En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Witch

I HAVE walked a great while over the snow,
And I am not tall nor strong.
My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set,
And the way was hard and long.
I have wandered over the fruitful earth,
But I never came here before.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!

The cutting wind is a cruel foe.
I dare not stand in the blast.
My hands are stone, and my voice a groan,
And the worst of death is past.
I am but a little maiden still,
My little white feet are sore.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!

Her voice was the voice that women have,
Who plead for their heart's desire.
She came--she came--and the quivering flame
Sunk and died in the fire.
It never was lit again on my hearth
Since I hurried across the floor,
To lift her over the threshold, and let her in at the door.

poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Dweller On The Threshold

Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
I have seen without perceiving
I have been another man
Let me pierce the realm of glamour
So I know just what I am
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Feel the angel of the present
In the mighty crystal fire
Lift me up consume my darkness
Let me travel even higher
Im a dweller on the threshold
As I cross the burning ground
Let me go down to the water
Watch the great illusion drown
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im gonna turn and face the music
The music of the spheres
Lift me up consume my darkness
When the midnight disappears
I will walk out of the darkness
And Ill walk into the light
And Ill sing the song of ages
And the dawn will end the night
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im a dweller on the threshold
And I cross some burning ground
And Ill go down to the water
Let the great illusion drown
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im a dweller on the threshold
Dweller on the threshold
Im a dweller on the threshold
Im a dweller on the threshold

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rain Comes Sobbing to the Door

The night grows dark, and weird, and cold; and thick drops patter on the pane;
There comes a wailing from the sea; the wind is weary of the rain.
The red coals click beneath the flame, and see, with slow and silent feet
The hooded shadows cross the woods to where the twilight waters beat!
Now, fan-wise from the ruddy fire, a brilliance sweeps athwart the floor;
As, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door:
As, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door.

Dull echoes round the casement fall, and through the empty chambers go,
Like forms unseen whom we can hear on tip-toe stealing to and fro.
But fill your glasses to the brims, and, through a mist of smiles and tears,
Our eyes shall tell how much we love to toast the shades of other years!
And hither they will flock again, the ghosts of things that are no more,
While, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door:
While, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door.

The tempest-trodden wastelands moan - the trees are threshing at the blast;
And now they come, the pallid shapes of Dreams that perished in the past;
And, when we lift the windows up, a smothered whisper round us strays,
Like some lone wandering voice from graves
that hold the wrecks of bygone days.
I tell ye that I ~love~ the storm, for think we not of ~thoughts~ of yore,
When, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door?
When, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door?

We'll drink to those we sadly miss, and sing some mournful song we know,
Since they may chance to hear it all, and muse on friends they've left below.
Who knows - if souls in bliss can leave the borders of their Eden-home -
But that some loving one may now about the ancient threshold roam?
Oh, like an exile, he would hail a glimpse of the familiar floor,
Though, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door!
Though, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door!

poem by Henry Kendall
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The Threshold Stone

WHEN I went to live in the little house,
That stands on the hilltop alone,
What touched me most of all
Was neither roof nor wall,
But the smooth, worn face of its old threshold stone.
For when I entered that little house,
With its four rooms cool in the heat,
And its windows clean and bright,
There it lay, new-washed and white,
With its tale of the coming and the going of feet.
Then I lost count of time in that little house,
And the world and its things all about,
And I hearkened there, alone,
To the footfalls on that stone,
Of the young coming in and the old going out.
And the folk that had dwelt in that little house,
They were mute, spectre-mute, at my side —
The young man, strong and bold,
And the grey man, wise and old,
And the little, pinched woman and the new-made bride.
Oh, often in haste to that little house
Came love in the night-time alone,
And dallied there a while,
With a little, wistful smile,
And with feather-weight feet on the old threshold stone.
And men hurried home to that little house
When the round of the daytime was o'er
With its worry, heat and noise,
And kissed their girls and boys,
And the patient little mothers that waited at the door.
Though I dwell now no more in that little house
That stands on the hilltop alone,
Yet this I got from it —
This human story writ
On the smooth, worn face of its old threshold stone.
Though they take stone from stone in that little house,
Making litter of all it has been.
Yet they shall not destroy
All the grief, all the joy,
All the youth, all the love that its threshold has seen.

poem by Roderic Quinn
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Build You Up

Baby don't believe it
Oh, it's in your eyes
I can see the weakness
You don't have to hide
I can take you under
Under my wing
cause your voice gives me a song
That I love to sing
Baby, they build you up
Only to tear you down
Don't give up
Baby don't believe it, baby don't believe it
Baby they build you up
Only to tear you down
Baby don't believe it, baby don't believe it
Oh, it's good for nothing
You were just a child
Ready to explore
And everything you saw
Looked like an open door
A place you can remember
You'd love to go back
But you can't even comprehend
That it's all in the past
Baby they build you up
Only to tear you down
Baby don't believe it, baby don't believe it
Oh, it's good for nothing
Baby they build you up
Only to tear you down
Baby don't believe it, baby don't believe it
Oh, it's good for nothing
Put your heart in my hands and I won't hurt you
Put your heart in my hands
I promise not to
I'll lift you up, you'll fly away, I'll lift you up, lift you up
I'll never build you up, only to tear you down
Baby just believe it, baby just believe it, it's good for something
I'll never build you up, only to tear you down, oh it's good for nothing
And I love you the way you are

song performed by by Nelly Furtado
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire Dream

A dazzling fire white flash
Illumines deep into my night sky.
I stare in amazed awe...
As timidly I wonder,
Am I - is anyone - ever ready to die?
A question without answer,
Perhaps the answer is without reason
And therefore cannot find expression.
Death - like this blinding light - stands before me, blazing.
Neither can be denied;
By way of such pondering
I find closer to the light I am drawn,
Or it to me -
At the lights center now I see
A spot fading just low enough for recognition,
It is the size and shape of an ordinary door.
Curiosity driven by desire to understand
Holds at bay my fear of daunting death,
So I move further into the great light,
Toward the doorway -

This closed door seems to beg me to open
- open it or myself I am uncertain -
Three feet from it's threshold I see
It is a door of burning cold-fire,
The knob solid gold...
Without lock.
From beyond the door I now hear music
- very good music -
My desire intensifies!
As does the rhythm of my heart beats,
Slowly I reach, and then grasp
The golden knob...
I awake!
Lying in bed, in the darkness of night,
Shaking, my mind roils,
Vexing, what had it all meant?
And where, and why, had it went?
A felicitous vagary; an arduous vision;
I do not know for certain.
Only this from my enigmatic dream
Do I comprehend:
Death does truly await me,
Perhaps though it is not to be quite so feared
As I once believed.
There may even be great joy and surprise
On the other side of that effulgent doorway.
I can only but trust God
To, someday, open it for me,
It is not mine to do. And
For that,
I am exceedingly grateful.

poem by Smoky Hoss
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Vi

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet VI: Go From Me

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforth in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet VI

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet 06 - Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand

VI

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore—
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Poetic Friend

I just met a friend on line who
complimented my poems of verse and rhyme.
He saw something in it which I can’t describe.
As if we had became one of a kind.

It was as if I had become the poetry
Instead of it coming out of me.
My poems and I became as one
As the sky with the sun.

This is a feeling which I find hard to
Put into words, like a voice which
Had never been heard,

Like the final door that has to be opened
And you have the key, that will set your
Mind and heart free.

Is there really a point in life
Where we become what we write?
Have I really gotten to such a threshold
Or is it that I’m getting old?

I guess I’m getting old!
For this is the story that I’ve been told.

Ha-ha got to love it!

poem by Louis Rams
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Intimacy

The sunlight’s threshold is the east.
The room light’s threshold is windows.
Eyes are the threshold of the love
So are the lips for intimacy.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Love's Castle

Key and bar, key and bar,
Iron bolt and chain!
And what will you do when the King comes
To enter his domain?

Turn key and lift bar,
Loose, oh, bolt and chain!
Open the door and let him in,
And then lock up again.

But, oh, heart, and woe, heart,
Why do you ache so sore?
Never a moment's peace have you
Since Love hath passed the door.

Turn key and lift bar,
And loose bolt and chain;
But Love took in his esquire, Grief,
And there they both remain.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Voice Of The Heart

(j.t.stanley/john bettis/b.roberts)
Sometimes when your world seems so big and real
You may run to the shelter of walls
Sometimes you may wish
You could be like your shadow
It fits wherever it falls
Whenever the nights too deep to find
And the morning is too far away
Wherever you are
Theres always a star to guide the way
There to guide the way
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
Tonight if a dream should come to your sleep
With a picture you dont wanna see
Go where it leads, from secret to secret
You are what you want to be
Whenever the sun refuses to shine
And you cant chase the storm clouds away
Wherever you are theres always a star to guide the way
There to guide the way
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
Living in a private world
There are times when its hard to break through
So dont give up
Each time you hurt youve got nothing to lose
Theres a voice inside of you
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
(listen)
If you dream it strong enough
(dream it)
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We will find the answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
(long enough)
If you dream it strong enough
(strong enough)
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
In the voice
In the voice of the heart
We will find the answer
Like a song too long unsung

song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Beyond

And Auntie saying Don’t
Go too far so I can’t see you
And off you’d go off down
The iron stairs with the dog
In pursuit and the wind in the
Sails of your coat and the sky
Beckoning above and Auntie’s
Voice trailing away on the wind’s
Wings and you happy as the sun
In the morning sky making your
Feet rush across grass and the dog
Overtaking looking back tongue
Out of the side of its mouth and
You saying Go on you mutt run
Run and your young legs taking
You far from Auntie’s sight and
Yet looking back you know she’ll
Be there hands in the clothes
Wash scrubbing away her elbows
Wet from the plunge and you
Throwing hands to the sky and
Saying Lift me up wind take me
To the great place beyond the clouds
Of white and sky of blue with just
The mutt and five year old you.

poem by Terry Collett
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As You Look Deep Into The Mirror

the mirror is the echo of the sound you make
inside yourself,
the voice that you utter when nobody watches you
when all of them left to their homes
and you are left alone
talking to yourself, the voice comes out
from your heart
speaking your name, your dreams
you hear the voice that you cannot see
calling you
and so you stand before the mirror
and try once more
to see the face of that voice
fair and square
it tells you who you really are
softer inside
hard on the outside
the exoskeleton that you have been making
breaks down
like flakes of mud drying
the warmth in your eyes is still there
the affection you want to give
the love you want to spread

they are all there
in your eyes
but you cannot help it
seeing something ugly

you have not spoken
the voice hides in the silence
walled by your teeth
your tongue swollen

this discomfort of not saying
anything as everyone you love

leaves the door still opening
to the cold outside

the wind hunting for some stars

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Christmas Guest

It happened one day near decembers end when two neighbors
Called on an old friend and they found his shop so meager and
Lean made gay with thousand bows of green and conrad was
Sitting with faces shining when he suddenly stopped as he
Stitched a twine and he said old friends, it dawned today
As the cock was crowing the night away the lord appeared in
A dream to me and said Im coming your guest to be.
So Ive been busy with feet of stern strewing my shop with
Branches of fern. the table is spread and the kettle is shine.
And over the rafters the holly is twine. now Ill wait for my
Lord to appear and listen closely so I will hear his step as
He nears my humble place. and Ill open the door and look on his face.
So his friends went home and left conrad alone for this
Was the happiest day he had known. for long since his family had
Passed away and conrad had spent many a sad christmas day.
But he knew with the lord as his christmas guest this christmas
Would be the dearest and best.
So he listened with only joy in his heart and with
Every sound he would rise with a start and look for the
Lord to be at his door. like the vision he had had a few hours before.
So he ran to the window after hearing a sound but all he could
See on the snow covered ground was a shabby beggar whose shoes
Were torn and all of his clothes were ragged and worn.
But conrad was touched and he went to the door
And he said you know your feet must be frozen and sore.
I have some shoes in my shop for you and a coat that will
Keep you warmer too. so with grateful heart the man went away
But conrad noticed the time of day and wondered what made the
Lord so late and how much longer hed have to wait.
When he heard a knock he ran to the door but it was
Only a stranger once more. a bent old lady with a shawl of
Black with a bundle of kindling piled on her back. she asked
For only a place to rest but that was reserved for conrads
Great guest. but her voice seemed to plead dont send me away,
Let me rest for awhile on christmas day, so conrad brewed
Her a steaming cup and told her to set at the table and sup.
But after she left he was filled with dismay for
He saw that the hours were slipping away and the lord hadnt come as
He said he would. then conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.
When out of of the stillness he heard a cry please
Help me and tell me where am i? so again he opened his
Friendly door and stood disapointed as twice before.
It was only a child that wandered away and was lost from
Her family on christmas day.
Again conrads heart was heavy and sad but he knew
He should make the little girl glad. so he called her in
And he wiped her tears, quieted all her childish fears.
Then he led her back to her home once more but as he
Entered his own darkened door he knew the
Lord was not coming today.
Well the hours of christmas had passed away so he
Went to his room and knelt down to pray and he said
Dear lord, why did you delay? what kept you from
Coming to call on me? for I wanted so much your face to see.
When soft in the silence a voice he heard.
Lift up your head for I kept my word.
Three times my shadow crossed your floor
And three times I came to your lowly door.
I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet
And I was the woman you gave something to eat.
I was the child on the homeless street.
Three times I knocked, and three times I came in.
And each time I found the warmth of a friend.
Of all the gifts, love is the best.
And I was honored to be your christmas guest.

song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here is the Little Door

Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift!
We need not wander more but enter with our gift;
Our gift of finest gold,
Gold that was never bought nor sold;
Myrrh to be strewn about his bed;
Incense in clouds about his head;
All for the Child who stirs not in his sleep.
But holy slumber holds with ass and sheep.

Bend low about his bed, for each he has a gift;
See how his eyes awake, lift up your hands, O lift!
For gold, he gives a keen-edged sword
(Defend with it Thy little Lord!),
For incense, smoke of battle red.
Myrrh for the honoured happy dead;
Gifts for his children terrible and sweet,
Touched by such tiny hands and
Oh such tiny feet.

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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If There Is Something

(ferry)
If there is something that I might find
Look around corners
Try to find peace of mind I say
Where would you go if you were me
Try to keep a straight course not easy
Somebody special looking at me
A certain reaction we find
What should it try to be I mean
If there are many
Meaning the same
Be specific just a game
I would do anything for you
I would climb mountains
I would swim all the oceans blue
I would walk a thousand miles
Reveal my secrets
More than enough for me to share
I would put roses round our door
Sit in the garden
Growing potatoes by the score
Shake your hair girl with your ponytail
Takes me right back (when you were young)
Throw your precious gifts into the air
Watch them fall down (when you were young)
Lift up your feet and put them on the ground
You used to walk upon (when you were young)
Lift up your feet and put them on the ground
The hills were higher (when we were young)
Lift up your feet and put them on the ground
The trees were taller (when you were young)
Lift up your feet and put them on the ground
The grass was greener (when you were young)
Lift up your feet and put them on the ground
You used to walk upon (when you were young)

song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the Wild Sky

To the wild sky
Lift thy tortured hands
Oh thou puny insignificant man
Let thy voice ring, in triumph defy
The scorching sun of the wild sky
The raging wind cant hold u down
The warrior spark in thee is found
Rain, sleet and snow may fall
But thou wilt fight on through all
Though thy muscles ache and burn
'tween victory and defeat discern
And as thou conquer raise thy hands high
Lift them up to the wild sky

poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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The Two Angels. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)

Two angels, one of Life and one of Death,
Passed o'er our village as the morning broke;
The dawn was on their faces, and beneath,
The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke.

Their attitude and aspect were the same,
Alike their features and their robes of white;
But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame,
And one with asphodels, like flakes of light.

I saw them pause on their celestial way;
Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed,
'Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray
The place where thy beloved are at rest!'

And he who wore the crown of asphodels,
Descending, at my door began to knock,
And my soul sank within me, as in wells
The waters sink before an earthquake's shock.

I recognized the nameless agony,
The terror and the tremor and the pain,
That oft before had filled or haunted me,
And now returned with threefold strength again.

The door I opened to my heavenly guest,
And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice;
And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best,
Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice.

Then with a smile, that filled the house with light,
'My errand is not Death, but Life,' he said;
And ere I answered, passing out of sight,
On his celestial embassy he sped.

'T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine,
The angel with the amaranthine wreath,
Pausing, descended, and with voice divine,
Whispered a word that had a sound like Death.

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom,
A shadow on those features fair and thin;
And softly, from that hushed and darkened room,
Two angels issued, where but one went in.

All is of God! If he but wave his hand,
The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,
Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,
Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.

Angels of Life and Death alike are his;
Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er;
Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,
Against his messengers to shut the door?

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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