Holy Ground
Shy maids have haunts of still delight,
The lover glades he never tells;
And one is mine where mass the bright
And odoured chimes of foxglove-bells.
A dewy, covert, silent place
Where surely long ago God walked
Close to His creature's blinded face,
And for his finer moulding talked.
There hawthorn glows as if, white-hot,
God present, it were sacred found
To preach a creed too oft forgot--
That all we tread is holy ground.
Ah, could we but remember this,
Our thoughts would spring as purely up
To labour for our fellows' bliss
As doth to heaven a snowdrop's cup!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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Related quotes
Wind Chimes
Hangin' down from my window
Those are my wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
In the late afternoon you're
Hung up on wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
Though it's hard i try
Not to look at my wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
Now and then a tear rolls on my cheek
On a warm breeze the little bells
Tinklin' wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
Close your eyes and lean back
Listen to wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
It's so peaceful
Close to a lullabye
The wind chimes tinglin'
Tinglin'
Tinglin'
Tinglin'
The wind chimes tinglin'
Tinglin'
Tinglin'
Tinglin'
Da do do da do do da do do da do do
Whisperin' winds send my wind chimes a tinklin'
Whisperin' winds send my wind chimes a tinklin'
Whisperin' winds send my wind chimes a tinklin'
Whisperin' winds send my wind chimes a tinklin'
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ring Out, Solstice Bells
Now is the solstice of the year,
Winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in a line.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Join together beneath the mistletoe.
By the holy oak whereon it grows.
Seven druids dance in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Praise be to the distant sister sun,
Joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out those bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Ring on, ring out.
Ring on, ring out.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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London Bells
Two sticks and an apple,
Ring the bells at Whitechapel.
Old Father Bald Pate,
Ring the bells Aldgate.
Maids in white aprons,
Ring the bells at St. Catherine`s.
Oranges and Lemons,
Ring the bells at St. Clement`s.
When will you pay me?
Ring the bells at the Old Bailey.
When I am rich,
Ring the bells at Fleetditch.
When will that be?
Ring the bells of Stepney.
When I am old,
Ring the great bell at Paul`s.
Dreams
SURELY I heard a voice-surely my name
Was breathed in tones familiar to my heart!
I listened-and the low wind stealing came,
In darkness and in silence to depart.
Surely I saw a form, a proud bright form,
Standing beside my couch! I raised mine eyes:
'Twas but a dim cloud, herald of a storm,
That floated through the grey and twilight skies.
Surely the brightness of the summer hour
Hath suddenly burst upon the circling gloom!
I dream; 'twas but the perfume of a flower,
Which the breeze wafted through the silent room.
Surely a hand clasped mine with greetings fond!
A name is murmured by my lips with pain;
Woe for that sound-woe for love's broken bond.
I start-I wake-I am alone again!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Chimes are the Wind
Chime’s are the Wind
“Chimes are the wind”, when it goes from Dawn to Twilight.
“Chimes are the wind”, when the sun goes down and the moon goes up.
“Chimes are the wind”, when the Ocean’s tidal waves splash the deep blue and the aqua
water and the tidal pools disappear.
“Chimes are the wind”, when the puffy white clouds cover the golden yellow sun.
“Chimes are the wind”, when the rain floods the river.
“Chimes are the wind”, when there’s a million possibilities.
“Chimes are the wind”, when there are no more possibilities to harm the world
when there’s such a peaceful place in the universe that there is so-many
possibilities there are endless possibilities.
By: Bella Martinez
poem by Bella Martinez
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Our Wedding Bells
Our Wedding Night
In our wedding night
I saw the bright stars
Promising us happiness
Through the days to come
My bride I adore you
You have all my unbound love
Your shining beauty
Your gleaming eyes
Are the doors to paradise
Your cheerfulness
Your radiating delight
The candles that will light our way
In the journey of life
The wedding bells
The silver bell chimes
Announce the first steps
For joyful future
For a family
For love and romance
poem by Sherif Monem
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The Bells
I
Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III
Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV
Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people- ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Church Bells
Church Bells
Once I lived in a charming English village, near
an ancient church, every Sunday morning
on my only day off, the bloody bells chimed.
Thought I saw a woman cycling to mass in
the mist, and it wasn´t Germaine Greer.
When Muslims ruled Andalusia, they tolerated
Christians, but a poet of that time -Ibn Baqi-
circa 1059 1112, wished they wouldn´t clang
bells so hard waking him up when air was cool,
sleep sweet and his Christian mistress had to
get up and go to mass. So far nothing has
changed, dear Ibn Baqi, the bells keep on tolling
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Bells
Bells are ringing! Away! In wilds
Blaring aloud enchanting tales
Again trailing under deafening gales
Bells are ringing! Within! In mind
Peeling out plucky feelings to spurt
As well thundering every confession to blurt
Bells are ringing! Always! In life!
Scaring every step you tread! You dare!
Sparing once in a sin you perpetrate
Bells! Bells! Bells! Every where
Caressing the undulated inner lines
Polishing the dormant senses
Loud or mellowed
Harsh or sonorous
Have a heart! Find a taste!
For the chimes that define
Every plane and élan
Sathya…..
poem by Sathya Narayana
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My Love, Oh, She Is My Love
SHE casts a spell, oh, casts a spell!
Which haunts me more than I can tell.
Dearer, because she makes me ill
Than who would will to make me well.
She is my store! oh, she my store!
Whose grey eye wounded me so sore,
Who will not place in mine her palm,
Nor love, nor calm me any more.
She is my pet, oh, she my pet!
Whom I can never more forget;
Who would not lose by me one moan,
Nor stone upon my cairn would set.
She is my roon, oh, she my roon!
Who tells me nothing, leaves me soon;
Who would not lose by me one sigh,
Were death and I within one room.
She is my dear, oh, she my dear!
Who cares not whether I be here.
Who will not weep when I am dead,
But makes me shed the silent tear.
Hard my case, oh, hard my case!
For in her eye no hope I trace,
She will not hear me any more,
But I adore her silent face.
She is my choice, oh, she my choice!
Who never made me to rejoice;
Who caused my heart to ache so oft,
Who put no softness in her voice.
Great my grief, oh, great my grief!
Neglected, scorned beyond belief,
By her who looks at me askance,
By her who grants me no relief.
She’s my desier, oh, my desire!
More glorious than the bright sun’s fire;
Who were than wild-blown ice more cold
Were I so bold as to sit by her.
She it is who stole my heart,
And left a void and aching smart;
But if she soften not her eye,
I know that life and I must part.
poem by Douglas Hyde
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The Old Year And The New
I.
As one in sorrow looks upon
The dead face of a loyal friend,
By the dim light of New Year's dawn
I saw the Old Year end.
Upon the pallid features lay
The dear old smile--so warm and bright
Ere thus its cheer had died away
In ashes of delight.
The hands that I had learned to love
With strength of passion half divine,
Were folded now, all heedless of
The emptiness of mine.
The eyes that once had shed their bright
Sweet looks like sunshine, now were dull,
And ever lidded from the light
That made them beautiful.
II.
The chimes of bells were in the air,
And sounds of mirth in hall and street,
With pealing laughter everywhere
And throb of dancing feet:
The mirth and the convivial din
Of revelers in wanton glee,
With tunes of harp and violin
In tangled harmony.
But with a sense of nameless dread,
I turned me, from the merry face
Of this newcomer, to my dead;
And, kneeling there a space,
I sobbed aloud, all tearfully:--
By this dear face so fixed and cold,
O Lord, let not this New Year be
As happy as the old!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Nuns Fret Not at Their Convent's Narrow Room
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison, unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Amor Profanus
Beyond the pale of memory,
In some mysterious dusky grove;
A place of shadows utterly,
Where never coos the turtle-dove,
A world forgotten of the sun:
I dreamed we met when day was done,
And marvelled at our ancient love.
Met there by chance, long kept apart,
We wandered through the darkling glades;
And that old language of the heart
We sought to speak: alas! poor shades!
Over our pallid lips had run
The waters of oblivion,
Which crown all loves of men or maids.
In vain we stammered: from afar
Our old desire shone cold and dead:
That time was distant as a star,
When eyes were bright and lips were red.
And still we went with downcast eye
And no delight in being nigh,
Poor shadows most uncomforted.
Ah, Lalage! while life is ours,
Hoard not thy beauty rose and white,
But pluck the pretty fleeing flowers
That deck our little path of light:
For all too soon we twain shall tread
The bitter pastures of the dead:
Estranged, sad spectres of the night.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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The Choir, The Bells The Church
he changed
not attracted anymore to the
angelic sounds of the
choir the tolling bells
or its chimes
the church
that used to be his
second home
has now become
a place where
he merely
passes by
unfazed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lost Bells
Year after year the artist wrought
With earnest, loving care,
The music flooding all his soul
To pour upon the air.
For this no metal was too rare,
He counted not the cost;
Nor deemed the years in which he toiled
As labor vainly lost.
When morning flushed with crimson light
The golden gates of day,
He longed to fill the air with chimes
Sweet as a matin's lay.
And when the sun was sinking low
Within the distant West,
He gladly heard the bells he wrought
Herald the hour of rest.
The music of a thousand harps
Could never be so dear
As when those solemn chants and thrills
Fell on his list'ning ear.
He poured his soul into their chimes,
And felt his toil repaid;
He called them children of his soul,
His home a'near them made.
But evil days came on apace,
War spread his banner wide,
And from his village snatched away
The artist's love and pride.
At dewy morn and stilly eve
The chimes no more he heard;
With dull and restless agony
His spirit's depths was stirred.
A weary longing filled his soul,
It bound him like a spell;
He left his home to seek the chimes --
The chimes he loved so well.
Where lofty fanes in grandeur rose,
Upon his ear there fell
No music like the long lost chimes
Of his beloved bell.
And thus he wandered year by year.
Touched by the hand of time,
Seeking to hear with anxious heart
Each well remembered chime.
And to that worn and weary heart
There came a glad surcease:
He heard again the dear old chimes,
And smiled and uttered peace.
"The chimes! the chimes!" the old man cried,
"I hear their tones at last;"
A sudden rapture filled his heart,
And all his cares were past.
Yes, peace had come with death's sweet calm,
His journeying was o'er,
The weary, restless wanderer
Had reached the restful shore.
It may be that he met again,
Enfolded in the air,
The dear old chimes beside the gates
Where all is bright and fair;
That he who crossed and bowed his head
When Angelus was sung
In clearer light touched golden harps
By angel fingers strung.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Haunts Of Ancient Peace
Beside the garden walls,
We walk in haunts of ancient peace.
At night we rest and go to sleep
In haunts of ancient peace.
The love and light we seek,
The words we do not need to speak,
Here in this wondrous way we keep
These haunts of ancient peace.
Let us go there again
When we need some relief
Oh, when I cant find my feet
When I need rest and sleep.
The sunday bells they chime
Around the countryside and towns
A song of harmony and rhyme
In haunts of ancient peace.
The holy grail we seek
On down by haunts of ancient peace.
We see the new jerusalem
In haunts of ancient peace.
Oh, when I cant find my feet
Oh, when I need some relief
One more time again.
You know I want to go there one more time again.
Be still in haunts of ancient peace.
(be still)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song--Spring
When buds of palm do burst and spread
Their downy feathers in the lane,
And orchard blossoms, white and red,
Breathe Spring delight for Autumn gain;
And the skylark shakes his wings in the rain;
O then is the season to look for a bride!
Choose her warily, woo her unseen;
For the choicest maids are those that hide
Like dewy violets under the green.
poem by George Meredith
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Lover Lover Lover
I asked my father,
I said, father change my name.
The one Im using now its covered up
With fear and filth and cowardice and shame.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
He said, I locked you in this body,
I meant it as a kind of trial.
You can use it for a weapon,
Or to make some woman smile.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Then let me start again, I cried,
Please let me start again,
I want a face thats fair this time,
I want a spirit that is calm.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
I never never turned aside, he said,
I never walked away.
It was you who built the temple,
It was you who covered up my face.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
And may the spirit of this song,
May it rise up pure and free.
May it be a shield for you,
A shield against the enemy.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Carillon
In the ancient town of Bruges,
In the quaint old Flemish city,
As the evening shades descended,
Low and loud and sweetly blended,
Low at times and loud at times,
And changing like a poet's rhymes,
Rang the beautiful wild chimes
From the Belfry in the market
Of the ancient town of Bruges.
Then, with deep sonorous clangor
Calmly answering their sweet anger,
When the wrangling bells had ended,
Slowly struck the clock eleven,
And, from out the silent heaven,
Silence on the town descended.
Silence, silence everywhere,
On the earth and in the air,
Save that footsteps here and there
Of some burgher home returning,
By the street lamps faintly burning,
For a moment woke the echoes
Of the ancient town of Bruges.
But amid my broken slumbers
Still I heard those magic numbers,
As they loud proclaimed the flight
And stolen marches of the night;
Till their chimes in sweet collision
Mingled with each wandering vision,
Mingled with the fortune-telling
Gypsy-bands of dreams and fancies,
Which amid the waste expanses
Of the silent land of trances
Have their solitary dwelling;
All else seemed asleep in Bruges,
In the quaint old Flemish city.
And I thought how like these chimes
Are the poet's airy rhymes,
All his rhymes and roundelays,
His conceits, and songs, and ditties,
From the belfry of his brain,
Scattered downward, though in vain,
On the roofs and stones of cities!
For by night the drowsy ear
Under its curtains cannot hear,
And by day men go their ways,
Hearing the music as they pass,
But deeming it no more, alas!
Than the hollow sound of brass.
Yet perchance a sleepless wight,
Lodging at some humble inn
In the narrow lanes of life,
When the dusk and hush of night
Shut out the incessant din
Of daylight and its toil and strife,
May listen with a calm delight
To the poet's melodies,
Till he hears, or dreams he hears,
Intermingled with the song,
Thoughts that he has cherished long;
Hears amid the chime and singing
The bells of his own village ringing,
And wakes, and finds his slumberous eyes
Wet with most delicious tears.
Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble,
Listening with a wild delight
To the chimes that, through the night
Bang their changes from the Belfry
Of that quaint old Flemish city.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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And I Will Love You
I know a place,
Not far away where the sun always shines.
You will be mine,
And Ill love you.
I know a place where the sun always shines.
You will be mine,
And Ill love you.
Church bells will chime,
And they will know you are mine.
All of the time,
I will love you.
Church bells will chime so they know you are mine.
All of the time,
I will love you.
The finest moments in my life,
Is when you say youll be my wife.
Church bells will chime,
And they will know you are mine.
All of the time,
I will love you.
Church bells will chime so they know you are mine.
All of the time,
I will love you.
Yeah, Im gonna love you.
Im gonna love you,
Im gonna love you.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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