The Prophecy Of St. Oran: Part IV
I.
It is the night: across the starless waste
Of silent heaven the solitary moon
Flits like a frightened maid who flies in haste,
And wild with terror seems to reel and swoon,
As in her rear the multitudinous clouds
Follow like spectral huntsmen in their shrouds.
II.
And sometimes the wild rout o'ertakes its prey,
And holds her captive in the lowering sky,
But ever and anon she bursts away,
And her white orb floats lustrously on high,
And with its lambent flame transmutes the haze
Into a living halo for her face.
III.
And far o'er black morass and barren moor
The fitful splendour of the moonlight falls,
Its broken eddies sweep across the floor,
And dance in chequered silver on the walls,
And flood the chapel's grave-encircled site
With sudden flashes of unearthly light.
IV.
And as the unquiet moonlight comes and flies
Athwart the little roofless house of prayer,
Like some lost spirit strayed from Paradise
Or dæmon-angel of the realms of air,
A pallid shape flits through the open door
And flings itself, low wailing, on the floor;
V.
And wailing, wailing, lay there in its pain,
When suddenly it snatched from the out the sod
Some late-forgotten spade, while tears like rain
Poured from its eyes, enough to melt the clod,
And digging hard the small breach grew apace,
Till the soil lay like molehills round the place.
VI.
But through the silence suddenly there swells
Along the gusty breaths of midnight air
The mellow tinkling sound of magic bells,
Such as the pious brethren love to wear,
To keep the fiends and goblins off that prowl
For ever near to catch a tripping soul.
VII.
And as the monks, chanting a solemn hymn,
Draw nigh the chapel to perform their rite,
That wailing shape flies far into the dim
Recess behind the altar full of night;
While they with burning torches move in file
To consecrate afresh their sacred pile.
VIII.
Three days, three nights have fled since in that spot,
Where fiends and dæmons revelled unforbid,
They buried that false monk who was a blot
Upon their rule: but since the earth has hid
His bones accursed, God's sun has shone again,
Nor has fresh ill assailed their prospering fane
IX.
Which now they enter, singing hymns of praise,
Columba at their head--when lo, behold
The grave yawns open and a bloodless face,
The face of him they knew, rose from the mould:
Slowly he rose from the incumbent clay
Lifting the white shroud in the moonlight grey.
X.
Slowly his arm beneath the winding-sheet
He waved three times, as though to bid them hear;
Then in the moonlight rose he to his feet
Showing his shrunken body, and his sere
Discoloured hair, and smouldering eyes that lie
Sunk in their sockets, glaring hot and dry.
XI.
Slowly he raised his voice--once rich in tone
Like sweetest music, now a mournful knell
With dull sepulchral sounds, as of a stone
Cast down into a black unfathomed well--
And murmured, 'Lo, I come back from the grave,--
Behold, there is no God to smite or save.
XII.
'Poor fools! wild dreamers! No, there is no God;
Yon heaven is deaf and dumb to prayer and praise;
Lo, no almighty tyrant wields the rod
For evermore above our hapless race;
Nor fashioned us, frail creatures that we be,
To bear the burden of eternity.
XIII.
'Hear it, self-torturing monks, and cease to wage
Your mad, delirious, suicidal war;
There is no devil who from age to age
Waylays and tempts all souls of men that are;
For ever seeking whom he may devour,
And damn with wine and woman, gold and power.
XIV.
'Deluded priests, ye think the world a snare,
Denouncing every tender human tie!
Behold, your heaven is unsubstantial air,
Your future bliss a sick brain's phantasy;
There is no room amid the stars which gem
The firmament for your Jerusalem.
XV.
'Rejoice, poor sinners, for I come to tell
To you who hardly dare to live for fright;
There is no burning everlasting hell
Where souls shall be tormented day and night:
The fever ye call life ends with your breath;
All weary souls set in the night of death.
XVI.
'Then let your life on earth be life indeed!
Nor drop the substance, snatching at a shade!
Ye can have Eden here! ye bear the seed
Of all the hells and heavens and gods ye made
Within that mighty world-transforming thought
Which permeates the universe it wrought--
XVII.
'Wrought out of stones and plants and birds and beasts,
To flower in man, and know itself at last:
Around, about you, see what endless feasts
The spring and summer bountifully cast!
'A vale of tears,' ye cry--'if ye were wise,
The earth itself would change to Paradise.
XVIII.
'The earth itself--the old despisèd earth,
Would render back your love a thousandfold,
Nor yet afflict the sons of men with dearth,
Disease, and misery, and drought and cold;
If you would seek a blessing in her sod,
Instead of crying vainly on your God.
XIX.
'Cast down the crucifix, take up the plough!
Nor waste your breath which is the life in prayer!
Dare to be men, and break you impious vow,
Nor fly from woman as the devil's snare!
For if within, around, beneath, above
There is a living God, that God is Love.'
XX.
'The fool says in his heart, There is no God,'
Cried St. Columba, white with Christian ire
'Seize Oran, re-inter him in the sod
And may his soul awake in endless fire:
Earth on his mouth--the earth he would adore,
That his blaspheming tongue may blab no more.'
XXI.
Then like swart ravens swooping on their prey
These monks rushed upon Oran; when there came
One gliding towards them in wild disarray
With hair that streamed behind her like a flame
And face dazed with the moon, who shrilly cried,
'Let not death part the bridegroom from his bride.'
XXII.
But deeming her some fiend in female guise,
They drive her forth with threats, till, crazed with fear,
Across the stones and mounded graves she flies
Towards that lapping, moon-illumined mere;
And like a child seeking its mother's breast
She casts her life thereon, and is at rest.
XXIII.
And while the waves close gurgling o'er her head,
A grave is dug whence he may never stray,
Or come back prophesying from the dead,--
All shouting as they stifle him with clay:
'Earth on his mouth--the earth he would adore,
That his blaspheming tongue may blab no more.'
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Related quotes
Old Man Say (Make Haste)
The beast rest there!
Go before the night draw near
Before ill-times wake
Cause then, It may all be late
So lad make haste
- *Guh dear lad!
Before next day
Harken to what *dis old man say
Make hay my lad
Unless be sad
Say I, make haste
Don't make good times waste
It's a wild wild world
- out *deh mi lad
And di wolves dem *nat suh kine
Go on now *mi lad
*Mek haste before its night
And me sure all will be right
*guh - go *mek - make *mi - my
*deh - there * kine - kind *di - the
*nat suh - not so *me - i'm *dis - this
Copyright © 2012
poem by Godfrey Morris
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Between me and the Silvery Moon
In between me
and the silvery moon
There is my dreams of you
For whom I swoon
The stars and the moon
They whisper at night
As we embrace each other
Beneath their silvery light
They watch as we dance
Our eyes in a silvery gaze
The stars twinkle to the moon
Lost in a romantic haze
All my dreams come true
When for you I swoon
In between me
and the silvery moon
poem by Priya Patel
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Heaven Help Me
If you want it you can have it
Thats what you said
But I dont want the things that you leave behind
Take the pictures, take the windows and the walls
But baby wont you leave me my peace of mind
Oh such a waste of time
Oh such a waste
I still want you baby
Heaven help me heaven help me
Talk to strangers talk to strangers
Heaven help me
Over you
Help me over you
I cant seem to take these changes
Everything reminds my heart of you
Thought the first time was the last time
Of being apart
Now I find Im having to search again
Itll happen
Its gotta happen
Come together
I just wish somebody would tell me when
Oh such a waste of time
Oh such a waste
I still want you baby
(chorus)
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
(repeat chorus twice)
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
Youre someone elses lady
So sad without you darlin
The gods of love cant help me now
Heaven help heaven help
Heaven, heaven heaven help me
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Desires and Disillusions
heaven, grant me my wish
i want a sky, so clear and bright
with stars like pearls in the oceans of galaxies
and a crescent moon that will smile at me
heaven, please make it real
i want that starry night to suddenly turn so dark
and from nowhere i would see a spark
a star will fall and will glitter at my sight
heaven, that star will fulfill my childish wish
and i will wish that she'll be with me tonight
together we will watch the rain of fire
with shooting stars in that starless romantic sky
heaven, grant me my wish
i want a star to send her my message
i want a star so that she won't forget
she will remember forever that flash of my love
heaven, that is my wish
a shooting star for my miss..
poem by Mhawi Rosero
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A faint light in the darkness
This starless chilly night I see your phosphorous eyes far beyond the infinity.
In your territory though it’s dim still bring me a desirable heaven
Moon has never shown.
But we are in two different altitudes as leftovers.
And I thank you very much Bonny
For the Booby prize your legacy,
You decided to leave me alone crumbly.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Autumn comes [Întomnare]
The stars mirrored by the lake, among water lily leaves,
Turned the lake into a glade, fire flies into small stars,
And this glade appears to glow, as if amber snow receives,
Because golden drops stand out like the tips of lit cigars.
When the lucent night puts on a fair vestment in this hush,
The frogs stop to wail at once and keep silent for a while;
And the moon on water, lo, like a saint begins to rush,
Withering the frightened leaves with its wry and deadly smile.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Seven Deadly Sins: Envy
The sun gazed in silence upon the silver moon,
Jealous and angry that the moon shone every night.
In silent envy, she impatiently waits
For the moon to move, and for it to be her turn to emerge.
But eventually,
She ran out of patience.
She demanded of the moon
That she be allowed to come-out.
But the wise moon refused.
“All things must run its course.
If the moon was to be thrown from the sky,
What would become of night? ”
“I would rule the night! ” Declared the sun,
In all her foolishness.
“Then the night and the day would be one.
Then, the world would certainly be a better place! ”
And the moon shook its head in pity
At the sun, so jealous of what the moon had.
“You don’t seem to realize, ” said the moon with a tearful sigh,
“That I am just a reflection of you.”
poem by Katie Jensen
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Mask
My thoughts are hidden behind a
Stone – like mask, once unsmiling, but never weeping- as
I began my solitary walk into the darkness.
I remember the day that
I built a moat around my castle walls
Morning transformed into night and it was
On that starless night
The sun barely set and in all of its fullness, the moon never rose,
At daybreak, fog overshadowed the sun, and
It could have been because
On the same dank and sultry day
My lifelong summer came to an end.
The sun rose in the west and the earth stood still.
Torrential rain poured out
From the depths of me, and
It was upon that last day ever that
I let the world surrounding me see the storm through my startled eyes.
The screaming of the locusts, the sounds of cars racing down the highway,
The hammering of the hail upon the pavement and
The heavy footsteps of people walking outside
Could not surpass my silent though desperate cries…
The early morning fog descended
And settled around my castle walls- jet black as the
Tempest that raged behind those walls,
In which I became both the queen and the prisoner
Although-
No one would have known because
I had firmly pasted a frozen smile
Upon that stone-like mask that I donned night and day-
Everyone was too busy
Reading about the wars in the far-east and the plight of the homeless-
Nobody could see or hear the war that was rampant inside of me-
I have no home in this world; I walk alone.
Above the calling of the wild geese,
The rush hour traffic, the spattering of the rain upon the rooftops outside-
No one listens to the sound of shattering dreams because
That frozen smile-
Was just too beautiful…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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What Is It To Waste A Night?
WHAT IS IT TO WASTE A NIGHT?
What is it to waste a night
When I have wasted years?
Why worry now so close to the end
Hasn’t it all been a waste?
Won’t it all be a waste one day
No matter how I play the game
Of seeking to make my name eternal?
But this is this night and no other
And I writing this now
Am redeeming it from ‘waste’
And fooling myself for one more day
‘It has not been a waste nothing is a waste
when I can write a real poem now.’
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Holy War
If you will adore me
Bow before me and praise my name
If you place no God before me
Then all I have is yours to claim
And if God is in the heavens
Why did God let children die
If you dont ask these questions
There is no reasons why
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
All the visions shown before you
All the kingdoms and the thrones
All are yours if you bow before me and adore me
All this you can own
There are those that will go to heaven
There are those that will never win
No one knows what will happen
There are those that turn to sin
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
(solo)
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
We are chosen
The devil is in hell with the demons
This is the holy war
They lead us to our temptation
Lead us, take our souls
There is no evil in salvation
There is evil in us all
Just as satan tempted jesus
And jesus slips and falls
He is a station on the cross now
He is dying to save us all
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
We are chosen
We are one
We are frightened of no one
And no one will win this war
This is the way
This is the law
If God is in heaven, wont you save me now
Oh lord forgive them for what theyve done
Lost children of babylon
Oh allah oh no oh no (? )
This is the holy war
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is the Moon Asleep?
Autumn on a starless evening,
is wan moon asleep,
or beyond dark cloud-bank, grieving?
Summer’s love is lost. While weaving,
bats sweep low - I keep
silent vigil, few believing.
Autumn, and the Earth’s conceiving -
taken in, eyes weep
over one who left, deceiving.
I, with others hay ricks [s]heaving,
bitter harvests reap -
happiness now passed receiving.
Winter soon sends night bereaving,
leaves life crumpled heap -
passes on to other thieving...
27 November 1988 revised 23 September 2008
robi03_0235_robi03_0000 XXX_LNX
for previous version see below
Is the Moon Asleep?
Autumn on a starless evening,
is the moon asleep,
or behind a cloudbank, grieving?
Summer’s love is lost. While weaving,
bats sweep low, - I keep
silent vigil, none believing.
Autumn, and the Earth’s conceiving, -
taken in, I weep
over one who left, deceiving.
I, while others hay are [s]heaving,
bitter harvests reap, -
happiness now passed receiving.
Winter soon, its night bereaving,
leaves life crumpled heap, -
passes on to other thieving...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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He Showed Me
He showed me heights I'd never seen
and the climb was ecstasy.
He showed me lows from absences
that took its toll on me.
He showed me the sun, the moon and stars
and the sight was heavenly.
He showed me clouds and starless nights
that closed heaven's doors to me.
Still I lived for the heights
and lived for the sights
and died from the clouds
and the starless nights.
Was he even aware of the dichotomies
that tore at the heart of my being?
Or was he oblivious to these changes incurred
just from what I was seeing?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Wishes
I wish that we could
Have one night.
Dance cheek to cheek
By candlelight.
You fill me
Like a symphony.
Thrill me
Like the moon
That lights the stage
As heaven plays
Our special tune.
I wish
For your lips to taste.
And never waste a word.
But to utter
Sweetness unheard.
And be free.
Like a solitary bird.
I wish we could walk
Hand in hand
Along the sand.
Where tide softly
Kisses beach.
Shooting stars
Within our reach.
As the night
Lays its midnight jewels
Across the skies.
You sting my heart
With twinkling eyes.
And lay with me
Until the dawn.
Sway with me
Where love is born
On the breeze.
To hide in your smile
And throw away the keys.
To die in the act of love.
I look above
And wish
- Oh please.
poem by Kevin East
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Wings Of The Night
Wings of the night
Shimmering light
Passes over the moon.
Like some silent
Spiritual tune.
That ballerina
Of my soul
Pirouettes
Across the stage.
Lit by the sleeping rage
Of the sun.
Was this
How love begun.
Wings of the night
Fluttering white.
Against blue canvas
Of eternal sky.
Only angels
Fly so high.
Lending smiles
To stars that cry.
Heaven's candles
Burning low.
Is this
What fate did throw
Into a swirling
Midnight show.
Wings of the night
Fanned out.
Coloured bright.
Glide
On glacier white
Dawn.
When love's hope is reborn.
Watch the skies.
For that elusive sprite.
Magic flies
On the wings of the night.
poem by Kevin East
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The Storm
O GRIP the earth, ye forest trees,
Grip well the earth to-night,
The Storm-God rides across the seas
To greet the morning light.
All clouds that wander through the skies
Are tangled in his net,
The frightened stars have shut their eyes,
The breakers fume and fret.
The birds that cheer the woods all day
Now tremble in their nests,
The giant branches round them sway,
The wild wind never rests.
The squirrel and the cunning fox
Have hurried to their holes,
Far off, like distant earthquake shocks,
The muffled thunder rolls.
In scores of hidden woodland dells,
Where no rough winds can harm,
The timid wild-flowers toss their bells
In reasonless alarm.
Only the mountains rear their forms,
Silent and grim and bold;
To them the voices of the storms
Are as a tale re-told.
They saw the stars in heaven hung,
They heard the great Sea's birth,
They know the ancient pain that wrung
The entrails of the Earth.
Sprung from great Nature's royal lines,
They share her deep repose,–
Their rugged shoulders robed in pines,
Their foreheads crowned with snows.
But now there comes a lightning flash,
And now on hill and plain
The charging clouds in fury dash,
And blind the world with rain.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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The Roussalka
A LEGEND OF THE WATER-SPRITE
In forest depths, beside a mere,
A monk once made his habitation ;
Absorbed in penances severe,
In fast and prayer he sought salvation.
Already by his own poor spade
His grave was hollowed to receive him,
And every day the good saint prayed
That Heaven from earth would soon relieve him.
One summer's eve, the hermit poor,
At prayer within his narrow room,
Looked out beyond his humble door
And saw the forest wrapped in gloom ;
Night-mists were rising from the mere,
Between the clouds the moon 'gan peep;
The monk unto the pool drew near
And gazed into its waters deep.
He saw himself—drew back perturbed
By fears he ne'er had known before ;
For, lo, the waters were disturbed,
Then suddenly grew calm once more ;
'While fitful as a twilight shade,
Than virgin snow more purely white,
From out the pool appeared a maid
Approaching in the silver light.
She shook the bright drops from her hair
And gazed upon the anchorite ;
To look upon her form so fair
The good monk trembled with affright.
And he beheld her from afar
With head and hand strange signals make,
Then swifter than a shooting star
Dive back into the silent lake.
All night the hermit could not sleep,
All day in agony he prayed ;
But still he could not choose but keep
The image of that wondrous maid
Before him. So, when day did wane,
And overhead the moon was bright,
He watched, and saw her come again
In all her beauty, dazzling white.
She beckoned to him where he stood,
And gave him greeting glad and free.
She played and splashed about the flood,
She laughed and danced in childish glee,
As softly to the monk she cried :
' Come hither, monk, and join me here!'
Then suddenly she dipped to hide
Her beauty in the darkling mere.
The third day came—grown mad with love,
The hermit sought th' enchanted shore
Ere yet night's veil was drawn above,
And waited for the maid once more.
Dawn broke—the monk had disappeared . . .
And now the frightened children say
He haunts the pool: and lo! his beard
Floats on the water night and day.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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The Rising Of The Storm
THE lake's dark breast
Is all unrest,
It heaves with a sob and a sigh.
Like a tremulous bird,
From its slumber stirred,
The moon is a-tilt in the sky.
From the silent deep
The waters sweep,
But faint on the cold white stones,
And the wavelets fly
With a plaintive cry
O'er the old earth's bare, bleak bones.
And the spray upsprings
On its ghost-white wings,
And tosses a kiss at the stars;
While a water-sprite,
In sea-pearls dight,
Hums a sea-hymn's solemn bars.
Far out in the night,
On the wavering sight
I see a dark hull loom;
And its light on high,
Like a Cyclops' eye,
Shines out through the mist and gloom.
Now the winds well up
From the earth's deep cup,
And fall on the sea and shore,
And against the pier
The waters rear
And break with a sullen roar.
Up comes the gale,
And the mist-wrought veil
Gives way to the lightning's glare,
And the cloud-drifts fall,
A sombre pall,
O'er water, earth, and air.
The storm-king flies,
His whip he plies,
And bellows down the wind.
The lightning rash
With blinding flash
Comes pricking on behind.
Rise, waters, rise,
And taunt the skies
With your swift-flitting form.
Sweep, wild winds, sweep,
And tear the deep
To atoms in the storm.
And the waters leapt,
And the wild winds swept,
And blew out the moon in the sky,
And I laughed with glee,
It was joy to me
As the storm went raging by!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Lake
In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.
But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then- ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight-
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define-
Nor Love- although the Love were thine.
Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining-
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Night
He cried out through the night:
"Where is the light?
Shall nevermore
Open Heaven's door?
Oh, I am left
Lonely, bereft!"
He cried out through the night:
It spread vaguely white,
With its ghost of a moon
Above the dark swoon
Of the earth lying chill,
Breathless, grave still.
He cried out through the night:
His voice in its might
Rang forth far and far,
And then like a star
Dwindled from sense
In the Immense.
He cried out through the night:
No answering light,
No syllabled sound;
Beneath and around
A long shuddering thrill
Then all again still.
poem by James Thomson
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Rocket To Heaven
I'm catching a rocket to heaven
It's a long way there
But I'll fly 24/7
Which way it takes, I don't care
As long as it takes me to heaven
It flies past the bright stars
And the big yellow moon
There are no cars
For we'll be there soon
And as every-one knows, there's no cars in heaven
For people come
And never go
So there's no traffic flow
I'm catching a rocket to heaven
And leaving this place
It is now day seven
The rocket takes me into outa space
Where I can see the moon's dreamy face
I'm on the rocket to heaven
There'll be no more troubles
No more deven
No more bubbles
Or will there? !
In heaven I'll stay
So take me away
(Inspired by my little brother)
poem by Amy Parkinson
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