At Nightfall
The dark is coming o'er the world, my playmate,
And the fields where poplars stand are very still,
All our groves of green delight have been invaded,
There are voices quite unknown upon the hill;
The wind has grown too weary for a comrade,
It is keening in the rushes spent and low,
Let us join our hands and hasten very softly
To the little, olden, friendly path we know.
The stars are laughing at us, O, my playmate,
Very, very far away in lonely skies,
The trees that were our friends are strangers to us,
And the fern is full of whispers and of sighs.
The sounds we hear are not what we may share in,
We may not linger where the white moths roam,
We must hasten yet more swiftly, little playmate,
To the house among the pines that is our home.
The dark is creeping closer yet, my playmate,
And the woods seem crowding nearer as we go,
Oh, how very, very bold have grown the shadows,
They may touch us as they flutter to and fro!
The silence is too dreadful for our laughter,
The night is very full of strange alarms,
But it cannot hurt us now, O, little playmate,
One more step and we are safe in mother's arms!
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Related quotes
The Perfect Playmate
Roger Charles Noel Bellingham. Before Ypres, March 4th, 1915
The Perfect Playmate, whither does he stray
That now no more his feet come up this way
That rang so blithe upon the nursery floor?
Wild games and laughter! Now the little son
Listens and longs, and his small world's undone.
The Perfect Playmate will return no more.
Who else made holidays of rainy days?
Who told such marvels by the firelight blaze?
King of misrule when Christmas frosts were hoar.
But now the black-gowned mother's tears will flow
Whether her little son be good or no.
The Perfect Playmate will return no more.
Who built the sands, dug deep, was never loth
Nor ever tired: was strong enough for both:
Home on his shoulders a small drowsy head bore;
Was ever smiling. The boy keeps apart
A gay young smiling father in his heart.
The Perfect Playmate will return no more!
No more, no more! Himself a boy he goes
Beyond the uttermost peaks, the eternal snows:
Light on his young brown head from an open door.
His youth unwithered, smiling all the way,
Into the land of youth, the Spring of Day.
The Perfect Playmate will return no more.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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My Playmate
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,
Their song was soft and low;
The blossoms in the sweet May wind
Were falling like the snow.
The blossoms drifted at our feet,
The orchard birds sang clear;
The sweetest and the saddest day
It seemed of all the year.
For, more to me than birds or flowers,
My playmate left her home,
And took with her the laughing spring,
The music and the bloom.
She kissed the lips of kith and kin,
She laid her hand in mine
What more could ask the bashful boy
Who fed her father's kine?
She left us in the bloom of May
The constant years told o'er
Their seasons with as sweet May morns,
But she came back no more.
I walk, with noiseless feet, the round
Of uneventful years;
Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring
And reap the autumn ears.
She lives where all the golden year
Her summer roses blow;
The dusky children of the sun
Before her come and go.
There haply with her jewelled hands
She smooths her silken gown,-
No more the homespun lap wherein
I shook the walnuts down.
The wild grapes wait us by the brook,
The brown nuts on the hill,
And still the May-day flowers make sweet
The woods of Follymill.
The lilies blossom in the pond,
The bird builds in the tree,
The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill
The slow song of the sea.
I wonder if she thinks of them,
And how the old time seems,-
If ever the pines of Ramoth wood
Are sounding in her dreams.
I see her face, I hear her voice;
Does she remember mine?
And what to her is now the boy
Who fed her father's kine?
What cares she that the orioles build
For other eyes than ours,-
That other hands with nuts are filled,
And other laps with flowers?
O playmate in the golden time!
Our mossy seat is green,
Its fringing violets blossom yet,
The old trees o'er it lean.
The winds so sweet with birch and fern
A sweeter memory blow;
And there in spring the veeries sing
The song of long ago.
And still the pines of Ramoth wood
Are moaning like the sea,-
The moaning of the sea of change
Between myself and thee!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Come From The Daisied Meadows
HOME from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet -
Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set;
For the dews are falling fast
And the night has come at last.
Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest,
Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother's breast.
Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you;
she'll be your guardian and shield.
Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be
bright upon mountain and field.
Long, long the shadows fall.
All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid.
All round your head be angels.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Untimely Leave
No more noisy, loud words from me---such is my master's will.
Henceforth I deal in whispers.
The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song.
Men hasten to the King's market. All the buyers and sellers are there.
But I have my untimely leave in the middle of the day, in the thick of work.
Let then the flowers come out in my garden, though it is not their time;
and let the midday bees strike up their lazy hum.
Full many an hour have I spent in the strife of the good and the evil,
but now it is the pleasure of my playmate of the empty days to draw my heart on to him;
and I know not why is this sudden call to what useless inconsequence!
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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I Want A Monster To Be My Friend
Some kids just love
To play with dolls
Or put on funny hats
And some make pets
Of birds and fish
And dogs and
Alley cats
That's not the way
I like to play
I'm tired of all these
I need a very
Special friend
Won't you
Help me please?
I want a monster
To be my playmate
I want a monster
To be my friend
I want to get
For my own pet
A real live monster
Who's not pretend
Oh, I want a monster
To be my playmate
We'd soon become
Good friends because
Although they're hairy
And sometimes scary
They have such soft
And furry paws
If I make friends with
A friendly monster
I'd be the best that a
friend could be
I'd let him do
Whatever he wants to
And he'd always
Belong to me
So, if you know a
Nice old monster
If you've a monster
To recommend
Ooh, golly gee
Please send him to me
I just can't wait
Until then!
I want a monster
A real live monster
I want a monster
Send me my monster
I want a monster
A real live monster
I want a monster
Send my monster
I want a monster
A real live monster
I want a monster
To be my friend!
Oh please
Send my monster
Does anybody have
A monster out there
I'll take a
Secondhand monster
He doesn't have
To be new
song performed by by En Vogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Playmate
You want to be my playmate
O my love it sounds so great!
I don’t care if it’s a sin
God is not cruel I mean.
Baby at long last I can see
Someone who really loves me.
I feel so lonely you know
I will never let you go.
poem by Asif Andalib
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Mayon Volcano
a beautiful princess
silent
on the slopes
friendly
to the clouds
faithful
to the sun
and ally
of the
full moon
and
playmate
of the stars
on her feet
run the
cool rivers
on her
bosom
the orchids
and the
trees
once, twice
thrice
how did we
really know
but we know
she one day
will turn
into a witch
spitting fire
and molten
rocks
sinking islands
and killing thousands
or even millions
mute and stiff and dead
burned alive, charred
that even history
has no braver memory
poem by Antonio Liao
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The Ballad
The balloon goes up and the playmate is no more in the Playhouse.
They are already grown-ups.
The old fence is broken and a new parapet is there.
It's like a ballet,
When the ballerina at the balustrade
The grueling swain swarms to the stairs.
Both stumble at the dim stage and then the stagnation.
Dedication to all the lovers who hide their tears...........?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I want to try out for Playmate actually. I talked to one of the photographers about doing test shots.
quote by Trishelle Cannatella
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paper Boats
Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running
stream.
In bid black letters I write my name on them and the name of
the village where I live.
I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and
know who I am.
I load my little boats with shiuli flower from our garden, and
hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land
in the night.
I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the
little clouds setting thee white bulging sails.
I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down
the air to race with my boats!
When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my
paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.
The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading ins
their baskets full of dreams.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Creativity is...seeing something that doesn't exist already. You need to find out how you can bring it into being and that way be a playmate with God.
quote by Michele Shea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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friendship
When you sail troubled waters
I’m your oaken ship
Where you stand
I’m firmness neath your feet
When you stroll a summer’s day
I’m your umbrella, rain or shine
When you’re unhappy
I’m your circus clown
When you’re afraid
I’m a warm embrace
When you’re joyous
I’m your playmate
When you take ill
I’m a soothing balm
When Heaven calls you home
I shall be a loving archive of your life
ROTMS
(To best friends everywhere)
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And you wouldn't believe what a small world it is because everyone seems to know that I was a Playmate. You wouldn't be scared of me, would you?
quote by Marliece Andrada
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wasted
Gotta get up
I'm trying to open my eyes
I'm swimming through this haze
That's been around me for days
Don't wanna come down
But you were always around
And everyone's so strange
There's nothing that they can change
Take my hand
Show me how this all fits in your plan
Understand
That I don't need you
I just need to
Feel how does it feel
To crush the world in two
One last time
Cause I am wasted
Feel
song performed by by Zebrahead from Playmate Of The Year
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Name Of Love
Living in a one-room
If I dont fall in love soon
Hangin on the telephone
If I dont get your call soon
* every night I spend alone
Ive never been so low
And this room is closing in
If I die, who will know
** in the name of love
Is there someone left for me
In the name of love
Set this heart free
Dreaming of a playmate
If I dont fall in love soon
Strangers on a dark night
But its all over too soon
* repeat
** repeat twice
[instrumental]
** repeat twice
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hidden Voices in the Dark
I hear whispers in the murky corners.
I hear echoes coming out of the shadows.
I hear screams screeching through the dim black.
The hidden voices in the dark.
A son is whispering accept me even if I am gay.
A daughter echo of daddy please doesn’t touch me there.
And a mother screams I did not know.
They are some of the hidden voices in the dark.
In the silence of the night
when all is somber.
That is when my mind’s ear
is tune in to all
The Hidden Voices in the Dark
My Enlivening Soul
Often in my mind’s eye
Pops up a blurred image
All smiles over such a serene countenance
But if one dares to peep inside
And observe more closely-
Is the person really so blissful?
Oh! The dark space is so grim
I get chilled…
Then why this show?
Sir, this is the person known to the world as “DAD”
And for me, he is my enlivening soul
Taking all the pains over himself
No dark shadow ever dares gloom over his family.
When we were young
We found in him a cool playmate
His shoulder was the highest place on earth…
Then a close friend…
And now, a mentor
Just to say…never let it end
Dearest Dad, just to say, you’re truly valued!
poem by Akanksha Agarwal
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Subract You
Another day
Another clean break
Another cigarette and I think I'm gonna be okay
Some other way
Some other mistake
Some other reason saying that you are never gonna stay
You are the plug and I am the socket
You are the rock and I come to rock it
You see the truth when I bring the bullshit
You make me whole when I feel alone
Hands to the hands to the sky
song performed by by Zebrahead from Playmate Of The Year
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Doll Upon The Topmost Bough
This doll upon the topmost bough,
This playmate-gift, in Christmas dress,
Was taken down and brought to me
One sleety night most comfortless.
Her hair was gold, her dolly-sash
Was gray brocade, most good to see.
The dear toy laughed, and I forgot
The ill the new year promised me.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Old Man
Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name there's nothing
To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old Man,
The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree,
Growing with rosemary and lavender.
Even to one that knows it well, the names
Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is:
At least, what that is clings not to the names
In spite of time. And yet I like the names.
The herb itself I like not, but for certain
I love it, as someday the child will love it
Who plucks a feather from the door-side bush
Whenever she goes in or out of the house.
Often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling
The shreds at last on to the path,
Thinking perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs
Her fingers and runs off. The bush is still
But half as tall as she, 'though it is as old;
So well she clips it. Not a word she says;
And I ca only wonder how much hereafter
She will remember, with that bitter scent,
Of garden rows, and ancient damson trees
Topping a hedge, a bent path to a door
A low thick bush beside the door, and me
Forbidding her to pick.
As for myself,
Where first I met the bitter scent is lost.
I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds,
Sniff them and think and sniff again and try
Once more to think what it is I am remembering,
Always in vain. I cannot like the scent,
Yet I would rather give up others more sweet,
With no meaning, than this bitter one.
I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray
And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing;
Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait
For what I should, yet never can, remember;
No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush
Of Lad's-love, or Old Man, no child beside,
Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate;
Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end
poem by Edward Thomas
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