
On Thy eternal hills look forth;
'And in Thy beckoning angels know
The dear ones whom we loved below!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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In the St. Gotthardt Pass
The storm which shook the silence of the hills
And sleeping pinnacles of ancient snow
Went muttering off in one last thunder throe
Mixed with a moan of multitudinous rills;
Yea, even as one who has wept much, but stills
The flowing tears of some convulsive woe
When a fair light of hope begins to glow
Athwart the gloom of long remembered ills:
So does the face of this scarred mountain height
Relax its stony frown, while slow uprolled
Invidious mists are changed to veiling gold.
Wild peaks still fluctuate between dark and bright,
But when the sun laughs at them, as of old,
They kiss high heaven in all embracing light.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Distant Hills
What is there in those distant hills
My fancy longs to see,
That many a mood of joy instils?
Say what can fancy be?
Do old oaks thicken all the woods,
With weeds and brakes as here?
Does common water make the floods,
That's common everywhere?
Is grass the green that clothes the ground?
Are springs the common springs?
Daisies and cowslips dropping round,
Are such the flowers she brings?
* * * * *
Are cottages of mud and stone,
By valley wood and glen,
And their calm dwellers little known
Men, and but common men,
That drive afield with carts and ploughs?
Such men are common here,
And pastoral maidens milking cows
Are dwelling everywhere.
If so my fancy idly clings
To notions far away,
And longs to roam for common things
All round her every day,
Right idle would the journey be
To leave one's home so far,
And see the moon I now can see
And every little star.
And have they there a night and day,
And common counted hours?
And do they see so far away
This very moon of ours?
* * * * *
I mark him climb above the trees
With one small [comrade] star,
And think me in my reveries--
He cannot shine so far.
* * * * *
The poets in the tales they tell
And with their happy powers
Have made lands where their fancies dwell
Seem better lands than ours.
Why need I sigh far hills to see
If grass is their array,
While here the little paths go through
The greenest every day?
Such fancies fill the restless mind,
At once to cheat and cheer
With thought and semblance undefined,
Nowhere and everywhere.
poem by John Clare
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Moon Glow
The darkest night, flows with a
wind hush through open blackness.
Ya'ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Rivulets spill with water
across the mountain plains;
as liquid rolls down along the steep slope-
ya'ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Stars glitter through sparkles
of the darkest night.
Wind cold breeze swifts;
swiftly into space.
Laughter engulfs the moon light.
Ya' ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Moon light angles corners,
as sweet melodies swell into air,
of silence.
You ever sight the bird dance,
as shadow flicker
upon the moon?
Ya' ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
poem by Celine Berghmans
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A Summer Day
I
The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.
II
Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer's cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.
III
Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O'er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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The glow in the fog and mist
The spectral glow of a bobbing lantern
As if tossed upon a stormy sea
Appearing..then fading anon, absorbed
In foggy essence, to fade again so feebly
Once more, ere sinking in finality
Into the quicksand of mist
Mere glow of candle, so dear to see
Seen now…then not, …with capricious twist
The spectral light, drifts through the night
As a ghost through fog and mist
Through ribs of rain, the tremulous light
Chills the brain, befogs the sight
Dimly lit, by lanterns in the mist
Dark clouds upon the soul this night
Fog is the dark abode of lost souls
Who wander without rest with lantern high
The mist, the breath, of hollow death
The fog, the food, on which to persist
Tis best my friend, not to be, nor ne'r to see….
The glow in the fog and mist
poem by David Whalen
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Gold In Them Hills
I know it doesn't seem that way
But maybe it's the perfect day
Even though the bills are piling
And maybe Lady Luck ain't smiling
But if we'd only open our eyes
We'd see the blessings in disguise
That all the rain clouds are fountains
Though our troubles seem like mountains
There's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose heart
Give the day a chance to start
Every now and then life says
Where do you think you're going so fast
We're apt to think it cruel but sometimes
It's a case of cruel to be kind
And if we'd get up off our knees
Why then we'd see the forest for the trees
And we'd see the new sun rising
Over the hills on the horizon
There's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose faith
Give the world a chance to say...
A word or two, my friend
There's no telling how the day might end
And we'll never know until we see
That there's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose heart
Give the day a chance to start
There's gold in them hills...
There's gold in them hills...
song performed by by Coldplay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mirror Of Diana
Popular Name for Lake Nemi.
SHE floats into the quiet skies,
Where, in the circle of hills,
Her immemorial mirror fills
With light, as of a Virgin's eyes
When, love a-tremble in their blue,
They glow twin violets dipped in dew.
Mild as a metaphor of Sleep,
Immaculately maiden-white,
The Queen Moon of ancestral night
Beholds her image in the deep:
As if a-gaze she beams above
Lake Nemi's magic glass of love.
White rose, white lily of the vale,
Perfume the even breath of night;
In many a burst of sweet delight
The love throb of the nightingale
Swells through lush flowering woods and fills
The circle of the listening hills.
White rose, white lily of the skies,
The Moon-flower blossoms in the lake;
The nightingale for her fair sake
With hopeless love's impassioned cries
Seems fain to sing till song must kill
Himself with one tumultuous trill.
And all the songs and all the scents,
The light of glowworms and the fires
Of fire-flies in the cypress spires;
And all the wild wind instruments
Of pine and ilex as the breeze
Sweeps out their mystic harmonies;--
All are but Messengers of May
To that white orb of maiden fire
Who fills the moth with mad desire
To die enamoured in her ray,
And turns each dewdrop in the grass
Into a fairy looking-glass.
O Beauty, far and far above
The night moth and the nightingale!
Far, far above life's narrow pale,
O Unattainable! O Love!
Even as the nightingale we cry
For some Ideal set on high.
Haunting the deep reflective mind,
You may surprise its perfect Sphere
Glassed like the Moon within her mere,
Who at a puff of alien wind
Melts in innumerable rings,
Elusive in the flux of things.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Smokey Mountain Boy
(words & music by rosenblatt - milrose)
Im just a smokey mountain boy
Come back to the hills I love
Where the tops of pine all bend in the wind
And the deep blue sky above
The closer and closer I get to home
The more excited I am
Those were the mornings Id roll out of bed
Start the day off with a hot corn bread
Smothered in huckleberry jam
Im just a smokey mountain boy
Come back to the hills I love
Where the tops of pine all bend in the wind
And the deep blue sky above
I can almost hear the hounds running through the woods
Close on the trail of the hare
How I long to be with them following the hounds
A-huntin again
Gettin me a big old grizzly bear
Im just a smokey mountain boy
Come back to the hills I love
Where the tops of pine all bend in the wind
And the deep blue sky above
I traveled around and met lots of girls
No matter how many I see
I left some pretty ones behind
I know back home is where Ill find
The girl whose love is meant for me
Im just a smokey mountain boy
Come back to the hills I love
Where the tops of pine all bend in the wind
And the deep blue sky above
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Ballad Maker
ONCE I loved a maiden fair,
Over the hills and jar away,
Lands she had and lovers to spare,
Over the hills and far away.
And I was stooped and troubled sore,
And my face was pale, and the coat I wore
Was thin as my supper the night before
Over the hills and far away.
Once I passed in the Autumn late,
Over the hills and jar away,
Her bawn and barn and painted gate,
Over the hills and jar away.
She was leaning there in the twilight space,
Sweet sorrow was on her fair young face,
And her wistful eyes were away from the place,
Over the hills and jar away.
Maybe she thought as she watched me come,
Over the hills and jar away,
With my awkward stride and my face so glum,
Over the hills and jar away.
Spite of his stoop, he still is young,
They say he goes the Shee among,
Ballads he makes; I've heard them sung
Over the hills and jar away.
She gave me good-night in gentle wise,
Over the hills and jar away,
Shyly lifting to mine, dark eyes,
Over the hills and jar away.
What could I do but stop and speak,
And she no longer proud, but meek?
She plucked me a rose like her wild-rose cheek-
Over the hills and jar away.
To-morrow Mavourneen a sleeveen weds,
Over the hills and jar away,
With corn in haggard and cattle in sheds,
Over the hills and jar away.
And I who have lost her, the dear, the rare-
Well, I got me this ballad to sing at the fair,
Twill bring enough money to drown my care,
Over the hills and jar away.
poem by Padraic Colum
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The Wooing Of Gheezis
The red chief Gheezis, chief of the golden wampum, lay
And watched the west-wind blow adrift the clouds,
With breath all flowery, that from his calumet
Curl'd like to smoke about the mountain tops.
Gheezis look'd from his wigwam, blue as little pools
Drained from the restless mother-wave, that lay
Dreaming in golden hollows of her sands;
And deck'd his yellow locks with feath'ry clouds,
And took his pointed arrows and so stoop'd
And leaning with his red hands on the hills,
Look'd with long glances all along the earth.
'Mudjekeewis, West-Wind, in amongst the forest,
'I see a maid, gold-hued as maize full ripe; her eyes
'Laugh under the dusk boughs like watercourses;
'Her moccasins are wrought with threads of light: her hands
'Are full of blue eggs of the robin, and of buds
'Of lilies, and green spears of rice: O Mudjekeewis,
'Who is the maid, gold-hued as maize full-ripen'd?'
'O sun, O Gheezis, that is Spring, is Segwun--woo her!'
'I cannot, for she hides behind the behmagut--
'The thick leav'd grape-vine, and there laughs upon me.'
'O Gheezis,' cried Segwun from behind the grape-vine.
'Thy arms are long but all too short to reach me,
'Thou art in heaven and I upon the earth!'
Gheezis, with long, golden fingers tore the grape-vine,
But Segwun laughed upon him from behind
A maple, shaking little leaves of gold fresh-budded.
'Gheezis, where are thy feet, O sun, O chief?'
'Follow,' sigh'd Mudjekeewis, 'Gheezis must wed
'With Spring, with Segwun, or all nature die.'
The red chief Gheezis swift ran down the hills,
And as he ran the pools and watercourses
Snatch'd at his yellow hair; the thickets caught
Its tendrils on their brambles; and the buds
That Segwun dropp'd, opened as they touched.
His moccasins were flame, his wampum gold;
His plumes were clouds white as the snow, and red
As Sumach in the moon of falling leaves.
He slipp'd beside the maple, Segwun laugh'd.
'O Gheezis, I am hid amid the lily-pads,
'And thou hast no canoe to seek me there; farewell!'
'I see thine eyes, O Segwun, laugh behind the buds;
'The Manitou is love, and gives me love, and love
'Gives all of power.' His moccasins wide laid
Red tracks upon the waves: When Segwun leap'd
Gold-red and laughing from the lily-pads,
To flit before him like a fire-fly, she found
The golden arms of Gheezis round her cast, the buds
Burst into flower in her hands, and all the earth
Laughing where Gheezis look'd; and Mudjekeewis,
Heart friend of Gheezis, laugh'd, 'Now life is come
'Since Segwun and red Gheezis wed and reign!'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Turn
It's a hard way to come home
You've got me on my knees
The walls are tumbling down
The falling night believes
Listening through months and years
I can't forget that you were here
I feel your presence everywhere
In the corner over there
Turn your eyes from me
It's time for me to go
Across the hills and over the sea
I want you more than I know
It's a wild world out there
And nobody gives a damn
In cold blood we don't care
And we don't want to understand
I'm sitting here alone at night
My sleepless eyes are open wide
What do you want me to say
What we had has gone away
The sky is high the road is long
Show me what I should have done
What do you want me to do
Take it all away from you
Turn your eyes from me
It's time for me to go
Across the hills and over the sea
I want you more than I know
Turn your eyes from me
It's time for me to go
Across the hills and over the sea
I want you more than I know
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Recollections Of Love
I
How warm this woodland wild Recess !
Love surely hath been breathing here ;
And this sweet bed of heath, my dear !
Swells up, then sinks with faint caress,
As if to have you yet more near.
II
Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills,
Where quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float hear and there, like things astray,
And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.
III
No voice as yet had made the air
Be music with your name ; yet why
That asking look ? that yearning sigh ?
That sense of promise every where ?
Belovéd ! flew your spirit by ?
IV
As when a mother doth explore
The rose-mark on her long-lost child,
I met, I loved you, maiden mild !
As whom I long had loved before--
So deeply had I been beguiled.
V
You stood before me like a thought,
A dream remembered in a dream.
But when those meek eyes first did seem
To tell me, Love within you wrought--
O Greta, dear domestic stream !
VI
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Has not Love's whisper evermore
Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar ?
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
Dear under-song in clamor's hour.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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She Took a Flight from my Mind
She has gone off this poor heart
with a Desk-top engineer abroad.
Deriding me by a derisive look,
She has happily left this abode.
My eyes have lost their vision.
My ears don't listen to music.
My mind hates this human world
and she has her heavenly heart sold.
And she has her heavenly heart sold!
The flowers in the garden bleed.
The birds don't play their reed.
The stars don't gleam in the dark
and the hills with no rills stand stark.
And the hills with no rills stand stark!
My pen doesn't scribble a verse
and the sea roars ill-boding curse.
The river goes silent in grief
and she has made her love brief.
And she has made her love brief!
A send-off she gave me with smiles.
Where she did hide her guiles?
My heart from beating fails
and to heavenward not it sails.
And to heavenward not it sails!
The springs are dry in the spring.
The winds don't make whistling ring.
Towards my back an arrow did she fling
and hurled me off with her sling.
And hurled me off with her sling!
---------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Epilogue II
When dusk falls cool as a rained-on rose,
And a tawny tower the twilight shows,
With the crescent moon, the silver moon, the curved new moon in a space that glows,
A turret window that grows a-light;
There is a path that my Fancy knows,
A glimmering, shimmering path of night,
That far as the Land of Faery goes.
II.
And I follow the path, as Fancy leads,
Over the mountains, into the meads,
Where the firefly cities, the glowworm cities, the fairy cities are strung like beads,
Each city a twinkling star:
And I live a life of valorous deeds,
And march with the Fairy King to war,
And ride with his knights on milk-white steeds.
III.
Or it's there in the whirl of their life I sit,
Or dance in their houses with starlight lit,
Their blossom houses, their flower houses, their elfin houses, of fern-leaves knit,
With fronded spires and domes:
And there it is that my lost dreams flit,
And the ghost of my childhood, smiling, roams
With the fairy children so dear to it.
IV.
And it's there I hear that they all come true,
The fairy-stories, whatever they do
Elf and goblin, dear elf and goblin, loved elf and goblin and all the crew
Of witch and wizard and gnome and fay,
And prince and princess, that wander through
The storybooks we have put away,
The fairytales that we loved and knew.
V.
The face of Adventure lures you there,
And the eyes of Danger bid you dare,
While ever the bugles, the silver bugles, the far-off bugles of Elfland blare,
The fairy trumpets to battle blow;
And you feel their thrill in your heart and hair,
And you fain would follow and mount and go
And march with the Fairies anywhere.
VI.
And she she rides at your side again,
Your little sweetheart whose age is ten:
She is the princess, the fairy princess, the princess fair that you worshipped when
You were a prince in a fairytale;
And you do great deeds as you did them then,
With your magic spear, and enchanted mail,
Braving the dragon in his den.
VII.
And you ask again, 'Oh, where shall we ride,
Now that the monster is slain, my bride?'
'Back to the cities, the firefly cities, the glowworm cities where we can hide,
The beautiful cities of Faeryland.
And the light of my eyes shall be your guide,
The light of my eyes and my snow-white hand
And there forever we two will abide.'
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Hills of Mahabaleshwar (Pune-Mumbai-India)
Passing through a long stretch of woodlands
and fields above the hills,
we saw a terrain with knolls in circles,
where the mountain-rat Shivaji held sway,
with a drawn sword when the Moghuls ruled India.
When we were going up, the shining bunds of lights
one above the other on the slopes of the hills,
made our jaunt fascinating!
A fine morning drizzle fell to make the hills smile
and the spreading mists tried in vain to veil the hills
from our ravening looks.
The mists were wreathing upwards
while our eyes were scaling down the slopes.
And it was a vertiginous dropp to the vales below!
Sparkling sparks of teachers, my friends were,
taking neck or nothing risks
and travelling in routes unheard of
to retreat into hills and forests,
not as jungle bandits with prize catches
or as bogus ascetics with all delicacies
but with passions unbridled
to get wet in the breeze of the hills
and be shrouded in the all pervading mists.
------------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The Blind Caravan
1 I am a slave, both dumb and blind,
2 Upon a journey dread;
3 The iron hills lie far behind,
4 The seas of mist ahead.
5 Amid a mighty caravan
6 I toil a sombre track,
7 The strangest road since time began,
8 Where no foot turneth back.
9 Here rosy youth at morning's prime
10 And weary man at noon
11 Are crooked shapes at eventime
12 Beneath the haggard moon.
13 Faint elfin songs from out the past
14 Of some lost sunset land
15 Haunt this grim pageant drifting, vast,
16 Across the trackless sand.
17 And often for some nightward wind
18 We stay a space and hark,
19 Then leave the sunset lands behind,
20 And plunge into the dark.
21 Somewhere, somewhere, far on in front,
22 There strides a lonely man
23 Who is all strength, who bears the brunt,
24 The battle and the ban.
25 I know not of his face or form,
26 His voice or battle-scars,
27 Or how he fronts the haunted storm
28 Beneath the wintry stars;
29 I know not of his wisdom great
30 That leads this sightless host
31 Beyond the barren hills of fate
32 Unto some kindlier coast.
33 But often 'mid the eerie black
34 Through this sad caravan
35 A strange, sweet thrill is whispered back,
36 Borne on from man to man.
37 A strange, glad joy that fills the night
38 Like some far marriage horn,
39 Till every heart is filled with light
40 Of some belated morn.
41 The way is long, and rough the road,
42 And bitter the night, and dread,
43 And each poor slave is but a goad
44 To lash the one ahead.
45 Evil the foes that lie in wait
46 To slay us in the pass,
47 Bloody the slaughter at the gate,
48 And bleak the wild morass;
49 And I am but a shriveled thing
50 Beneath the midnight sky;
51 A wasted, wan remembering
52 Of days long wandered by.
53 And yet I lift my sightless face
54 Toward the eerie light,
55 And tread the lonely way we trace
56 Across the haunted night.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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