The Scattering Dreams
Melodious voices of the blowing lute,
Resound at the calm hour of midnight,
Vibrating echoes return many folds,
And sway nodding the bushes and trees,
The valley seems wearing the sheet of love.
I know the meeting shall not take place,
For your feet sap perfumed colour of Hina 1,
Unlucky will be the tomorrow morn.
We shall mourn on the scattering dreams,
And uniting hearts will break asunder.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Related quotes
Valley Of The Dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Went the gang of four
Song number one and the rhythm up amping
Drummer beats down 4/4 rock ranking
A bass so deep thud thud spines shaking
And all around mad eyes are rolling
Made up and stunning
As the feet get moving
As the pressure rising
White faces staring
As into the valley of the dolls
- go the gang of four
Song after song rockettes up rocking
One hundred watts scream man
My ears are bleedin
Hot bodies charged blonde locks a givin
And all around - young girls are fainting
Their hearts a pumpin
As the spikes are dancing
Shank girl shanking
I saw love vibrating
As into the valley of the dolls
- go the gallant four
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
As into the valley of the dolls
4 skulls are splitting
5 fingers are clicking
6 strings are burning
7th hour approaching
8 legs are stomping
9 lives are groovin
10 thousand coasting
X generating
As into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley
Into the valley of the dolls
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Dreams
She lies on the bed
With her hands in her head
And she screams
He gets a kick out of losing the plot so it seems
He makes you all laugh so she's the one
Doing harm
But how can you fight when she's not
The one under his arm
These dreams have let you down
Take it don't break it just turn it around
These dreams won't let you down
You never stopped loving his misfortunate
Lazy ways
All the memories that you should've had
Are a cabaret haze
There's just a hole where you know he
Should've been
There's no one worse off than you
When you can't describe what you've seen
These dreams have let you down
Take it don't break it just it turn around
These dreams won't let you down
Where do you go when you're all alone
In your bed
Do you cry in your sleep cos it's
Better unsaid
Have you forgotten your past because
That's how it seems
Is it too hard to think so you edit
Your dreams
And play them back again and again
These dreams have let you down
Take it don't break it just turn it around
These dreams won't let you down
These dreams have let you down
Take it don't break it just turn it around
These dreams won't let you down
You've got tomorrow tomorrow
You've got tomorrow tomorrow
You've got tomorrow tomorrow
You've got tomorrow tomorrow
You've got tomorrow tomorrow
song performed by by Robbie Williams from I've Been Expecting You
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Playing.
Blowing trees,
From pillar to post
Careless wisp and sway.
Ancient songs of night and day.
Blowing trees,
From post to pillar.
The wearied, yet fresh soothsayer.
Witchdoctor on high
Of fears yet to come.
Blowing trees!
The sway of old worlds,
Unravelling like gales,
Out to sea.
poem by Peter Vealey
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Unlucky In Love
Writers: leo sayer & frank farrell
The rain is falling through the window
Down the walls on the floor
Im sitting in a station and Im wondering
Ooh can it rain any more
When youre so far down
Theres no getting up again
Oh Im so alone
And Im to blame
Unlucky in love
Unlucky in love
Guess it always ends up that way
Unlucky in love
Unlucky in my life
Guess itll always be the same
Im the only one to blame
Why oh why am I unlucky in love
The train is standing on the platform
But my feet are stuck to the floor
Maybe in another town Ill get lucky
Yeah if I could reach that carriage door
But when youre so far down
Aint no getting up again
Oh Im so alone
And Im to blame
Unlucky in love
Unlucky in love
Everything I touch turns to dust
Unlucky in love
Unlucky in love
Never needed anything quite as much
A womans voice and a womans touch
Why oh why am I unlucky in love
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Midnight Hour
(s. cropper, w. pickett)
Producer: john hudson
Albums: tina live in europe (88)
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Thats when my love comes tumbling down
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
When there is no one else around
Im gonna take and Im gonna hold
Do all the things Ive told
In the midnight hour, in the midnight hour
Im gonna wait till the stars come out
To see the twinkle in your eyes
Im gonna wait till the midnight hour
Thats when my love begins to shine
Youre the only one I know
That really loves me so
In the midnight hour, in the midnight hour
Midnight midnight midnight tonight
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Love
I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.
And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.
Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Golden Valley
To perchase his boat and to ppurchase your love,
And like Enoch's white horse to his lover;
But your golden valley of love lay bare,
For i have to overflow it with love.
To purchase her boat and to purchase his love,
And like Eve's baby to her sweet lover;
But your golden valley lay bare,
And i have to water it with my love.
A patient wife,
And to watch them overflow the banks of love;
For the changes seen came out of it.
This love is like a seaman's glass,
And the passion it generates is from her;
But like a caged bird escaping suddenly,
The long and narrow sheet of the valley was noticed.
Let them sing around the old tree,
And let them enjoy the fruits of love;
For it is pleasant to see kind heart in true love.
Icy and chilly,
And birds of rare plume;
Fill the red bowls in the golden valley with love and,
Let me bath you all day long in this sweet muse of love.
A rich and savoury stew to serve in the golden valley,
And of natural beauties to swing with the muse;
But i can still hear the voices from the old trees.
My memory can still retrace your love,
And of your beauty in the golden valley of love;
But with a thankful heart i envy nobody,
Because sweet came out of your world in this valley.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Flameless Torch
mourn
the day where you where born,
morn the moment
when you
will return, stay calm,
be in your
self: for the day is wasted,
waiting the rain that
dried in
the wind for only the thirst that fills,
the
eye that close
as the mouth that breathe, in the
nostril
it blinks forever lease
from
dust, till life
ends return to.......eternity
poem by Antonio Liao
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The Streets of Glenluce
It was long ago, on Main street
On a night just like tonight
Except everything seemed sweeter
And the night stretched far and wide
I hear echoes on the wind now
Blowing down towards the river
Of voices coming from Moat-hill
Of voices gone forever
(chorus)
And you, you left so long ago
Carried off on life's great stream
It's too late now to let you know
Too late to mention that old dream
And you always were a stranger
Though we always seemed so close
You and I were never famed for
Anything but letting go
All the shy kids wait for saviours
Making eyes at one another
And when they're taken by the brave
Their chance has gone forever
Now these empty streets don't know you
Rosy cheeks and hazel een
And the years won't flow the wrong way
To bring you back here to me
There's just echoes on the wind now
Blowing down towards the river
Of voices coming from Moat-hill
Of voices gone forever
11 11 08
Echoes in the Night
Echoes in the lonely night
leave me in the morn.
For then the noisy hours
once again are born.
And all the voices that I hear
I wish would go away.
So the echoes that still me
would also fill my day.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Spring Alludes
I watched the boldest of streams
give way to this winter freeze
The water
frozen under
a sheet
of ice and
breeze as white
as the midnight moon
and soon,
when all of this life is thrown asunder
crippled under the snow in which we stand and wonder,
I'll remember
I'll remember this place in summer
poem by Joseph Ostapiuk
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Compensation
In that new world toward which our feet are set,
Shall we find aught to make our hearts forget
Earth's homely joys and her bright hours of bliss?
Has heaven a spell divine enough for this?
For who the pleasure of the spring shall tell
When on the leafless stalk the brown buds swell,
When the grass brightens and the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song?
O sweet the dropping eve, the blush of morn,
The starlit sky, the rustling fields of corn,
The soft airs blowing from the freshening seas,
The sunflecked shadow of the stately trees,
The mellow thunder and the lulling rain,
The warm, delicious, happy summer rain,
When the grass brightens and the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song!
O beauty manifold, from morn till night,
Dawn's flush, noon's blaze and sunset's tender light!
O fair, familiar features, changes sweet
Of her revolving seasons, storm and sleet
And golden calm, as slow she wheels through space,
From snow to roses, - and how dear her face,
When the grass brightens, when the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song!
O happy earth! O home so well beloved!
What recompense have we, from thee removed?
One hope we have that overtops the whole, -
The hope of finding every vanished soul,
We love and long for daily, and for this
Gladly we turn from thee, and all thy bliss,
Even at thy loveliest, when the days are long,
And little birds break out in rippling song.
poem by Celia Thaxter
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Baby's got blue eyes
Baby's got blue eyes
Tomorrow I'll be blue as well
Baby-he's made out of lies
Tomorrow I'll have no colour to tell
Baby's got soft hands
Tomorrow he will tear me apart
Baby-I think he just pretends
Tomorrow he will break my heart
Baby's got sweet voice
Tomorrow much wiser I will be
Baby-he tells me to rejoice
Tomorrow there'll be no joy to see
Baby's got wings he wants to fly
Tomorrow I will have no nest
Baby-he sings my dreams to the sky
Tomorrow he'll leave me at our best
Baby he tells me love I mistrust
He tells me I should trust him more
But baby not to believe you I must
For baby-sweet darling- you've done that before
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Lament For Shuil Donald’s Daughter
I.
IN old Shuil Donald's cottage there are many voices weeping,
And stifled sobs, and murmurings of sorrow wild and vain,
For the old man's cherish'd blessing on her bed of death lies sleeping,--
The sleep from which no human wish can rouse her soul again.
Oh, dark are now those gentle eyes which shone beneath their lashes
So full of laughter and of love--it seems but yesterday--
Well may Shuil Donald mourn beside his hearth's forsaken ashes,
His lily of the valley is wither'd away!
II.
The spring shall come to other hearts with breezes and with showers,
But lonely winter still shall reign in old Shuil Donald's home;
Others may raise the song of joy, and laugh away the hours,
But he--oh! never more may joy to his lone dwelling come.
Her name shall be an empty sound, in idle converse spoken,
Forgotten shall she be by those who mourn her most to-day--
All, all but one, who wanders with his Highland spirit broken,
His lily of the valley is wither'd away!
III.
And he--long, long, at even-tide, when sunset rays are gleaming,
That sad old man shall sit within his lonely cottage door,
Desolate, desolate shall sit, and muse with idle dreaming
On days when her returning step came quick across the moor.
Oh! never more her quiet smile, her cheerful voice of greeting,
Shall rouse to warmth his aged heart, when darkly sinks the day--
Never, oh! never more on earth those loved ones may be meeting--
His lily of the valley is wither'd away!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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A Laugh -- And A Moan
The brook that down the valley
So musically drips,
Flowed never half so brightly
As the light laugh from her lips.
Her face was like the lily,
Her heart was like the rose,
Her eyes were like a heaven
Where the sunlight always glows.
She trod the earth so lightly
Her feet touched not a thorn;
Her words wore all the brightness
Of a young life's happy morn.
Along her laughter rippled
The melody of joy;
She drank from every chalice,
And tasted no alloy.
Her life was all a laughter,
Her days were all a smile,
Her heart was pure and happy,
She knew not gloom nor guile.
She rested on the bosom
Of her mother, like a flower
That blooms far in a valley
Where no storm-clouds ever lower.
And -- 'Merry, merry, merry!'
Rang the bells of every hour,
And -- 'Happy, happy, happy!'
In her valley laughed the flower.
There was not a sign of shadow,
There was not a tear nor thorn,
And the sweet voice of her laughter
Filled with melody the morn.
* * * * *
Years passed -- 'twas long, long after,
And I saw a face at prayer;
There was not a sign of laughter,
There was every sign of care.
For the sunshine all had faded
From the valley and the flower,
And the once fair face was shaded
In life's lonely evening hour.
And the lips that smiled with laughter
In the valley of the morn,
In the valley of the evening
They were pale and sorrow-worn.
And I read the old, old lesson
In her face and in her tears,
While she sighed amid the shadows
Of the sunset of her years.
All the rippling streams of laughter
From our hearts and lips that flow,
Shall be frozen, cold years after,
Into icicles of woe.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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Airs for the Lute
I
When the sobbing lute complains,
Grieving for an ancient sorrow,
This poor sorrow that remains
Fain would borrow,
To give pleading unto sorrow,
Those uncapturable strains.
All, that hands upon the lute
Helped the voices to declare,
Voices mute
But for this, might I not share,
If, alas, I could but suit
Hand and voice unto the lute?
II
If time so sweetly
On true according viols make
Her own completely
The lawless laws of turn and shake;
How should I doubt then
Love, being tuned unto your mood,
Should bring about then
True time and measure of your blood?
III
Why are you sorrowful in dreams?
I am sad in the night;
The hours till morning are white,
I hear the hours' flight
All night in dreams.
Why do you send me your dreams?
For an old love's sake;
I dream if I sleep or wake,
And shall but one heart ache,
For the sake of dreams?
Pray that we sleep without dreams!
Ah, love, the only way
To put sorrow away,
Night or day, night or day,
From the way of dreams!
IV
Strange, to remember tears!
Yet I know that I wept;
And those hopes and those fears,
Strange, were as real as tears!
What's this delicate pain,
Twilight-coloured and grey?
Odour-like through my brain
Steals a shadowy pain.
What's this joy in the air?
Musical as the leaves,
When the white winds are there,
Faint joy breathes in the air.
poem by Arthur Symons
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I like blue
I like blue
and my motorbike is that colour
and some of the clothes that I wear.
If I am happy,
my eyes changes colour from grey
to bright blue.
The lavender bushes in our garden,
are rather blue
than purple to me.
When the sun sets behind the hillock
there’s a wonderful scent in the early evening air,
that comes from the blue bushes.
a Blue sky with a hot sun
can do miracles to me
and I cannot get enough of summer,
but Monday or any other day
must please stay away
from that colour.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Voices From Amongst The Trees
Around me fall the autumn leaves
Within our hearts the future breathes
Voices from amongst the trees
Tell of freedom un-foretold.
Around me breaks the winter lake
Within our hearts old loves awake
Voices from beyond the gate
Tell of freedom from the shade.
Around me rise the springtime blooms
Below an reborn maiden moon
Voices speak of light from gloom
They speak of romance old.
Around me glows a summers green
Within our hearts the future dreams
All of nature grows, it gleams
Speaking words to never fade.
poem by David Lacey
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Leaves are to creep
Leaves do creep
And they must weep
When On them
The army of grief
Is passing in fleets
Fleets of tussle
Mind and heart’s scuffle
From all around
The heart is bound
The woods become Eden
For me the forbidden
To roam and mourn
In the eves and the morn
The moments of romance
Spent in the dance
The dry leaves resound
The same agonies sound
When under feet
Of heartless beat
The dry leaves weep
For my agonies deep
Leaves do creep
And they must weep
When On them
The army of grief
Is passing in fleets
Fleets of tussle
Mind and heart’s scuffle
From all around
The heart is bound
The woods become Eden
For me the forbidden
To roam and mourn
In the eves and the morn
The moments of romance
Spent in the dance
The dry leaves resound
The same agonies sound
When under feet
Of heartless beat
The dry leaves weep
For my agonies deep
Leaves do creep
And they must weep
When On them
The army of grief
Is passing in fleets
Fleets of tussle
Mind and heart’s scuffle
From all around
The heart is bound
The woods become Eden
For me the forbidden
To roam and mourn
In the eves and the morn
The moments of romance
Spent in the dance
The dry leaves resound
The same agonies sound
When under feet
Of heartless beat
The dry leaves weep
For my agonies deep
poem by Akram Saqib
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Song of Karen, the Dancing Child
(O little white feet of mine)
Out in the storm and the rain you fly;
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
Can the children hear my cry?
(O little white feet of mine)
Never a child in the whole great town;
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
Lights out and the blinds pulled down.
(O little white feet of mine)
Never a light on a window pane,
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And the wild wet cry of the rain.
(O little white feet of mine)
Shall I never again be still?
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And away over valley and hill.
(O little white feet of mine)
Children, children, open the door!
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And the wind shrieks Nevermore.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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