Related quotes: IN the dim woods, one...

The Tree

IN the dim woods, one tree
Was by the cunning seasons builded fair
With the rain's masonry
And delicate craft of air.

Unknown of anyone,
She was the wind's green daughter. Her the dove
Made, between leaf and sun,
His murmuring house of love.

Quiet as a seemly thought
Her infinite strength of shade she stretched around.
Peace like a spell she wrought
On that encloséd ground.

Bred of such lowly stuff,–
Blown mast, a sheltering day, a tender night,–
Now stars seem kin enough
To company her height.

She knows not whence she grew.
So in my heart, from some forgotten seed,
The lovely thought of you
Towered to the lovelier need.

poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

A Dead Leaf

between these two shores
i float like a dead leaf
am not dead either..
if i was i will not feel the pain

budded flowered and became a fruit
on one shore
eaten and as a bare stray seed laid
at the other shore

as a seed i did germinate
the mother root grew into a tree
an off spring flower and fruit came by
all along as a seed i thought i was the tree itself

I NEVER THOUGHT I WILL LOOSE
MY IDENTITY AS A SEED
CAN A TREE SHOW ITS SEED
EVEN IF IT WANTS TO

ALL ALONG...

I thought i was the tree itself
may be i was a part of each part
the stem to hold, the leaf to nourish
till fate wind blew me down as a dead leaf

today as a dead leaf i float
wanting a living from one shore
wanting relationship from the other
as a dead leaf i float..am not dead with pain

ALL ALONG....
I DID THINK I WAS THE TREE ITSELF
BEING JUST A SEED

poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flask of Time

There is a single leaf flying
in this my autumn gloaming,
a leaf fluttering light
as if being orchestrated
by your words in flight
rushing to my inner ear;
'I have fallen in love
with another you said.'

My leaf stammered,
swaying in its downward flight
unable to remount the tree,
terrified to crash the ground
suspended forever there
as was also true of your words;
better to not reach my inner ear
better to not have my leaf touch down dead.

Between us all these years
neither war, nor peace;
we existed in the troubled middle ground
purgatoried, unsensed, fluttering, leaf bound
frozen between tree and ground.

Now you have burned our tree down-
lit the leaf and made it flame-
and pulled from under us the very ground.

No matter the dead leaves, the burning tree
no matter the absent ground
these things will
in turn return
for the seasons never-end.

Therefore, I shall take my sip of sorrow
sipped slowly from my Flask of Time
and await
the Spring.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Thought

Into the skies, one summer's day,
I sent a little Thought away;
Up to where, in the blue round,
The sun sat shining without sound.

Then my Thought came back to me.—
Little Thought, what did you see
In the regions whence you come?
And when I spoke, my Thought was dumb.

But she breathed of what was there,
In the pure bright upper air;
And, because my Thought so shone,
I knew she had been shone upon.

Next, by night a Thought I sent
Up into the firmament;
When the eager stars were out,
And the still moon shone about.

And my Thought went past the moon
In between the stars, but soon
Held her breath and durst not stir,
For the fear that covered her;
Then she thought, in this demur:

'Dare I look beneath the shade,
Into where the worlds are made;
Where the suns and stars are wrought?
Shall I meet another Thought?

'Will that other Thought have wings?
Shall I meet strange, heavenly things?
Thought of Thoughts, and Light of Lights,
Breath of Breaths, and Night of Nights?'

Then my Thought began to hark
In the illuminated dark,
Till the silence, over, under,
Made her heart beat more than thunder.

And my Thought, came trembling back,
But with something on her track,
And with something at her side;
Nor till she has lived and died,
Lived and died, and lived again,
Will that awful thing seem plain.

poem by William Brighty Rands
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Flight

Voices out of the shade that cried,
And long noon in the hot calm places,
And children's play by the wayside,
And country eyes, and quiet faces -
All these were round my steady paces.

Those that I could have loved went by me;
Cool gardened homes slept in the sun;
I heard the whisper of water nigh me,
Saw hands that beckoned, shone, were gone
In the green and gold. And I went on.

For if my echoing footfall slept,
Soon a far whispering there'd be
Of a little lonely wind that crept
From tree to tree, and distantly
Followed me, followed me. . . .

But the blue vaporous end of day
Brought peace, and pursuit baffled quite,
Where between pine-woods dipped the way.
I turned, slipped in and out of sight.
I trod as quiet as the night.

The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;
And in the boughs wind never swirled.
I found a flowering lowly bush,
And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,
Hidden at rest from all the world.

Safe! I was safe, and glad, I knew!
Yet - with cold heart and cold wet brows
I lay. And the dark fell. . . . There grew
Meward a sound of shaken boughs;
And ceased, above my intricate house;

And silence, silence, silence found me. . . .
I felt the unfaltering movement creep
Among the leaves. They shed around me
Calm clouds of scent, that I did weep;
And stroked my face. I fell asleep.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1910)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Flight

Voices out of the shade that cried,
And long noon in the hot calm places,
And children's play by the wayside,
And country eyes, and quiet faces -
All these were round my steady paces.

Those that I could have loved went by me;
Cool gardened homes slept in the sun;
I heard the whisper of water nigh me,
Saw hands that beckoned, shone, were gone
In the green and gold. And I went on.

For if my echoing footfall slept,
Soon a far whispering there'd be
Of a little lonely wind that crept
From tree to tree, and distantly
Followed me, followed me. . . .

But the blue vaporous end of day
Brought peace, and pursuit baffled quite,
Where between pine-woods dipped the way.
I turned, slipped in and out of sight.
I trod as quiet as the night.

The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;
And in the boughs wind never swirled.
I found a flowering lowly bush,
And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,
Hidden at rest from all the world.

Safe! I was safe, and glad, I knew!
Yet - with cold heart and cold wet brows
I lay. And the dark fell. . . . There grew
Meward a sound of shaken boughs;
And ceased, above my intricate house;

And silence, silence, silence found me. . . .
I felt the unfaltering movement creep
Among the leaves. They shed around me
Calm clouds of scent, that I did weep;
And stroked my face. I fell asleep.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1919)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To Jane: The Recollection

I.
Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,
The loveliest and the last, is dead,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise!
Up,--to thy wonted work! come, trace
The epitaph of glory fled,--
For now the Earth has changed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven’s brow.

II.
We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean’s foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep
The smile of Heaven lay;
It seemed as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun
A light of Paradise.

III.
We paused amid the pines that stood
The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude
As serpents interlaced;
And, soothed by every azure breath,
That under Heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,
As tender as its own,
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep,
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be.

IV.
How calm it was!—the silence there
By such a chain was bound
That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound
The inviolable quietness;
The breath of peace we drew
With its soft motion made not less
The calm that round us grew.
There seemed from the remotest seat
Of the white mountain waste,
To the soft flower beneath our feet,
A magic circle traced,--
A spirit interfused around
A thrilling, silent life,--
To momentary peace it bound
Our mortal nature’s strife;
And still I felt the centre of
The magic circle there
Was one fair form that filled with love
The lifeless atmosphere.

V.
We paused beside the pools that lie
Under the forest bough,--
Each seemed as ’twere a little sky
Gulfed in a world below;
A firmament of purple light
Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,
And purer than the day--
In which the lovely forests grew,
As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue
Than any spreading there.
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,
And through the dark green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn
Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above
Can never well be seen,
Were imaged by the water’s love
Of that fair forest green.
And all was interfused beneath
With an Elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,
A softer day below.
Like one beloved the scene had lent
To the dark water’s breast,
Its every leaf and lineament
With more than truth expressed;
Until an envious wind crept by,
Like an unwelcome thought,
Which from the mind’s too faithful eye
Blots one dear image out.
Though thou art ever fair and kind,
The forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in Shelley’s mind,
Than calm in waters, seen.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Belgium

The Blatant Beast saw meadows, made for peace,
Sunlit and gently asway, and held them light,
Till each green blade grew rigid in the night
And ruddied with a glorious morn's increase.
Thou hast suffered; nor till Freedom find release
And set for ever on the shining height
The eternal rolling banner of her might
Shall thy great gift of strife and suffering cease.

We, bred of one small island in the west,
A little shrine of Freedom, far away
We, who can bow at no strong tyrant's hest,
Bend low our heads in pride to thee to-day,
For all unknown, a smiling babe at rest,
Within thy lowly manger Freedom lay.

poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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In and outside worlds

When I was small
we had a green carpet
in the living room
that like a lawn
stretched out wide, thick and luxurious.

The ceiling was the sky,
big fans made wind
and lights came on at night
like suns.

The shower was
where you make your own rain
to be cleaned
and every tap a small fountain.

Sometimes a bird
flew into the house
and was cordoned off
and flew everywhere
and completed the picture
of man’s inner world
to me.

Still man just copies
the Creator
and outside the sky is stretched out,
every night full of stars
and day after day the sun appears
and the wind blows
as it find it necessary
and all the birds fly free
and the grass spread by itself.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Voice

Safe in the magic of my woods
I lay, and watched the dying light.
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,

Silver and blue and green were showing.
And the dark woods grew darker still;
And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;
And quietness crept up the hill;

And no wind was blowing

And I knew
That this was the hour of knowing,
And the night and the woods and you
Were one together, and I should find
Soon in the silence the hidden key
Of all that had hurt and puzzled me -
Why you were you, and the night was kind,
And the woods were part of the heart of me.

And there I waited breathlessly,
Alone; and slowly the holy three,
The three that I loved, together grew
One, in the hour of knowing,
Night, and the woods, and you -

And suddenly
There was an uproar in my woods,

The noise of a fool in mock distress,
Crashing and laughing and blindly going,
Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,
And a Voice profaning the solitudes.

The spell was broken, the key denied me
And at length your flat clear voice beside me
Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.

You came and quacked beside me in the wood.
You said, 'The view from here is very good!'
You said, 'It's nice to be alone a bit!'
And, 'How the days are drawing out!' you said.
You said, 'The sunset's pretty, isn't it?'

* * * * *

By God! I wish - I wish that you were dead!

poem by Rupert Brooke (1909)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dads Cherry Tree

There was a large cherry tree in my yard
This tree t’was my dad ‘s favorite
And as the cherry tree grew up to thy sky
He did have a decision

whether or not to chop the tree down
Or risk it falling and killing him
For you see this old cherry tree did
Stand right over his bed

So if the wind kick up or lightning did strike
Would be his end for
The tree would fall and he would go
So unfortunately with the tree

So he would make great decision
And hopefully make it right
It took him many years and many a time
He thought’s the did spite

Him for the year’s went by and the cherry tree
Got more demised, nearer to the bed
As he would lay and begin to wonder
Will this take off my head

So as the year the did expire
Then He finally said
I will take the old tree down
Above my own bed

And the so alas the cherry fell
The tree would breathe its last
And be cut down to stump and be
Safe for dad once again

The tree was made low and the branches did go
Right into the meat smoker
But out of the ash cloud grew another
through the thorns and choker

the tree did live on in another a tree that grew
and so the tree was reborn
from a cherry, the trees great fruit
and so this little sapling grew and it grew

and it grew 1,2,3 foot by the crowing of the year
and so it grew and it got taller
as a little sapling then might or would do
and the tree got no smaller

as it grew to be as tall as dad and it was
staring him in the eye
he said we got to dig this up
look at the size

for you see the little sapling was right in my garden
and blocking the sunshine
so we dug and dug and dug
it took a lot of time

but finally we got up pulled it out of the ground
and moved to better spot
were it would live in peace and harmony
the place we set was not to hot

But it was not to cold either, it was
It was a nice spot with all
of the tree for the young cherry’s company
the tree grew very tall

And with it happy position that there was
it was a great sight
To see this cherry tree again live
And never have to fight

Now when my dad he did see this
he was so overjoyed
He had his cherry tree’s son and offspring
And never again did he toy

With planting or cutting down old cherry trees
He loved his tree so dear
That he would be indeed collecting all the cherries
And never wrong was he steered

poem by Timothy Young
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The Builder

WHEN the deep cunning architect
Had the great minster planned,
They worked in faith for twice two hundred years
And reared the building grand;
War came and famine and they did not falter,
But held his line,
And filled the space divine
With carvings meet for the soul's eye;
And not alone the chantry and thereby
The snowy altar,
But in every part
They carved the minster after his own heart,
And made the humblest places fair,
Even the dimmest cloister-way and stair,
With vineyard tendrils,
With ocean-seeming shells,
With filmy weeds from sea,
With bell-flowers delicate and bells,
All done minute with excellent tracery.
Come, O my soul,
And let me build thee like the minster fair,
Deep based and large as air,
And full of hidden graces wrought
In faith and infinite thought,
Till all thy dimmest ways,
Shall gleam with little vines and fruits of praise,
So that one day
The consummate Architect
Who planned the souls that we are set to build,
May pause and say:
How curiously wrought is this!
The builder followed well My thought, My chart,
And worked for Me, not for the world's wild heart;
Here are the outward virtues true!
But see how all the inner parts are filled
With singular bliss:
Set it aside
I shall come here again at eventide.

poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voice, The

Safe in the magic of my woods
I lay, and watched the dying light.
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,

Silver and blue and green were showing.
And the dark woods grew darker still;
And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;
And quietness crept up the hill;

And no wind was blowing

And I knew
That this was the hour of knowing,
And the night and the woods and you
Were one together, and I should find
Soon in the silence the hidden key
Of all that had hurt and puzzled me --
Why you were you, and the night was kind,
And the woods were part of the heart of me.

And there I waited breathlessly,
Alone; and slowly the holy three,
The three that I loved, together grew
One, in the hour of knowing,
Night, and the woods, and you ----

And suddenly
There was an uproar in my woods,

The noise of a fool in mock distress,
Crashing and laughing and blindly going,
Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,
And a Voice profaning the solitudes.

The spell was broken, the key denied me
And at length your flat clear voice beside me
Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.

You came and quacked beside me in the wood.
You said, "The view from here is very good!"
You said, "It's nice to be alone a bit!"
And, "How the days are drawing out!" you said.
You said, "The sunset's pretty, isn't it?"

* * * * *

By God! I wish -- I wish that you were dead!

poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tree Of Dreams

My mind is a tree of growing dreams
It seems like it produces more each day
But with every day that passes
There is also a forgotten one
When you add all the forgotten ones
you get a tree that is dry
A tree with many rings
but with one leaf
One green leaf that appears
every day but also dries up
when the next day comes
When a tree only has one leaf
no one really looks at it
It is a tree with no ambition
A tree with only one dream
No one wants a tree with one dream
especially if it is never fulfilled

poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Woods Shake in an Ague-Fit

The woods shake in an ague-fit,
The mad wind rocks the pine,
From sea to sea the white gulls flit
Into the roaring brine.

The moon as if in panic grief
Darts through the clouds on high,
Blown like a wild autumnal leaf
Across the wilder sky.

The gusty rain is driving fast,
And through the rain we hear,
Above the equinoctial blast,
The thunder of the Weir.

The voices of the wind and rain
Wail echoing through my heart--
That love is ever dogged by pain
And fondest souls must part.

You made heart's summer, O my friend,
But now we bid adieu,
There will be winter without end
And tears for ever new.

poem by Mathilde Blind
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I Didn't Think I Had The Strength To Love Again

I thought I didn't have the strength to love again! ! ! !
I didn't believe in the power of love until you came in my life and loved what I thought was was gone in me.
The person who became covered with seasons of unwanted stuff and I felt like I gave so much of me that I became empty.
And it was at that place that I just wanted to give up on love because I felt that love didn't love me no more, and was sent to drain my heart to the very core.
But when I first saw you, you help me see that I was giving so much of me away that I didn't save anything nothing. And a tear fell from my eyes and in time I truly felt your love poured back into my life! ! ! ! when I thought I didn't have the strength to love again! ! ! !

poem by Clarence Williams
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Mount Edgcumbe

Here the descendants of Bosworth Field
built their Eden from forest, bracken, heath;
bred partridge, pheasant, boar and deer,
then cast their shadow of darkening fear,
stretched out their hands
and filled their woods with death.

Built Tudor house and Tudor fort,
enclosed the land with Tudor thought.

Four hundred years from that to this
carefully constructed wilderness.
No man-traps now to stumble on,
the deer remain, the boars are long since gone.

The Tudor rides are proletarian walks
where we can wander where the next road forks,
through oak and elm and beech and ash,
through hyacinths and primulas,
daffodils and camellias.

Down to where Lady Emma’s Cottage
slumbers in quiet decay.
But as for Lady Emma,
she has “left and gone away”.

poem by Brian Taylor
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The Beech Tree's Petition

O leave this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Though bush or floweret never grow
My dark unwarming shade below;
Nor summer bud perfume the dew
Of rosy blush, or yellow hue;
Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born,
My green and glossy leaves adorn;
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive
Th' ambrosial amber of the hive;
Yet leave this barren spot to me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!

Thrice twenty summers I have seen
The sky grow bright, the forest green;
And many a wintry wind have stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude,
Since childhood in my pleasant bower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour;
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture made,
And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long-forgotten name.
Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound,
First breathed upon this sacred ground;
By all that Love has whispered here,
Or Beauty heard with ravished ear;
As Love's own altar honor me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!

poem by Thomas Campbell
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The Secret Pool

I KNOW a pool unknown to men,
Whose green and shadowed secrecy
I share alone with bird and tree,
And there, when I am sick at heart
And ill at ease, I draw apart
To bathe, and live, and love again.
All Summertide and all Spring through,
In its charmed neighbourhood, the thrush
And magpie, in the dying blush
Of sunset and the green of dawn —
Now nigh, and now in aisles withdrawn —
Make melody, each day anew.
And all night long the curious stars
Through peepholes in its dome of leaves
Peer down on it, while Silence weaves
A lovely spell, a magic calm
That soothes the soul like healing balm,
And breathes a peace that nothing mars.
Ah, sweet, indeed, it is to lave
And lose oneself within the cool,
Soft presence of that forest-pool,
Whose sacramental peace is such
That flesh and spirit, at its touch,
The sleep of little children have.

poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Green Woods Of Truagh

In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o' the day,
And o'er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come–
I left home and you for the stranger's far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–if God hears my prayer–
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Tree

Related quotes

A Dead Leaf

The Flask of Time

The Thought

Flight

Flight

To Jane: The Recollection

Belgium

In and outside worlds

The Voice

Dads Cherry Tree

The Builder

A Seeds A Star/tree Medley

Voice, The

Tree Of Dreams

The Woods Shake in an Ague-Fit

I Didn't Think I Had The Strength To Love Again

Mount Edgcumbe

The Beech Tree's Petition

The Secret Pool

The Green Woods Of Truagh

En.Citatepedia®.ro

The Tree

Related quotes

A Dead Leaf

The Flask of Time

The Thought

Flight

Flight

To Jane: The Recollection

Belgium

In and outside worlds

The Voice

Dads Cherry Tree

The Builder

A Seeds A Star/tree Medley

Voice, The

Tree Of Dreams

The Woods Shake in an Ague-Fit

I Didn't Think I Had The Strength To Love Again

Mount Edgcumbe

The Beech Tree's Petition

The Secret Pool

The Green Woods Of Truagh

En.Citatepedia^®.ro