En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Spring In The Alps

THE flowers are at their Bacchanals
Among the lusty green;
Wild Orchis and Narcissus waltz
With Marguerite for queen.
Birds join in glees and madrigals
To little loves unseen;
And unimprisoned Waterfalls
Flash laughing in between.

The Sunlight, leaping from the Heights,
Flames o'er the fields of May,
Winged with unnumbered swallow-flights
Fresh from the long sea way;

And butterflies and insect mites,
Born with the new-blown day,
Cross fires in shifting opal lights
From spray to beckoning spray.

The dandelion puffs her balls,
Free spinsters of the air,
Who scorn to wait for beetle calls
Or bees to find them fair;
But breaking through the painted walls
Their sisters tamely bear,
Fly off in dancing down, which falls
And sprouts up everywhere.

And far above Earth's flower-filled lap
And rosy revelry,
The mountain mothers feed her sap
From herded clouds on high--
Each pinnacle and frozen pap
Whose life has long gone by,
A bridge which spans the mighty gap
Between the earth and sky.
St. Gotthardt.

poem by Mathilde Blind
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New Year

WHITE year, white year,
Muffled soft in snow,
A diamond spray whose gems are gone
Before their grace we know,
A crystal-coated spray whose hours
Melt when looked upon,
Hoarfrost stars and hoarfrost flowers,
White year!
Green year, green year,
Sweet with sun and showers,
A windblown spray whose blossoms bright
Are the seven-colored hours,
A dancing spray whose leaves are days,
A spray whose leaves delight
In azure gleam and silver haze,
Green year!
New Year, new year
From rosy leaf to gold,
A shining spray on the Tree of Time
Where myriad sprays unfold,
A spray so fair that God may see
And gather it, bloom and rime,
To deck the doors of Eternity,
New Year!

poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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For Dolly -- Who Does Not Learn Her Lessons

You see the fairies dancing in the fountain,
Laughing, leaping, sparkling with the spray;
You see the gnomes, at work beneath the mountain,
Make gold and silver and diamonds every day;
You see the angels, sliding down the moonbeams,
Bring white dreams like sheaves of lilies fair;
You see the imps, scarce seen against the moonbeams,
Rise from the bonfire's blue and liquid air.

All the enchantment, all the magic there is
Hid in trees and blossoms, to you is plain and true.
Dewdrops in lupin leaves are jewels for the fairies;
Every flower that blows is a miracle for you.
Air, earth, water, fire, spread their splendid wares for you.
Millions of magics beseech your little looks;
Every soul your winged soul meets, loves you and cares for you.
Ah! why must we clip those wings and dim those eyes with books?

Soon, soon enough the magic lights grow dimmer,
Marsh mists arise to cloud the radiant sky,
Dust of hard highways will veil the starry glimmer,
Tired hands will lay the folded magic by.
Storm winds will blow through those enchanted closes,
Fairies be crushed where weed and briar grow strong . . .
Leave her her crown of magic stars and roses,
Leave her her kingdom--she will not keep it long!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Queensland Opal

Opal, little opal, with the red fire glancing,
Set my blood a-spinning, set my pulse a-stir,
Strike the harp of memory, set my dull heart dancing
Southward to the Sunny Land and the love of Her!

Opal, shining opal, let them call you luckless jewel,
Let them curse or let them covet, you are still my heart's desire,
You that robbed the sun and moon and green earth for fuel
To gather to your milky breast and fill your veins with fire!

Green of fluttering gum-leaves above dim water-courses,
Red of rolling dust-clouds, blue of summer skies,
Flash of flints afire beneath the hoofs of racing horses,
Sunlight and moonlight and light of lovers' eyes

Pink clasping hands amid a Southern summer gloaming,
Green of August grasses, white of dew-sprung pearls,
Grey of winging wild geese into the Sunset homing,
Twined with all the kisses of a Queen of Queensland girls!

poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Goat Hill

Goat Hill

Walking out the door that man told me to go to hell
My son asked mommy where’s Goat Hill
I said I don’t know son it must be through the valley
My son said mommy lets go there
Up to goat hill
I bet it’s on top of the mountain
I bet there is waterfalls, birds, trees, pretty flowers for all the butterflies and honey bees
I said son if we could I’m sure we would
Most definitely go up to goat hill
I’m not ever going to take you where that man said to go
That place is an internal melting pot
And its way to hot
There’s no mountains with snow on top
No waterfalls trees birds butterflies or honey bees in the place that man said to go
Son I know you are good
Some day together I believe we will find the place called Goat Hill
You found somewhere in your mind
Where life is gentle and Kind
Everyday and every night all the time
Son I bet up on Goat Hill we will only see Gods will being done by the Father and the Son

poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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On the open plain (Catena Rondo)

Some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,

blooms appear with heads searching for the sun
they rejoice over a day that is new
are fresh with the glistening morning dew;
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun

they rejoice over a day that is new
as bees and butterflies flutter along
birds do sing the happiest kind of song
they rejoice over a day that is new,

as bees and butterflies flutter along
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
while they in massive herds do slowly pass
as bees and butterflies flutter along

wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds
grow to strength in a world full of big weeds,
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass,

some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Ears Of Tin

In the late hours of a sunset rendezvous ---
Chill breeze against tide, that carries me from you.
Got a job in a southern city --- got some lead-free in my tank.
Now I must whisper goodbye --- Im bound for the mainland.
Island in the city, cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. groundswell of humanity.
Now the sum breaks through rain as I climb glen shiel
On the trail of those old cattlemen who drove their bargain south again.
And in the eyes of those five sisters of kintail
Theres a wink of seduction from the mainland.
Island in the city. cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise --- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. falling on ears of tin.
Take my heart and take my brawn.
Take by stealth or take by storm ---
Set my brain to cruise.
I can see the glow of the suburb lights.
Im fresh from the out-world ---
Singing the mainland blues.
There was a girl where I came from.
Seems a long time, long time gone by.
Wears the west wind in her hair.
She calls from the hill --- yeah, she calls
In my mainland blues.
Theres a coast road that winds to heavens door
Where a fat ferry floats on muted diesel roar.
And theres a light on the hillside --- and theres a flame in her
Eyes, but how cold the lights burn on the mainland.
Island in the city. cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise --- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. falling on ears of tin
In my mainland blues.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Echoes Of Spring

I.
I WALK about in driving snow,
And drizzling rain, splashed o'er and o'er;
No sign that radiant spring e'en now
Stands at the threshold of the door.

No sign that fragrant violets burn
To burst the ground and quicken forth;
No sign that swallow flights return,
To gladden all the serious north.

But in my breast--what flutterings here!
What bursts of song! what twitt'rings blest!
Sure the first swallow of the year
Within my heart has built her nest.

II.
Oft on the gleaming April days,
When skies are soft, and winds are warm,
And in the air a subtle charm,
And on the hill a flight of rays;

When silver clouds slide through the blue,
Spreading a pure, transparent wing,
And all the budding branches ring
With blithesome birds, that warbling woo;

Beneath a pear tree's shade I lay,
Deep bedded in the long thick grass,
And heard the twitt'ring swallow pass,
And grasshoppers at endless play.

I knew, though flowers mine eyes did screen,
That butterflies danced in the light;
For, breaking sunbeams in their flight,
They flashed their shadows on the green.

And gazing up, in dreamful ease,
Where quiv'ring frail on shivery sprays,
The blossoms mix a milky maze,
What hum of golden-girted bees!

So lily-white, the tree, behold,
Seems set on fire by burnished lights,
And shoal on honeying shoal alights,
And turns the snowy boughs to gold.

Thus on my spirit--music-fraught,
Burst swarms of glimm'ring melodies,
And like the yellow-banded bees,
Make honey of my flutt'ring thought.

III.
Sometimes on my soul will throng
Such a blossom-burst of song,
That I cannot seize it all,
Letting sweetest measures fall.

Thus a child feels--sudden sunk
On a crowding violet bank,
And delighted and amazed,
Gathers in a flushèd haste.

Gathers them so fast and fleet,
Little fingers cannot meet
O'er the lot; and swifter still
Than they cull, the wealth they spill.

To that sweets o'erflooded nook,
Casting back one longing look,
At the last it takes away
But one little odorous spray.

Yet through many a day and night,
Flinging back the fragrant sight,
Cleaves to face, and hands, and feet,
All the woodland's violets sweet.

IV.
Fain would I sing of each sweet sight and sound,
Of fleeting odours wheeling round and round,
Of sunbeams dancing on the virgin grass,
Of flocks of fleecy clouds that glimmer as they pass.

Of larks, that lost in the blue ether float,
Of the weird blackbird's dream--enchanted note!
While the glad hedges palpitate with song,
That drops like murm'ring rain the dewy fields among.

Of blooming bushes and of budding trees,
Of flaming flowers, dotting the grassy leas,
Of glowing pools and of the babbling rills,
That flash through azure mists, slumb'ring on folded hills.

Fain would I sing, sweet April-time, of thee,
And mingle in thy wantonness of glee;
But thou such overwealth of sweets dost fling,
My heart is all too full, too full to speak or sing.

V.
There's somewhat in the loveliness of spring,
In the young light, and in the fragrant bloom,
In the sweet song that each soft breeze doth wing,
In the bright flowers that rise from earth's dark womb;

Which fills with sadness the presentient mind,
And for a far-off home awakes the sigh;
Which makes us gaze, with longings undefined,
On dim blue hills, and weep--we know not why.

VI.
Oh, birds, winged voices! children of the light!
Whose song is love, whose love is melody;
Shedding o'er hedge, and field, and bush, and tree,
Your tuneful joy and musical delight,

Making the air, the earth, the heavens bright;
Melodious, tender, sad and gay and free;
By all these gifts true poets born are ye;
Love circumscribes alone your restless flight.

Poets, I say? Ah, not like poets here,
That wander forth alone, companionless;
Whose lays are wrung from them by care and pain;
Who sing, while blinded by the hot salt tear.

Not such are ye; but free from all distress,
Ye, with the sunlight, range o'er land and main.

VII.
Oh, soft sweet air of early spring,
Again thou float'st on viewless wing,
Coax'st snowdrops their white bells to ring,
And wak'st the blackbird up to sing.

Again, upon the bright'ning lea,
Beneath the budding bursting tree,
The toddling baby-mites I see,
Skip, jump, and frisk in lamb-like glee.

But I am sad, I know not why;
My breast heaves with the long-drawn sigh;
The tear rounds slowly in mine eye;
I'd like to lay me down and die.

VIII.
The blooming hedge, the budding grove,
Resound with notes of joy and love;
The gleaming bush, the glimm'ring tree,
Live with a dewy melody.

Along the meadows, flashing bright,
Run trills of shrill and sweet delight;
E'en the small snowy clouds among,
Gush showers on showers of silver song.
But thou, my heart, oh, tell me why
Hast thou no language but a sigh?

IX.
Like a flower-fall of rain,
Like a snowy elfin train,
Like stray gleams of moonlight fair,
Do you shift upon the air,
Do you flutter on the breeze,
Do you fall upon the leas,
Blossoms of the apple-trees;
Then on earth's bosom slow ye fade away,
Like to a low and sweetly dying lay.

X.
With thousand gaps the earth is split,
By sunbeams wounded o'er and o'er,
My heart, it acheth bit by bit;
Life's heat and dust have made it sore.

When wilt thou fall from clouds above,
In silver showers, refreshing rain?
When wilt thou come, reviving love,
With dew, and make me whole again?

A little while, big drops will slake,
Oh, earth, thy thirst's hot agony;
But till my fevered heart doth break,
Will solace ever come to me?

poem by Mathilde Blind
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Tranquil green pastures

Tender green tufts of emerald green sponge,
riveted firmly to fertile landscapes of earth,
dancing to sedate tunes of swashbuckling breeze,
growing at rapid paces in a blend of manure and fresh
water,
feasting on nutritious rays of unadulterated sunlight,
greedily devouring tap water sprinkled at spaced
intervals of time,
glowing sedately in artificial lights of sodium bulb,
submerged in ponds of placid moonshine,
a bountiful warehouse of red ant and earth worm,
the green grass meadows were a breathtaking sight,
oblivious to the vagaries of jet paced life.

Cows grazed quietly trampling the grass cushions,
Long beaked cranes nibbled at pieces of left over
corn,
Wild pigs gulped loads of untreated sewage,
Petite fleshy ducks floated in tank water,
Thoroughbred horses galloped in enclosures of wire
mesh,
Athletic rabbits leaped with long strides of feet,
Wide winged eagles glided harmlessly through the sky,
It all seemed set for yet another day fading,
When finally the amber ball of sun hid behind the
mountain,
Encompassing the tranquil green pastures with,
Tarpaulin covers of pitch dark night.

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Closeness

your hand
entwined to my hand

your hair under my chin
your head resting on my chest

you smell my breath
there is no sound from your mouth

you close your eyes and see some trees
and ponds and waterfalls

and birds and clouds and flowers blooming
over a field of green grass

and butterflies and bees
the air you feel is as fresh as the scent of our skins

i caress your arms you let my hands go
you touch my face and then you look at me

we kiss and then we both melt
in paradise.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Opals

My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring.
The fields of earth are in it, green and glimmering,
The waves of the blue sky, night's purple flower of noon,
The vanishing cold scintillations of the moon,
And the red heart that is a flame within a flame.
And as the opal dies, and is re-born the same,
And all the fire that is its life-blood seems to dart
Through the veined variable intricacies of its heart,
And ever wandering ever wanders back again,
So must my swift soul constant to itself remain.
Opal, have I not been as variable as you?
But, cloudy opal flaming green and red and blue,
Are you not ever constant in your varying,
Even as my soul, O captive opal of my ring?

poem by Arthur Symons
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Ballad with Queen, Horse and Beyond

God and the Queen of Snowland
met a long long time ago
when Snowland did not exist
when there was no King no Lords
but they were all inside God
like a dream born from a dream
like stardust dropping on stardust

What can I do for you, M'dam? –asked God,
knowing too well
that kingdoms vanish and melt
as gods do, as god himself
was but the tune of a ballad.

“There is no God without a Queen
There is no Queen without a Horse
There is no Horse without a Field
Give me green fields from beyond
and God I will make thee a Lord.

“And God thou will have priests and more
whilst I on my horse shall ride free
fast like the wind or a bee
Give me green fields from beyond.”

Indeed I shall, M'dam –said He.
There is no Queen without a God
There is no God without a Sky
Give me the earth underneath
and Queen I will make thee a corpse.

poem by Amparo Perez Arrospide
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My Soul is Awakened

My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.

I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!

poem by Anne Brontë
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About Flowers And Trees

I

Why did the chrysanthemum wait long
to open it's quivering twisted rays?
When other flowers are gone it grows strong
in these much more colder wintry days

with cups making blossoms like anemones
some seen as feathery, plumed, or spidery
growing big or smaller in shaded tones,
in the winter portraying nature's imagery

in bronze, brown, purple, red, pink and white
with a single or semi-double blossom
growing to man's and the Creator's delight
when ripe makes growing very unwholesome.

Why was it not sprouting, rising, growing
at the beginning of the lovely spring?

II

At the beginning of the lovely spring
in the veldt among big acacia trees
when the first drops of rain are visiting,
drawing new life, flowers and buzzing bees

I find the bulbous hyacinth flowering,
and its appearance, its fragrance
is almost totally overpowering
when it makes its sudden appearance

with pale-blue petals of strings all opening
smelling like a tiny perfumery,
with bell shaped small cups that are hanging
bright among the green and brown scenery

displaying the joys of living and life,
many times have I counted groups of five.

III

Many times have I counted groups of five,
in things making the way that nature is
and have seen five eggs coming to live,
five leaves on flowers with five small bees.

Even on some trees that number is right
but strangely sometimes it might be wrong
and while in nature I walk along,
I see different flowers in a throng,

hear various birds singing their beautiful song,
there's something in all flowers, in each tree
that tells something about its makers will
who makes all things how they are to be

I have seen even five bundles to a sheaf;
the trees are butting in flower and leaf.

IV

The trees are butting in flower and leaf
as if some kind of magic word was said,
in rejoicing without any small grief,
the growing long green stems upwards do spread

as if new life has come to them again
like from scratch they are programmed to do,
after receiving power from summer rain
but like humans sometimes they do die too

carrying more bountiful each summer day
to the custom of their kind and their breed
till the summer suddenly dwindles away,
again they are stripped as if in need

and I like the fragrant fresh smell the best,
while walking through a huge pine forest.

V

While walking through a huge pine forest
a gentle wind like a friend greeted me
and for lingering long moments I did rest,
feeling from the whole big world somewhat free

and it was filled with the catching smell
of pine trees and soft in its embrace
for many moments long did I there dwell,
by songs of twittering birds amazed

and I then longed forever to be
among the flying birds, the buzzing bees
and the soft shadows, the tranquillity
of the peaked mountain, the large trees,

but sometimes lightning falls in a blue-white spark,
when the stormy wind blows strong in the dark.

VI

When the stormy wind blows strong in the dark
and the dark black evening suddenly glows
and the wind whispers with a howling bark
among the waving, rocking trees and throws

branches breaking, snapping, twisting, tearing;
you can hear that great savage strange beast
walking about, awoke from slumber stirring
during winter in the forest, in the east

suddenly coming to its greatest strength
somewhere in the thick enveloping fog
as the long night draws out darker at length
while its breaking, mauling log upon log,

from this windy monster I want to be free,
let me find some peace and tranquillity.

VII

Let me find some peace and tranquillity
at some places where man have never trod,
experience the greatest kind of beauty
that still is spared from the iron rod

with which man rules cities, huge countries
let me see miracles, see nature's joys,
away form buildings and big industries,
far away from the scorn, the manmade noise.

Let me smell some sweet wild flowers and lie
on wild grass to find nature's peace and rest
under a clear blue unpolluted sky,
away from even them whom I love best

and I wonder before the winter comes along,
why did the chrysanthemum wait long?

poem by Gert Strydom
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Liberty, Equality, Fraternity

Long have I searched the Earth for liberty
In desert places and lands far abroad
Where neither Kings nor constables should be,
Nor any law of Man, alas, or God.
Freedom, Equality and Brotherhood,
These were my quarries which eternally
Fled from my footsteps fast as I pursued,
Sad phantoms of desire by land and sea.

See, it is ended. Sick and overborne
By foes and fools, and my long chase, I lie.
Here, in these walls, with all life's souls forlorn
Herded I wait,--and in my ears the cry,
``Alas, poor brothers, equal in Man's scorn
And free in God's good liberty to die.''

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Life And The Five Elements

Five sweet sisters and brother, water, air, fire, earth and sky one:
Moving and pushing the life, full of sorrow and fun.
Five rosy sisters and brother, in days from creation to today’s nix:
Developing and developing – every thing for life’s happy fix.

Five timeless sisters and brother, from evolution to today’s dream:
Water, Air, Energy, Food and Environment enough for life gleam!
Five tireless sisters and brother, from hell to heaven:
Each life that calls, I say 'FLIES IN SEARCH OF DREAM! '

Five deathless sisters and brother, none is the youngest or oldest one:
And no body can claim or propose, no body is near or dear done.
Five omnipresent sisters and brother - but free from clutches of time and age
No body can stop and engage them, but all are under their bondage.

Five dancing sisters and brother, of life and life nothing more:
Sun of new lives so gracious and majestically rises so much before!
Five mighty sisters and brother - Their age, well, never mind!
Universe jogs along with them, like the rest of human kind:

But the miracle and mysticism of life, sisters and brother no body knows
But the puzzle remain unsolved 'how the world goes'!

poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Lusty May

O LUSTY May, with Flora queen!
The balmy dropis from Phoebus sheen
Preluciand beams before the day:
By that Diana growis green
Through gladness of this lusty May.

Then Esperus, that is so bricht,
Til woful hairtis castis his light,
With bankis that bloomis on every brae;
And schouris are shed forth of their sicht
Through gladness of this lusty May.

Birdis on bewis of every birth,
Rejoicing notis makand their mirth
Richt plesantly upon the spray,
With flourishingis o'er field and firth
Through gladness of this lusty May.

All luvaris that are in care
To their ladies they do repair
In fresh morningis before the day,
And are in mirth ay mair and mair
Through gladness of this lusty May.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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For The Sake Of Progress

We wander down the paths,
we used so long ago, when we were young,
before the world we now know.
Down the country lanes, shaded and narrow,
by fields of wheat and marrow.
By sunlight, by moonlight, we lazed on our way.
Passed the green lands we did not stray.
Years have descended on us and our pleasures there,
it made a waste land of our garden fair.
Air is more darker.
Factories belch smoke here and there.
No more the soft white clouds, or birds on the wing.
Just black pools of floating fish,
while greasy faces smirk.
The green of fields are replaced,
for the green greed of crispy notes.
No longer postcard pictures,
but sewers up turned towards the sky.
The faces are not happy, their scorn is waste and wild.
Another of natures landmarks, scared black every row.
For the sake of progress,
or at least they tell us so.

2 June 1981

poem by David Harris
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Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day

My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.

I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!

poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Athirapalli Falls! (Kerala)

“ Ho! The Athirapalli Falls
beckons us to look down from above! ”
we were lured to jump ourselves
down into its deepest world of charm.
Vexed souls here vanish into air,
falling a prey to its bewitching calls.
We weren’t fleeing from its magic hold
when the squally showers bathed us;
But we stamped about on the slipping rock.

The spray of the thundering falls
rose above and stalked through our minds.
Darker clouds gathered over us
and who was striding over the spray?

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Dream Flight Tiny Flowers

a dandelion dazzles
bright yellow petals
set among soft blades
green grass carpets
flowers waiting host bees
in pollen quest flights

petals fade to dreams
dandelion transcends
really to harness winds
assumes new dimensions
aeronautical aspirations
tiny flowers bunched seeds

together dream lift flights
to distant diverse fields
dandelion purpose blooms
dream flight tiny flowers
produce seed parachutes
compass aline on heavens

choose navigation stars
rich green grass maps
imagination showers
through blue skies
or grey black storms
watch seasons changes

feelings thoughts minds
souls dance time changes
through wonder ranges
yellow petals subtle changes
one day transformation clicks
into white honeycomb wishes

fades into spectral stems
preparations need seeds
in readiness to roam skies

poem by Terence George Craddock
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