A Dead Friend
IT hardly seems that he is dead,
So strange it is that we are here
Beneath this great blue shell of sky
With apple-bloom and pear:
It scarce seems true that we can note
The bursting rosebud’s edge of flame,
Or watch the blackbird’s swelling throat
While he is but a name.
No more the chaffinch at his step
Pipes suddenly her shrill surprise,
For in an ecstasy of sleep
Unconsciously he lies,
Not knowing that the sweet brown lark
From off her bosom’s feathery lace
Shakes down the dewdrop in her flight
To fall upon his face.
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Related quotes
The Nectar Of Eve
As I sit beneath the apple tree
and watch the waterfall.
My mind thinks of Eve.
I can still taste her sweet nectar
on the tip of my tongue.
I can still feel the sensations
of Eve’s hips as I licked.
Now as nectar start to fall
like a waterfall down my
throat. I thought I would drown
from her ecstasy. But Eve pause
to let me catch my breath, and then
once again my tongue swam in Eve’s
nectar until her passion put us both
to sleep. That was about 3 months
ago. Eve has now moved on, and all
I’m left with is the memories.
The Child Asleep. (From The French)
Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's face,
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.
Upon that tender eye, my little friend,
Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me!
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend;
'Tis sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee!
His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;
His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm.
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,
Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm?
Awake, my boy! I tremble with affright!
Awake, and chase this fatal thought! Unclose
Thine eye but for one moment on the light!
Even at the price of thine, give me repose!
Sweet error! he but slept! -- I breathe again;
Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile!
Oh, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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To My Brothers
O BROTHERS, who must ache and stoop
O’er wordy tasks in London town,
How scantly Laura trips for you—
A poem in a gown!
How rare if Grub-street grew a lawn!
How sweet if Nature’s lap could spare
A dandelion for the Strand,
A cowslip for Mayfair!
But here, from immaterial lyres,
There rings in easy confidence
The blackbird’s bright philosophy
On apple-spray or fence:
For ploughmen wending home from toil
Some patriot thrush outpours his lay,
And voices, wildly eloquent,
The diary of his day.
These living lyrics you may hear
Remembering the lane’s romance,
All hung in wicker heels to chirp
Thin ghosts of utterance:
But where the gusts of liberty
Make Ragged Robin wisely bend,
They quicken hedgerows with their song,
Melodiously unpenned.
If souls of mighty singers leave
The vacant body to its hush,
Does Shelley linger in the lark,
Or Keats possess the thrush?
The end is undecaying doubt,
And in some blackbird’s bosom still
Great Tennyson may sweeten eve
And whistle on the hill.
Come, brothers, to this clean delight,
And watch the velvet-headed tit.
Here ’s honest sorrel in the grass
And sturdy cuckoo-spit:
What shepherds hear you shall not miss,
And at deliverance of dawn
Shall see a miracle of bloom
Across the sparkling lawn.
The forest musically begs
To fan you with its leafy love;
Oh, fall asleep upon this moss
Entreated by the dove!
Here shall that sweet Conservative,5
Dear Mother Nature, lend to you
Her lovely rural elements
Beneath the primal blue.
O brothers, who must ache and stoop
O’er wordy tasks in London town,
How scantly Laura trips for you—
A poem in a gown!
How good if Fleet-street grew a lawn!
How sweet if garden-plots could spare
A bed of cloves to scent the Strand,
A pansy for Mayfair!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Surprise Me Again
Well I remember the day when she said go away
I rearrange my hair
Well I cant take anymore
I bought some natural food
And then I fell on the floor
Well I cant take anymore
I need a change of address
By the way, why cant you smile
She said at first it was great
And in the middle I stayed
But at the end I was sick
I said Ive got to get out quick
Then you suddenly smiled
You took me by surprise
You suddenly smiled
You took me by again
Well I remember the time
Wrapped up nice and cosy
She was washing my hair
Well I was thinking of midnight, falling in love
Watching the rain fall
When we relax Im going to sleep on your chest
And listen to your beats
And lets go to norway, live in rain and snow
And get totally depressed about nothing
At all really hello
Then you suddenly smiled
You took me by surprise
You suddenly smiled
You took me by again
You suddenly smiled
You suddenly smiled, again and again
You cant smile
Then you suddenly smiled
You took me by surprise
You suddenly smiled
You took me by again
You suddenly smiled
You suddenly smiled
You suddenly smiled
You suddenly smiled
You took me by again
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lover And Birds
Within a budding grove,
In April's ear sang every bird his best,
But not a song to pleasure my unrest,
Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love;
Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest.
To every word
Of every bird
I listen'd, and replied as it behove.
Scream'd Chaffinch, 'Sweet, sweet, sweet!
Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!'
'Chaffinch,' quoth I, 'be dumb awhile, in fear
Thy darling prove no better than a cheat,
And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.'
Yet from a twig,
With voice so big,
The little fowl his utterance did repeat.
Then I, 'The man forlorn
Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.'
'And what'll he do? What'll he do?' scoff'd
The Blackbird, standing, in an ancient thorn,
Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft
With cackling laugh;
Whom I, being half
Enraged, called after, giving back his scorn.
Worse mock'd the Thrush, 'Die! die!
Oh, could he do it? could he do it? Nay!
Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!' (went his lay.)
'Take heed! take heed!' then 'Why? why? why? why? why?
See-ee now! see-ee now!' (he drawl'd) 'Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!'
O Thrush, be still!
Or at thy will,
Seek some less sad interpreter than I.
'Air, air! blue air and white!
Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!'
(Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea)
'Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright,
Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see,
see!'
'Gay Lark,' I said,
'The song that's bred
In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.'
'There's something, something sad,
I half remember'-piped a broken strain.
Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again.
'Spring's opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!'
Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad,
Till now, grown meek,
With wetted cheek,
Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had.
poem by William Allingham
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One Step Closer
I'm 'round the corner from anything that's real
I'm across the road from hope
I'm under a bridge in a rip tide
That's taken everything I call my own
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
I'm on an island at a busy intersection
I can't go forward, I can't turn back
Can't see the future
It's getting away from me
I just watch the tail lights glowing
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
Knowing, knowing
I'm hanging out to dry
With my old clothes
Finger still red with the prick of an old rose
Well the heart that hurts
Is a heart that beats
Can you hear the drummer slowing?
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
One step closer to knowing
To knowing, to knowing, to knowing
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Eyes
Around every corner, I turn, you are there;
Fixing me with your steely, unseeing, stare.
Your eyes are static: they do not move,
But, your eternal presence seems to soothe.
The scenario, very slightly, freaks me out,
As, everywhere I go, I see your face about.
Whenever I see your watchful blue eyes,
I suddenly begin to feel just a little bit shy.
You seem to watch me, wherever I go.
But, no emotion does your face show.
What I know for sure, in my own mind,
Is that, in real life, you are caring and kind.
A poster image of you, is what I am seeing:
A momentary snapshot of your very being.
The image lacks colour, but for eyes of light blue;
This very distinguishing feature of yours, is so true.
It brings a strange sense of comfort to me,
Even if, me, you are unable to physically see.
In some strange way, I feel safe and sound,
Knowing that, wherever I go, you are around.
It’s almost as though you have been multiplied;
There is no place where, from you, I can hide.
But when I head home, away from that place,
I no longer see you, or any image of your face.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Chrysalis
My little Mädchen found one day
A curious something in her play,
That was not fruit, nor flower, nor seed;
It was not anything that grew,
Or crept, or climbed, or swam, or flew;
Had neither legs nor wings, indeed;
And yet she was not sure, she said,
Whether it was alive or dead.
She brought it in her tiny hand
To see if I would understand,
And wondered when I made reply,
"You've found a baby butterfly."
"A butterfly is not like this,"
With doubtful look she answered me.
So then I told her what would be
Some day within the chrysalis:
How, slowly, in the dull brown thing
Now still as death, a spotted wing,
And then another, would unfold,
Till from the empty shell would fly
A pretty creature, by and by,
All radiant in blue and gold.
"And will it, truly?" questioned she--
Her laughing lips and eager eyes
All in a sparkle of surprise--
"And shall your little Mädchen see?"
"She shall!" I said. How could I tell
That ere the worm within its shell
Its gauzy, splendid wings had spread,
My little Mädchen would be dead?
To-day the butterfly has flown,--
She was not here to see it fly,--
And sorrowing I wonder why
The empty shell is mine alone.
Perhaps the secret lies in this:
I too had found a chrysalis,
And Death that robbed me of delight
Was but the radiant creature's flight!
poem by Mary Emily Bradley
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The Music-Lesson
A thrush alit on a young-leaved spray,
And, lightly clinging,
It rocked in its singing
As the rapturous notes rose loud and gay;
And with liquid shakes,
And trills and breaks,
Rippled though blossoming bough of May.
Like a ball of fluff, with a warm brown throat
And throbbing bosom,
'Mid the apple-blossom,
The new-fledged nestling sat learning by rote
To echo the song
So tender and strong,
As it feebly put in its frail little note.
O blissfullest lesson amid the green grove!
The low wind crispeth
The leaves, where lispeth
The shy little bird with its parent above;
Two voices that mingle
And make but a single
Hymn of rejoicing in praise of their love.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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On Seeing a Train Start for the Seaside
O might I leave this grassy place
For spreading foam about my feet!
The splendid spray upon my face,
The flying brine itself were sweet
If I might hear on Cromer beach
The freedom of Old Neptune's speech!
Ah, never language like to this
For those whose ears can understand!
Sometimes the coming of a kiss
To mate the ocean with the strand;
Sometimes the nameless oath is heard
The sea-god thunders through his beard!
I have a sea of blue on high,
I have a sea of green beneath;
For me sweet inland birds do cry
Until with joy I hold my breath;
But Ocean's harp of wave and stone
Is bird and leaf and stream in one!
Upon my dancing apple-sprays
The blackbird whistles melodies;
Half through a mellow run he stays
And flashes to a neighbour's trees:
He's rare, but rarer now would be
The strident pebbles of the sea.
And is it strange that round the shore
The lyric water should rejoice?
Ah no! for ever more and more
The happy dead are in its voice.
Majestic poet! might I be
As full of song, as finely free!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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The Firetail's Nest
'Tweet' pipes the robin as the cat creeps by
Her nestling young that in the elderns lie,
And then the bluecap tootles in its glee,
Picking the flies from orchard apple tree,
And 'pink' the chaffinch cries its well-known strain,
Urging its kind to utter 'pink' again,
While in a quiet mood hedgesparrows try
An inward stir of shadowed melody.
Around the rotten tree the firetail mourns
As the old hedger to his toil returns,
Chopping the grain to stop the gap close by
The hole where her blue eggs in safety lie.
Of everything that stirs she dreameth wrong
And pipes her 'tweet tut' fears the whole day long.
poem by John Clare
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Roses and Rue
Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,
Were it worth the pleasure,
We never could learn love's song,
We are parted too long
Could the passionate past that is fled
Call back its dead,
Could we live it all over again,
Were it worth the pain!
I remember we used to meet
By an ivied seat,
And you warbled each pretty word
With the air of a bird;
And your voice had a quaver in it,
Just like a linnet,
And shook, as the blackbird's throat
With its last big note;
And your eyes, they were green and grey
Like an April day,
But lit into amethyst
When I stooped and kissed;
And your mouth, it would never smile
For a long, long while,
Then it rippled all over with laughter
Five minutes after.
You were always afraid of a shower,
Just like a flower:
I remember you started and ran
When the rain began.
I remember I never could catch you,
For no one could match you,
You had wonderful, luminous, fleet,
Little wings to your feet.
I remember your hair - did I tie it?
For it always ran riot -
Like a tangled sunbeam of gold:
These things are old.
I remember so well the room,
And the lilac bloom
That beat at the dripping pane
In the warm June rain;
And the colour of your gown,
It was amber-brown,
And two yellow satin bows
From the shoulders rose.
And the handkerchief of French lace
Which you held to your face-
Had a small tear left a stain?
Or was it the rain?
On your hand as it waved adieu
There were veins of blue;
In your voice as it said good-bye
Was a petulant cry,
"You have only wasted your life."
(Ah, that was the knife!)
When I rushed through the garden gate
It was all too late.
Could we live it over again,
Were it worth the pain,
Could the passionate past that is fled
Call back its dead!
Well, if my heart must break,
Dear love, for your sake,
It will break in music, I know,
Poets' hearts break so.
But strange that I was not told
That the brain can hold
In a tiny ivory cell
God's heaven and hell.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Vespers
O blackbird, what a boy you are!
How you do go it!
Blowing your bugle to that one sweet star -
How you do blow it!
And does she hear you, blackbird boy, so far?
or is it wasted breath?
'good Lord! she is so bright
To-night!'
The blackbird saith.
poem by Thomas Edward Brown
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To Rosa ----: Acrostic
I took a Rosebud from a certain bower,
And by its side placed an Orange flower,
Then with the Speedwell, blended the perfume
And the sweet beauty of an Apple-bloom,
And thus, 't is one of the loveliest feats,
Is spelled a gentle lady's name in sweets.
poem by Henry Timrod
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Blue Suede Shoes
You can knock me down,
Slap my face
Slander my name
All over the place
Do anything that you want to do,
But oh oh honey,
Lay of them blue suede shoes
Now don't you step
On my blue suede shoes
Well you can do anything
But lay of them blue suede shoes
Ah go!
You can burn my house,
Steal my car,
Drink my liquor
From a old fruit jar
Do anything
That you want to do,
But ah ah honey,
Lay of them blue suede shoes
And don't you step
On my blue suede shoes, please
Well you can do anything
But lay of them blue suede shoes
Ah go, hit it, Carl (Perkins)!
Well blue blue,
Blue suede shoes
Yeah blue blue,
Blue Suede shoes
Blue blue blue,
Blue suede shoes
Yeah brown brown
Brown suede boots
Yeah brown brown
Brown suede boots
Well you can do anything
But lay of them blue suede shoes
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song
ASK me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars 'light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.
poem by Thomas Carew
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Ask Me No More
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars 'light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.
poem by Thomas Carew
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A Landscape By Courbet
Low lies the mere beneath the moorside, still
And glad of silence: down the wood sweeps clear
To the utmost verge where fed with many a rill
Low lies the mere.
The wind speaks only summer: eye nor ear
Sees aught at all of dark, hears aught of shrill,
From sound or shadow felt or fancied here.
Strange, as we praise the dead man's might and skill,
Strange that harsh thoughts should make such heavy cheer,
While, clothed with peace by heaven's most gentle will,
Low lies the mere.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Summer
Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,
And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,
And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;
She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair,
And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair;
I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest,
And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast.
The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May,
The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day,
And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest
In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast;
I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear
That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear;
I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away
Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.
poem by John Clare (1865)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Happiness is
Happiness is
Knowing you're not alone,
Knowing its infinite,
Feeling true unconditional love,
Being free,
Being you,
Being true,
Not telling lies,
Looking to the skies,
Knowing where you came from,
Being home,
Learning the truth,
Teaching others,
Growing,
Ascending,
Marvelling at everything around you,
Feeling the earth beneath you're feet,
The wind on you're face,
The rain washing away you're fears,
The fire incinerating the dead making way for new life,
Happiness cannot be bought,
It just is,
Happiness is everywhere,
Feel its embrace.
poem by Akasha Love
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