The Old Man's Grave
Make it where the winds may sweep
Through the pine boughs soft and deep,
And the murmur of the sea
Come across the orient lea,
And the falling raindrops sing
Gently to his slumbering.
Make it where the meadows wide
Greenly lie on every side,
Harvest fields he reaped and trod,
Westering slopes of clover sod,
Orchard lands where bloom and blow
Trees he planted long ago.
Make it where the starshine dim
May be always close to him,
And the sunrise glory spread
Lavishly around his bed.
And the dewy grasses creep
Tenderly above his sleep.
Since these things to him were dear
Through full many a well-spent year,
It is surely meet their grace
Should be on his resting-place,
And the murmur of the sea
Be his dirge eternally.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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On the Hills
Through the pungent hours of the afternoon,
On the autumn slopes we have lightly wandered
Where the sunshine lay in a golden swoon
And the lingering year all its sweetness squandered.
Oh, it was blithesome to roam at will
Over the crest of each westering hill,
Over those dreamy, enchanted lands
Where the trees held to us their friendly hands!
Winds in the pine boughs softly crooned,
Or in the grasses complained most sweetly,
With all the music of earth attuned
In this dear ripe time that must pass so fleetly:
Golden rod as we idled by
Held its torches of flame on high,
And the asters beckoned along our way
Like fair fine ladies in silk array.
We passed by woods where the day aside
Knelt like a pensive nun and tender,
We looked on valleys of purple pride
Where she reigned a queen in her misty splendor;
But out on the hills she was wild and free,
A comrade to wander right gipsily,
Luring us on over waste and wold
With the charm of a message half sung, half told,
And now, when far in the shining west
She has dropped her flowers on the sunset meadow,
We turn away from our witching quest
To the kindly starshine and gathering shadow;
Filled to the lips of our souls are we
With the beauty given so lavishly,
And hand in hand with the night we come
Back to the light and the hearth of home.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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A Garden By The Sea
I KNOW a little garden-close,
Set thick with lily and red rose,
Where I would wander if I might
From dewy morn to dewy night,
And have one with me wandering.
And though within it no birds sing,
And though no pillared house is there,
And though the apple-boughs are bare
Of fruit and blossom, would to God
Her feet upon the green grass trod,
And I beheld them as before.
There comes a murmur from the shore,
And in the close two fair streams are,
Drawn from the purple hills afar,
Drawn down unto the restless sea:
Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee,
Dark shore no ship has ever seen,
Tormented by the billows green
Whose murmur comes unceasingly
Unto the place for which I cry.
For which I cry both day and night,
For which I let slip all delight,
Whereby I grow both deaf and blind,
Careless to win, unskilled to find,
And quick to lose what all men seek.
Yet tottering as I am and weak,
Still have I left a little breath
To seek within the jaws of death
An entrance to that happy place,
To seek the unforgotten face,
Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me
Anigh the murmuring of the sea.
poem by William Morris
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The Siesta
FROM THE SPANISH.
Vientecico murmurador,
Que lo gozas y andas todo, &c.
Airs, that wander and murmur round,
Bearing delight where'er ye blow!
Make in the elms a lulling sound,
While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest,
Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er.
Sweet be her slumbers! though in my breast
The pain she has waked may slumber no more.
Breathing soft from the blue profound,
Bearing delight where'er ye blow,
Make in the elms a lulling sound,
While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
Airs! that over the bending boughs,
And under the shade of pendent leaves,
Murmur soft, like my timid vows
Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves,--
Gently sweeping the grassy ground,
Bearing delight where'er ye blow,
Make in the elms a lulling sound,
While my lady sleeps in the shade below.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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The Nymph's Song to Hylas
I KNOW a little garden-close
Set thick with lily and red rose,
Where I would wander if I might
From dewy dawn to dewy night,
And have one with me wandering.
And though within it no birds sing,
And though no pillar'd house is there,
And though the apple boughs are bare
Of fruit and blossom, would to God,
Her feet upon the green grass trod,
And I beheld them as before!
There comes a murmur from the shore,
And in the place two fair streams are,
Drawn from the purple hills afar,
Drawn down unto the restless sea;
The hills whose flowers ne'er fed the bee,
The shore no ship has ever seen,
Still beaten by the billows green,
Whose murmur comes unceasingly
Unto the place for which I cry.
For which I cry both day and night,
For which I let slip all delight,
That maketh me both deaf and blind,
Careless to win, unskill'd to find,
And quick to lose what all men seek.
Yet tottering as I am, and weak,
Still have I left a little breath
To seek within the jaws of death
An entrance to that happy place;
To seek the unforgotten face
Once seen, once kiss'd, once reft from me
Anigh the murmuring of the sea.
poem by William Morris
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Winds of Destiny
Winds of destiny blow and blow
Take me where I'm not supposed to go
Take me far away from here
Make me forget what's close and dear
Make me forget my life, my hopes, my dreams
Make me forget how real this seems
Winds of destiny why have you forsaken me so
Why must you fill me with misery wherever I go
All I ask now is you to take me far far away
All I ask is to leave today
Because I'm tired of the tears
Everyday of the year
I cry
Sometimes not even knowing why
All because of you, destiny of mine
Thanks to you I'll never be fine
I understand it was destiny for me to suffer like this
To be ripped from what I surely miss
To suffer in silence, all alone
And to keep secrets, don't worry, they'll never be known
One the one condition that you take me home
PLEASE, winds of destiny blow and blow
Take me where I'm not supposed to go
Take me home
The Orchard Lands Of Long Ago
The orchard lands of Long Ago!
O drowsy winds, awake, and blow
The snowy blossoms back to me,
And all the buds that used to be!
Blow back along the grassy ways
Of truant feet, and lift the haze
Of happy summer from the trees
That trail their tresses in the seas
Of grain that float and overflow
The orchard lands of Long Ago!
Blow back the melody that slips
In lazy laughter from the lips
That marvel much if any kiss
Is sweeter than the apple's is.
Blow back the twitter of the birds--
The lisp, the titter, and the words
Of merriment that found the shine
Of summer-time a glorious wine
That drenched the leaves that loved it so,
In orchard lands of Long Ago!
O memory! alight and sing
Where rosy-bellied pippins cling,
And golden russets glint and gleam,
As, in the old Arabian dream,
The fruits of that enchanted tree
The glad Aladdin robbed for me!
And, drowsy winds, awake and fan
My blood as when it overran
A heart ripe as the apples grow
In orchard lands of Long Ago!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Asphodel
Dry grass is shifting
in chill autumn wind
soft hills once green
are brown once again
I yearn for the rain,
winter's blessing to fall
and spread wide white fields
of asphodel.
Gray stones mark my
resting place
deep in the earth
where I lie by dark lakes,
but in winter I crave
the fruit of the pall
Oh, spread wide bright fields
of asphodel.
___________
Author's Note: Asphodel, in Ancient Greek mythology, is a favored food of the dead and is often planted at grave-sites.
poem by Steven Federle
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Jordan
(fred rich)
Come in as you tread lifes journey
Take jesus as your daily guide
Though you may feel pure and safely
Without him walking by your side
But when you come to make the crossing
At the ending of your pilgrims way
If you ever will meet our savior
Youll surely meet him on that day
Now look at that cold jordan
Look at these deep waters
Look at that wide river
Oh hear the mighty billows roar
Youd better take jesus with you
Hes a true companion
For Im sure without him
That you never will make it oer
That awful day of judgment
Is coming in the by and by
Well se our lord descending
In glory from on high
So let us keep in touch with jesus
And in his grace the love of god
That we may be ever called ready
When he calls us over jordans tide
Now look at that cold jordan
Look at these deep waters
Look at that wide river
Oh hear the mighty billows roar
Youd better take jesus with you
Hes a true companion
For Im sure without him
That you never will make it oer
Oh what, what you gonna do
Oh what, what you gonna do
Oh how, how you gonna feel
When you come to the end of the way
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Among The Orchards
Already in the dew-wrapped vineyards dry
Dense weights of heat press down. The large bright drops
Shrink in the leaves. From dark acacia tops
The nuthatch flings his short reiterate cry;
And ever as the sun mounts hot and high
Thin voices crowd the grass. In soft long strokes
The wind goes murmuring through the mountain oaks.
Faint wefts creep out along the blue and die.
I hear far in among the motionless trees--
Shadows that sleep upon the shaven sod--
The thud of dropping apples. Reach on reach
Stretch plots of perfumed orchard, where the bees
Murmur among the full-fringed golden-rod,
Or cling half-drunken to the rotting peach.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Make It Right
(r. lawrence/c. bernard/s. benson)
(make it right)
(make it right)
Youve been on my mind
cause the last words I said
Felt so wrong ,so unkind
No ones to blame
But somewhere along the way
I know that somethings changed
What was said
And what was done
Is not the way of love
Just look what weve become
Chorus:
Feel me touch you tenderly
Im makin an apology
Please hold me close tonight
(make it right)
Can we try to love once more
And make it like it was before
I need you by my side
(make it right)
(make it right)
As we close our eyes
Can you hear me prayin
How can lovers be so blind
It hurts me so, just dont know
That we could fall again
Help me understand
Can we forgive
Can we compromise
Just believe that we can
Leave it all behind
We can get to where
We feel good inside
Open up our hearts
And keep this love alive
Chorus
(make it right)
(make it right)
Ooh make it right for me, babe
(make it right)
(are we gonna) make it right
(we can see it) see it in our eyes
(can we do it) do you wanna try
(dont you know I)
Ill always love you, baby
(give a listen)
Listen to the words Im sayin
(tell you that its)
Its only love were makin
(all you gotta) ooh
Chorus
(make it right)
Im touchin you so tenderly
(please hold me close tonight)
Never let me go (make it right)
Can we try to love once more
And make it like it was before
I need you by my side
(make it right)
Chorus
Make it right
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Glory Now Descending
I have seen the heavens descending
And the beauty of Christ arise
For there is no comprehending
As His glory fills the skies
Are the eyes of your heart full of wonder?
Has perfect love cast out all fear?
Can you hear the heavenly thunder?
As our Lord and God draws near
Lift up your eyes and see the King
As the angels blow their horn
Let every man and woman sing
For the day that He was born
For on that day when He came to earth
The angels did rejoice
And all who bowed now gladly serve
And make a joyful noise
For if glory filled the earth and sky
On the day that He was born
And all hell shook when He was crucified
And the veil was surely torn
Then what glory now descending
As He comes back for His own?
And every heart depending
For the trumpet it has blown
Close your eyes and open your heart
And the King of glory will come in
It was His plan right from the start
To conquer hell and death and sin
O the glory of the risen King
Who is coming for His own
And every child of God will sing
Around God's holy throne
Come Lord Jesus take your place
Rule and reign forevermore
We'll eternally gaze into your face
As we all worship and adore
poem by Frank McEleny
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R. S. S., At Deer Island On The Merrimac
Make, for he loved thee well, our Merrimac,
From wave and shore a low and long lament
For him, whose last look sought thee, as he went
The unknown way from which no step comes back.
And ye, O ancient pine-trees, at whose feet
He watched in life the sunset's reddening glow,
Let the soft south wind through your needles blow
A fitting requiem tenderly and sweet!
No fonder lover of all lovely things
Shall walk where once he walked, no smile more glad
Greet friends than his who friends in all men had,
Whose pleasant memory, to that Island clings,
Where a dear mourner in the home he left
Of love's sweet solace cannot be bereft.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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High and Low
The grasses green of sweet content
That spring, no matter high or low,
Where’er a living thing can grow,
On chilly hills and rocky rent,
And by the lowly streamlet’s side
Oh! why did e’er I turn from these?
The lordly, tall, umbrageous trees,
That stand in high aspiring pride,
With massive bulk on high sustain
A world of boughs with leaf and fruits,
And drive their wide-extending roots
Deep down into the subject plain.
Oh, what with these had I to do?
That germs of things above their kind
May live, pent up and close confined
In humbler forms, it may be true;
Yet great is that which gives our lot;
High laws and powers our will transcend,
And not for this, till time do end,
Shall any be what he is not.
Each in its place, as each was sent,
Just nature ranges side by side;
Alike the oak tree’s lofty pride
And grasses green of sweet content.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Song
Oh night and sleep,
Ye are so soft and deep,
I am so weary, come ye soon to me.
Oh hours that creep,
With so much time to weep,
I am so tired, can ye no swifter be?
Come, night, anear;
I'll whisper in thine ear
What makes me so unhappy, full of care;
Dear night, I die
For love that all men buy
With tears, and know not it is dark despair.
Dear night, I pray,
How is it that men say
That love is sweet? It is not sweet to me.
For one boy's sake
A poor girl's heart must break;
So sweet, so true, and yet it could not be!
Oh, I loved well,
Such love as none can tell:
It was so true, it could not make him know:
For he was blind,
All light and all unkind:
Oh, had he known, would he have hurt me so?
Oh night and sleep,
Ye are so soft and deep,
I am so weary, come ye soon to me.
Oh hours that creep,
With so much time to weep,
I am so tired, can ye no swifter be?
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Autumn My Dear
I
Autumn my dear!
Thy winds are cool and sharp
And are mine to embrace
Even as I draw you near
I sniff the traditional odour
Of dead leaves and lavender...
Oh, how they have haunted me
Since late December;
That I wished it early October
II
Autumn my dear!
Orange by they favourite colour
To alleviate the people's fear
Of dying Summer,
Idyllic paradise,
That you have replaced
To my heart sprung joy
My Autumn, ever dearest,
I have waited ever long
III
Autumn my dear!
The harvest has been reaped,
And the leaves have long been scattered
From the trees your winds have shattered
The trees have since weeped,
As you drew near.
poem by Ryan C. Walker
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While the Fates Sleep
Come, let us to the sunways of the west,
Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill,
Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest
O'er whispering wold and hill.
Castles of air yon wimpling valleys keep
Where milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea,
They shall be ours in the moon's wizardry,
While the fates, wearied, sleep.
The viewless spirit of the wind will sing
In the soft starshine by the reedy mere,
The elfin harps of hemlock boughs will ring
Fitfully far and near;
The fields will yield their trove of spice and musk,
And balsam from the glens of pine will fall,
Till twilight weaves its tangled shadows all
In one dim web of dusk.
Let us put tears and memories away,
While the fates sleep time stops for revelry;
Let us look, speak, and kiss as if no day
Has been or yet will be;
Let us make friends with laughter 'neath the moon,
With music on the immemorial shore,
Yea, let us dance as lovers danced of yore
The fates will waken soon!
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Memory
When I was young my heart and head were light,
And I was gay and feckless as a colt
Out in the fields, with morning in the may,
Wind on the grass, wings in the orchard bloom.
O thrilling sweet, my joy, when life was free
And all the paths led on from hawthorn-time
Across the carolling meadows into June.
But now my heart is heavy-laden. I sit
Burning my dreams away beside the fire:
For death has made me wise and bitter and strong;
And I am rich in all that I have lost.
O starshine on the fields of long-ago,
Bring me the darkness and the nightingale;
Dim wealds of vanished summer, peace of home,
And silence; and the faces of my friends.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Snow
Snow
Gently falling
Twirling and dancing
As it falls to rest on the ground
Little crystals
Made of ice
Make a soft bed apon a hill
Blanketing everything in peace
Seemingly untouched
The perfection astonishing
All I want to do is rest
To sleep, untouched by time
As soft as it looks
My bed of snow
Enfolds me
I close my eyes
And drift into
wonderful oblivion
poem by Autumn Winds
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Yvonne of Brittany
In your mother's apple-orchard,
Just a year ago, last spring:
Do you remember, Yvonne!
The dear trees lavishing
Rain of their starry blossoms
To make you a coronet?
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
As I remember yet?
In your mother's apple-orchard,
When the world was left behind:
You were shy, so shy, Yvonne!
But your eyes were calm and kind.
We spoke of the apple harvest,
When the cider press is set,
And such-like trifles, Yvonne,
That doubtless you forget.
In the still, soft Breton twilight,
We were silent; words were few,
Till your mother came out chiding,
For the grass was bright with dew:
But I know your heart was beating,
Like a fluttered, frightened dove.
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
That first faint flush of love?
In the fulness of midsummer,
When the apple-bloom was shed,
Oh, brave was your surrender,
Though shy the words you said.
I was glad, so glad, Yvonne!
To have led you home at last;
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
How swiftly the days passed?
In your mother's apple-orchard
It is grown too dark to stray,
There is none to chide you, Yvonne!
You are over far away.
There is dew on your grave grass, Yvonne!
But your feet it shall not wet:
No, you never remember, Yvonne!
And I shall soon forget.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Let The Time Go By
Take me in your arms again
and hold me close to you.
Take me in your arms again
and whisper 'I love you.'
Let me look into your eyes
to see how much you care.
There is no place I'd rather be,
no place anywhere.
'Cause you make me feel your eyes can see
what you always do to me.
You make me shiver, make me burn
and always dear you make me yearn
to just stay quiet in your arms
and let the time go by.
Take me in your arms again.
Never let us part.
Take me in your arms again
and feel my beating heart.
Let me close my eyes a while
and kiss you tenderly.
I'm eager for your lips on mine
and I will always be.
'Cause you make me feel that you can see
what you always do to me.
You make me shiver, make me burn
and always dear you make me yearn
to just stay quiet in your arms
and let the time go by.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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