The Sea Spirit
I smile o'er the wrinkled blue
Lo! the sea is fair,
Smooth as the flow of a maiden's hair;
And the welkin's light shines through
Into mid-sea caverns of beryl hue,
And the little waves laugh and the mermaids sing,
And the sea is a beautiful, sinuous thing!
I scowl in sullen guise
The sea grows dark and dun,
The swift clouds hide the sun
But not the bale-light in my eyes,
And the frightened wind as it flies
Ruffles the billows with stormy wing,
And the sea is a terrible, treacherous thing!
When moonlight glimmers dim
I pass in the path of the mist,
Like a pale spirit by spirits kissed.
At dawn I chant my own weird hymn,
And I dabble my hair in the sunset's rim,
And I call to the dwellers along the shore
With a voice of gramarye evermore.
And if one for love of me
Gives to my call an ear,
I will woo him and hold him dear,
And teach him the way of the sea,
And my glamor shall ever over him be;
Though he wander afar in the cities of men
He will come at last to my arms again.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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The Voyagers
We shall launch our shallop on waters blue from some dim primrose shore,
We shall sail with the magic of dusk behind and enchanted coasts before,
Over oceans that stretch to the sunset land where lost Atlantis lies,
And our pilot shall be the vesper star that shines in the amber skies.
The sirens will call to us again, all sweet and demon-fair,
And a pale mermaiden will beckon us, with mist on her night-black hair;
We shall see the flash of her ivory arms, her mocking and luring face,
And her guiling laughter will echo through the great, wind-winnowed space.
But we shall not linger for woven spell, or sea-nymph's sorceries,
It is ours to seek for the fount of youth, and the gold of Hesperides,
Till the harp of the waves in its rhythmic beat keeps time to our pulses' swing,
And the orient welkin is smit to flame with auroral crimsoning.
And at last, on some white and wondrous dawn, we shall reach the fairy isle
Where our hope and our dream are waiting us, and the to-morrows smile;
With song on our lips and faith in our hearts we sail on our ancient quest,
And each man shall find, at the end of the voyage, the thing he loves the best.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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The House Of Dust: Part 04: 01: Clairvoyant
'This envelope you say has something in it
Which once belonged to your dead son—or something
He knew, was fond of? Something he remembers?—
The soul flies far, and we can only call it
By things like these . . . a photograph, a letter,
Ribbon, or charm, or watch . . . '
. . . Wind flows softly, the long slow even wind,
Over the low roofs white with snow;
Wind blows, bearing cold clouds over the ocean,
One by one they melt and flow,—
Streaming one by one over trees and towers,
Coiling and gleaming in shafts of sun;
Wind flows, bearing clouds; the hurrying shadows
Flow under them one by one . . .
' . . . A spirit darkens before me . . . it is the spirit
Which in the flesh you called your son . . . A spirit
Young and strong and beautiful . . .
He says that he is happy, is much honored;
Forgives and is forgiven . . . rain and wind
Do not perplex him . . . storm and dust forgotten . .
The glittering wheels in wheels of time are broken
And laid aside . . . '
'Ask him why he did the thing he did!'
'He is unhappy. This thing, he says, transcends you:
Dust cannot hold what shines beyond the dust . . .
What seems calamity is less than a sigh;
What seems disgrace is nothing.'
'Ask him if the one he hurt is there,
And if she loves him still!'
'He tells you she is there, and loves him still,—
Not as she did, but as all spirits love . . .
A cloud of spirits has gathered about him.
They praise him and call him, they do him honor;
He is more beautiful, he shines upon them.'
. . . Wind flows softly, the long deep tremulous wind,
Over the low roofs white with snow . . .
Wind flows, bearing dreams; they gather and vanish,
One by one they sing and flow;
Over the outstretched lands of days remembered,
Over remembered tower and wall,
One by one they gather and talk in the darkness,
Rise and glimmer and fall . . .
'Ask him why he did the thing he did!
He knows I will understand!'
'It is too late:
He will not hear me: I have lost my power.'
'Three times I've asked him! He will never tell me.
God have mercy upon him. I will ask no more.'
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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On the Bay
When the salt wave laps on the long, dim shore,
And frets the reef with its windy sallies,
And the dawn's white light is threading once more
The purple firs in the landward valleys,
While yet the arms of the wide gray sea
Are cradling the sunrise that is to be,
The fisherman's boat, through the mist afar,
Has sailed in the wake of the morning star.
The wind in his cordage and canvas sings
Its old glad song of strength and endeavor,
And up from the heart of the ocean rings
A call of courage and cheer forever;
Toil and danger and stress may wait
Beyond the arch of the morning's gate,
But he knows that behind him, upon the shore,
A true heart prays for him evermore.
When a young moon floats in the hollow sky,
Like a fairy shallop, all pale and golden,
And over the rocks that are grim and high,
The lamp of the light-house aloft is holden;
When the bay is like to a lucent cup
With glamor and glory and glow filled up,
In the track of the sunset, across the foam,
The fisherman's boat comes sailing home.
The wind is singing a low, sweet song
Of a rest well won and a toil well over,
And there on the shore shines clear and strong
The star of the homelight to guide the rover:
And deep unto deep may call and wail
But the fisherman laughs as he furls his sail,
For the bar is passed and the reef is dim
And a true heart is waiting to welcome him!
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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The Call
Mother of her who is close to my heart
Cease to chide!
For no small thing must I wander afar
From the tender arms and lips of my bride
My love with eyes like the glowing star
In the twilight sky apart.
Coulds't thou have seen Him standing there
Ere the day was born,
With the mild high look that was like a prayer,
Thou woulds't not marvel that I must leave all
I hold most dear to answer the call
Of that wonderful morn.
We were casting our nets in the sea,
Andrew and I;
Over the mountains a young wind came
To kiss the waters of Galilee,
And in the calm blue northern sky
The gleaming crest of old Hermon rose
Girt with its diadem of snows,
And the east was smit with flame.
All our thoughts were simple and glad
As toilers' should be;
Andrew, that careless, dark-eyed lad
Sang a song right merrily,
Joyous of melody and word,
As he worked with oar and net and sail,
But I dreamed of the face that would blush and pale
When my step should be heard!
Then, as we lifted heedless eyes,
We saw Him there,
Where the silver waters curled on the shore;
Behind Him the radiance of the skies
Shining over His long, fair hair
Wreathed it as with a crown of light;
And oh, the grandeur and the grace
Of that pale and kingly face
We were weary and hungered with toil of the night
But we thought not of it more!,
He looked upon us with eyes that must see
Far in our hearts past mortal ken;
All the delights of the world grew dim
Sweeter is seemed to suffer pain
And wander, outcast of men with Him,
Than share in another's joy and gain;
Spake He thus royally, "Come with me;
I will make you fishers of men."
Mother of her who weeps at my side
Cease to chide!
Thou knowest not how that one word rings
Ever by day and by night in my ear,
I cannot hearken to olden things
I cannot listen to hope or fear;
Mother of her who is dearest of all,
I must follow the Nazarene's call!
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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My Fair Silver Maiden
Oh my fair silver maiden
I see your eyes in the stars that light the dark,
Your hair in the swaying summer grass,
Your smile in the majestic sunrise
Oh my fair silver maiden
Your scent is always on the next wind
Your sweet, intoxicating scent.
Oh my fair silver maiden
Tell me where you are
So that I might find you
And my heart be complete.
Oh my fair silver maiden
How I long for you
How I cry for you
How I search for you.
Oh my fair silver maiden
Always beyond the next wind.
Tell me where you are
So that I might find you
And my heart be complete.
Oh my fair silver maiden.
poem by Cameron Bird
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The Bird's Release
Go forth, for she is gone!
With the golden light of her wavy hair,
She is gone to the fields of the viewless air;
She hath left her dwelling lone!
Her voice hath pass'd away!
It hath pass'd away like a summer breeze,
When it leaves the hills for the far blue seas,
Where we may not trace its way.
Go forth, and like her be free!
With thy radiant wing, and thy glancing eye,
Thou hast all the range of the sunny sky,
And what is our grief to thee?
Is it aught ev'n to her we mourn?
Doth she look on the tears by her kindred shed?
Doth she rest with the flowers o'er her gentle head,
Or float on the light wind borne?
We know not-but she is gone!
Her step from the dance, her voice from the song,
And the smile of her eye from the festal throng;-
-She hath left her dwelling lone!
When the waves at sunset shine,
We may hear thy voice, amidst thousands more,
In the scented woods of our glowing shore,
But we shall not know 'tis thine!
Ev'n so with the lov'd one flown!
Her smile in the starlight may wander by,
Her breath may be near in the wind's low sigh,
Around us-but all unknown.
Go forth, we have loos'd thy chain!
We may deck thy cage with the richest flowers,
Which the bright day rears in our eastern bowers,
But thou wilt not be lur'd again.
Ev'n thus may the summer pour
All fragrant things on the land's green breast,
And the glorious earth like a bride be dress'd,
But it wins her back no more!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Stormy Sky
Oh, oh darlin,
Little darlin,
Did you ever see such a stormy sky?
Its never been like this before.
All the people,
Theyre runnin.
Evrybodys tryn to hide,
To get away from that stormy sky.
Perhaps its a sign
Of what were headed for.
Were under a stormy sky,
Watchin the clouds roll by.
But wont you let me keep you warm,
And leave the storm outside?
Its only a stormy sky.
I feel it.
Do you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Feels like were in for a stormy night,
But I cant see a cloud in sight.
I see it.
Do you see it?
Cant you see it,
See that warning in that stormy sky.
But perhaps its gonna pass us by,
So dont you cry.
Theres nowhere we can hide.
But if you hold me tight,
I know that well be all right.
Tomorrow well laugh about it;
Greet the mornin light.
Its only a stormy sky.
Were under a stormy sky,
Watchin the clouds roll by.
But therell be another dawn
To clear the storm away,
And we will be all right.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Light
Light that can be kind. Light that can smell sweet. Light that can be soft.
Light that can be porcelain. Light that can be silent. Light that can speak.
Light that can hold many colors. Light that can be romantic. Light that can be harsh.
Light that can be cold. Light that can be warm. Light that can be dry.
Light that can be loud. Light that can be love. Light that can be faith.
Light that can be full of strength. Light that can be pure. Light that can be dark.
Light that can be fragile. Light that can be crazy. Light that can be weird.
Light that can be old. Light that can be new. Light that can be inbetween.
Light that can be swift. Light that can be sharp. Light that can wonder.
Light that can be insane. Light that can be smooth. Light that can dream.
Light that can be free. Light that can be everlasting. Light that can be wild.
Light that is the lord. Light that is Jesus. Light that is holy.
Light that is the trinity. Light that can belong. Light that can be fast.
Light that can sing. Light that is the holy ghost. Light that is the Bible.
Light that can be a mith. Light that can be still. Light that can be different.
Light that can be hole. Light that can be true. Light that can be whimsical.
Light that can be bright. Light that can be formed. Light that is blessed.
Light that can be full of presence. Light that can tell a story. Light that can be intelligent.
Light that is like no other!
poem by Shania K. Younce
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To My Mother
Chiming a dream by the way
With ocean’s rapture and roar,
I met a maiden to-day
Walking alone on the shore:
Walking in maiden wise,
Modest and kind and fair,
The freshness of spring in her eyes
And the fullness of spring in her hair.
Cloud-shadow and scudding sun-burst
Where swift on the floor of the sea,
And a mad wind was romping its worst,
But what was their magic to me?
Or the charm of the midsummer skies?
I only saw she was there,
A dream of the sea in her eyes
And the kiss of the sea in her hair.
I watch her vanish in space;
She came where I walked no more;
But something was passed from her grace
To the spell of the wave and the shore;
And now as the glad stars rise,
She comes to me, rosy and rare,
The delight of the wind in her eyes
And the hand of the wind in her hair.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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The Dream Star
Whisper, O wings of the wind! Sing me your song, O sea!
Grey is the weary world, and grey is the heart of me!
Into my shadowy heart pierce like the star of old,
Pearl of the tender dawn, kissed by the trembling gold!
Sing me the hope made sure, sing me the heart made strong!
Give me the battle-fire, give me the bugle-song
Onward ever and on, O swift, green bird of the sun;
Ever a vaster goal for the goal that thy wings have won.
Keen with a tireless beat is the rush of thy wings that soar;
But keener, swifter than thee is the vision that flies before.
What though we die forgot and sad for the song unsung!
Fresh from her thousand deaths ever the world is young.
For, ever the dream-world floats, a light on a misty bar,
And ever the grey earth follows the wake of that pilot star;
Follows a spirit ship that bears o’er a spirit sea
Shadows of thoughts unborn, phantoms of destiny.
Silver the giant sails loom through the amber haze,
And ever the helmsman Hope steers for the halcyon days;
And ever the voices call, out of the golden light,
Into the dreamer’s heart, sad in the lonely night—
Call like the ring of steel and thrill as of bugles blown,
Splendours of days to be, flaming in skies unknown.
Deep in the eastern skies glimmers that phantom star;
Dim in the distance dies the surge of the world afar.
Ah, but like broken swords, scattered along the van,
Perish the outpost souls that fall in the march of Man!
Ah, but they die not so; out of their ashes then
Flowers of immortal Love spring in the hearts of men!
Wings of the swift green Earth, ever and ever young—
This is the whispered word the wind of the morning sung!
This is the rune I heard flung by the ocean old,
Pearl of the tender dawn, kissed by the trembling gold!
poem by George Essex Evans
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The Red Mist
SHE thinks aloud as she sits alone,
And the magpies call in the evening grey —
Oh, sorrow to her with the heart of stone
Who stole my lover away, away!
There is no peace in the light of the moon,
And little enough in the shine of the sun;
And it's grieving and grieving that darkens the noon,
And troubles me sore till the salt tears run.
There's Joyce with the red cheeks says to me,
Herself as gay as a crowned young queen:
'It's pale you are, and it's sick, maybe;
And what is it ails your heart, Noreen?'
At that I say, with a laugh in my voice
(For grief is an ill, dark thing to show):
'It's you with your tricks and your capers, Joyce,
And the imp in your eyes that makes me so.'
There's one and another from near and far
Who come with their kind, sweet neighbour-speech;
'It's sick you look, and it's pale you are;
And what have you done with your bloom of the peach?'
I sit and listen, but may not tell;
As an actor plays, I play my part;
It's little they'd care (as my heart knows well),
If they but knew the hurt of my heart.
And even Joyce, who is kind as kind,
Would make a jest of my pain, perchance;
For a feather afloat on an idle wind
Means more to the world than a spoiled romance.
If I were a man I would do so much —
Be brave, make light of my weight of care,
Bring ease to my mind with a master-touch,
And find fit food for my heart elsewhere.
Yet soft and shy as a cooing dove
(For that he thought me, and thinks me yet)
I cannot rest for remembering love,
Nor dream of a time when I may forget.
I think of his kisses that warmed like wine
When the low night-winds in the pine trees played,
And the lilies, white in the white moonshine,
A startling light in the garden made.
I think of his voice in those honeyed hours,
And wonder if words are flowers sometimes,
All scent and colour — are chiming flowers
That thrill the blood with their magic chimes
And then, the thought of the Other comes,
Her wiles and wonder and luring lies,
And the blood in my ears is a throb of drums,
And a red mist glimmers before my eyes.
And I go to the place where the thing lies hid,
And its blade takes fire at my burning touch;
And I say to myself: 'If the world were rid
Of three lives more, would it matter much?
'Would it matter much in the big world's sight
If the sorry farce to the end were played.
And three ghosts trod through the Outer Night —
The Loved, the Lover, the Love Betrayed?
'If one that suffers and two that sing
Were made cold clay, were it well or ill?'
And I grasp the haft of the jewelled thing,
And stand in the lamplight pale and still.
And then I shudder, and sob and sink,
And lie, eyes hid, with the light turned low,
Like one who stands on an awful brink,
Wild-eyed, and trembling, and breathing slow;
And then comes Joyce with her joyous cries:
'Come out in the night, come dance with me!'
And I smooth my hair and I soothe my eyes —
But I know what the end of it all shall be.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Little Paul
CHEERFUL voices by the sea-side
Echoed through the summer air,
Happy children, fresh and rosy,
Sang and sported freely there,
Often turning friendly glances,
Where, neglectful of them all,
On his bed among the gray rocks,
Mused the pale child, little Paul.
For he never joined their pastimes,
Never danced upon the sand,
Only smiled upon them kindly,
Only waved his wasted hand.
Many a treasured gift they bore him,
Best beloved among them all.
Many a childish heart grieved sadly,
Thinking of poor little Paul.
But while Florence was beside him,
While her face above him bent,
While her dear voice sounded near him,
He was happy and content;
Watching ever the great billows,
Listening to their ceaseless fall,
For they brought a pleasant music
To the ear of little Paul.
'Sister Floy,' the pale child whispered,
'What is that the blue waves say?
What strange message are they bringing
From that shore so far away?
Who is dwelling in that country
Whence a low voice seems to call
Softly, through the dash of waters,
'Come away, my little Paul'?'
But sad Florence could not answer,
Though her dim eyes tenderly
Watched the wistful face, that ever
Gazed across the restless sea,
While the sunshine like a blessing
On his bright hair seemed to fall,
And the winds grew more caressing,
As they kissed frail little Paul.
Ere long, paler and more wasted,
On another bed he lay,
Where the city's din and discord
Echoed round him day by day;
While the voice that to his spirit
By the sea-side seemed to call,
Sounded with its tender music
Very near to little Paul.
As the deep tones of the ocean
Linger in the frailest shell,
So the lonely sea-side musings
In his memory seemed to dwell.
And he talked of golden waters
Rippling on his chamber wall,
While their melody in fancy
Cheered the heart of little Paul.
Clinging fast to faithful Florence,
Murmuring faintly night and day,
Of the swift and darksome river
Bearing him so far away,
Toward a shore whose blessed sunshine
Seemed most radiantly to fall
On a beautiful mild spirit,
Waiting there for little Paul.
So the tide of life ebbed slowly,
Till the last wave died away,
And nothing but the fragile wreck
On the sister's bosom lay.
And from out death's solemn waters,
Lifted high above them all,
In her arms the spirit mother
Bore the soul of little Paul.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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The Rape Of The Mist
High o’er the clouds a Sunbeam shone,
And far down under him,
With a subtle grace that was all her own,
The Mist gleamed, fair and dim.
He looked at her with burning eyes
And longed to fall at her feet;
Of all sweet things there under the skies,
He thought her the thing most sweet.
He had wooed oft, as a Sunbeam may,
Wave, and blossom, and flower;
But never before had he felt the sway
Of a great love’s mighty power.
Tall cloud-mountains and vast space-seas,
Wind, and tempest, and fire –
What obstacles such as these
To a heart that is filled with desire?
Boldly he trod over cloud and star,
Boldly he swam through space,
She caught the glow of his eyes afar
And veiled her delicate face.
He was so strong and he was so bright,
And his breath was a breath of flame;
The Mist grew pale with a vague, strange fright,
As fond, yet fierce, he came.
Close to his heart she was clasped and kissed;
She swooned in love’s alarms,
And dead lay the beautiful pale-faced Mist
In the Sunbeam’s passionate arms.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Clouds and Waves
Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me-
"We play from the time we wake till the day ends.
We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon."
I ask, "But how am I to get up to you ?"
They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your
hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds."
"My mother is waiting for me at home, "I say, "How can I leave
her and come?"
Then they smile and float away.
But I know a nicer game than that, mother.
I shall be the cloud and you the moon.
I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will
be the blue sky.
The folk who live in the waves call out to me-
"We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know
not where we pass."
I ask, "But how am I to join you?"
They tell me, "Come to the edge of the shore and stand with
your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves."
I say, "My mother always wants me at home in the everything-
how can I leave her and go?"
They smile, dance and pass by.
But I know a better game than that.
I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.
I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with
laughter.
And no one in the world will know where we both are.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Ghost Eagle Still Flies Ghost Skies
beauty solemnly slips from grief dark shadows
her eyes were soulful as dark as her hair shines
dance with life smile at his funeral an angel divine
his spirit flew in bright white blue mountain thermals
morning burn golden light upon life sacred mountain
eagle flies no more these spectral blue white skies
hunters came creeping shot free eagle as he soars flies
feelings ghost haunting hunt skies where eagle flies no more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Crippled Inside
You can shine your shoes and wear a suit
You can comb your hair and look quite cute
You can hide your face behind a smile
One thing you cant hide
Is when youre crippled inside
You can wear a mask and paint your face
You can call yourself the human race
You can wear a collar and a tie
One thing you cant hide
Is when youre crippled inside
Well now you know that your
Cat has nine lives
Nine lives to itself
But you only got one
And a dogs life aint fun
Mamma take a look outside
You can go to church and sing a hymn
You can judge me by the color of my skin
You can live a lie until you die
One thing you cant hide
Is when youre crippled inside
Well now you know that your
Cat has nine lives
Nine lives to itself
But you only got one
And a dogs life aint fun
Mamma take a look outside
You can go to church and sing a hymn
You can judge me by the color of my skin
You can live a lie until you die
One thing you cant hide
Is when youre crippled inside
One thing you cant hide
Is when youre crippled inside
One thing you cant hide
Is when youre crippled inside
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Even More Domineering
I love Rudi’s protectiveness, Juliette says
I’m a disgrace to all feminists, I love his
jealousy while Juliette points out that she
is the great beauty, not I, she has the hair,
seriously beautiful hair, long legs and big
blue eyes; while I have soft hair, light-sen-
sitive eyes and short legs and a non-sexy
smile, Juliette has been crowned first
princess in a beauty pageant
She mockingly threatens to steal Rudi from
me, he’s much too handsome and I’m much
too clinging, she says, but I disagree, I asked
him could he have chosen Juliette if he had
met her first, he burst out laughing and said
not on your life, I don’t care for eyes, legs and
hair, but about what’s inside, I asked him if
he loved what’s inside me more
than the outside –
He replied, I love what’s inside AND I adore
the package in which you arrived, he kissed
my non-glamorous hair and my light-sensitive
eyes and said he liked the fire that lived inside,
he kissed my non-sexy smile and said the love
in the line of my lips drove him wild, I asked him
about my being too dependent and forcing him
to be domineering, using Juliette’s arguments;
he decided then and there
To become even more domineering instead
and marched me off to bed…
poem by Louise Tredoux
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The Rope
(stephanie davis)
In waters calm I sailed from shore
To see what I might see
And having never sailed before
I drifted aimlessly
A warm breeze rocked my boat until
In slumber I fell sound
But woke to find the light grown dim
And dark clouds gathering round
In haste I worked at turning back
But now the wind blew wrong
And when the night came cold and black
My strength was almost gone
But with one last small thread of hope
I bowed my head to pray
Then through the dark I saw a rope
And heard a calm voice say
Grab the rope
Hold it tight
In the distance
Shines a light
Neither fear
Nor feel alone
There is one
Wholl lead you home
I heard my heart beat loud and fast
But did as I was told
And with the rosey dawn at last
Dry land I did behold
I kissed the sandy banks and swore
My sailing days were through
But should I ever stray from shore
I know now what to do
Grab the rope
Hold it tight
In the distance
Shines a light
Neither fear
Nor feel alone
There is one
Wholl lead you home
Grab the rope
Hold it tight
In the distance
Shines a light
Neither fear
Nor feel alone
There is one
Wholl lead you home
song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alaskan Balladry
Krinken was a little child,-
It was summer when he smiled.
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him,
Calling, 'Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!'
But the child heard not the sea,
Calling, yearning evermore
For the summer on the shore.
Krinken on the beach one day
Saw a maiden Nis at play;
On the pebbly beach she played
In the summer Krinken made.
Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he.
'Krinken,' said the maiden Nis,
'Let me have a little kiss,
Just a kiss, and go with me
To the summer-lands that be
Down within the silver sea.'
Krinken was a little child-
By the maiden Nis beguiled,
Hand in hand with her went he,
And 'twas summer in the sea.
And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him-
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm.
Now the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-
Winter where that little child
Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though 'tis summer on the sea
Where with maiden Nis went he,-
Summer, summer evermore,-
It is winter on the shore,
Winter, winter evermore.
Of the summer on the deep
Come sweet visions in my sleep:
His
fair face lifts from the sea,
His
dear voice calls out to me,-
These my dreams of summer be.
Krinken was a little child,
By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Crying, 'Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!'
But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-
Winter, cold and dark and wild;
Krinken was a little child,-
It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea,
And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crippled Inside
You can shine your shoes and wear a suit,
You can comb your hair and look quite cute,
You can hide your face behind a smile.
One thing you cant hide;
Is when youre crippled inside.
You can wear a mask and paint your face,
You can call yourself the human race,
You can wear a collar and a tie.
One thing you cant hide;
Is when youre crippled inside.
Well, now you know that your cat has nine lives, babe,
Nine lives to itself.
But you only got one
And a dogs life aint fun,
Mama, take a look outside.
Go!
You can go to church and sing a hymn,
You can judge me by the colour of my skin,
You can live a lie until you die.
One thing you cant hide;
Is when youre crippled inside.
Take it, brother!
Well, now you know that your cat has nine lives, babe,
Nine lives to itself.
But you only got one
And a dogs life aint fun,
Mama, take a look outside.
You can go to church and sing a hymn,
You can judge me by the colour of my skin,
You can live a lie until you die.
One thing you cant hide;
Is when youre crippled inside.
One thing you cant hide;
Is when youre crippled inside.
One thing you cant hide;
Is when youre crippled inside.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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