A Portrait
Thoughtful in youth, but not austere in age;
Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though a sage;
Too true to flatter and too kind to sneer,
And only just when seemingly severe;
So gently blending courtesy and art
That wisdom’s lips seemed borrowing friendship’s heart.
Taught by the sorrows that his age had known
In others’ trials to forget his own,
As hour by hour his lengthened day declined,
A sweeter radiance lingered o’er his mind.
Cold were the lips that spoke his early praise,
And hushed the voices of his morning days,
Yet the same accents dwelt on every tongue,
And love renewing kept him ever young.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Related quotes
Gently
(words & music by wizell - lisbona)
Gently your eyes met mine
Tender, trusting, true
Gently your hand took mine
Thrilled me through and through
Gently, oh so gently
Gentle as the dawn
Gently, oh so gently
Our true love was born
Gently your lips kissed mine
As we strolled along
Gently your heart touched mine
Young and warm and strong
Gently the hour is near
When true loves have to part
Gently well meet again
One more kiss, sweetheart
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Villanelle
We said farewell, my youth and I,
When all fair dreams were gone or going,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry.
When white blooms fell from tree-tops high—
Our Austral winter’s way of snowing—
We said farewell, my youth and I.
We did not sigh—what use to sigh
When Death passed as a mower mowing,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry?
But hearing Life’s stream thunder by,
That sang of old through flowers flowing,
We said farewell, my youth and I.
There was no hope in the blue sky,
No music in the low winds blowing,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry.
My hair is black as yet, then why
So sad! I know not, only knowing
We said farewell, my youth and I.
All are not buried when they die;
Dead souls there are through live eyes showing
When Love’s red lips are cold and dry.
So, seeing where the dead men lie,
Out of their hearts the grave-flowers growing,
We said farewell, my youth and I,
When Love’s red lips were cold and dry.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Early Morning Cold Taxi
3:36, its cold, I know Im growing old,
With lifes best side on the downward slope,
Its in my own hands, I know Ill cope,
My girls with me and all my friends can see.
Here I am again,
Early morning cold taxi.
Early morning cold taxi.
Done it before, do it again,
Know from experience its not in vain,
Shes the best Ive had, I cannot see, what someone else can do to me.
Its a long way home but loves so warm, youll see.
Here I am again,
Early morning cold taxi.
Early morning cold taxi.
Early morning cold taxi,
Each time I do it, I feel so down and out,
Early morning cold taxi,
though my mind thinks strange Ill keep on, no doubt.
3:36, its cold, I know Im growing old,
One day well be wed,
This I know for its what she said,
Then no more will my mind be uneasy.
Early morning cold taxi,
Each time I do it, I feel so down and out,
Early morning cold taxi,
though my mind thinks strange Ill keep on, no doubt.
3:36, its cold, I know Im growing old,
One day well be wed,
This I know for its what she said,
Then no more will my mind be uneasy.
Here I am again,
Early morning cold taxi.
Early morning cold taxi.
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stanzas
If thou be in a lonely place,
If one hour's calm be thine,
As Evening bends her placid face
O'er this sweet day's decline;
If all the earth and all the heaven
Now look serene to thee,
As o'er them shuts the summer even,
One moment--think of me!
Pause, in the lane, returning home;
'Tis dusk, it will be still:
Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom
Its breezeless boughs will fill.
Look at that soft and golden light,
High in the unclouded sky;
Watch the last bird's belated flight,
As it flits silent by.
Hark! for a sound upon the wind,
A step, a voice, a sigh;
If all be still, then yield thy mind,
Unchecked, to memory.
If thy love were like mine, how blest
That twilight hour would seem,
When, back from the regretted Past,
Returned our early dream!
If thy love were like mine, how wild
Thy longings, even to pain,
For sunset soft, and moonlight mild,
To bring that hour again!
But oft, when in thine arms I lay,
I've seen thy dark eyes shine,
And deeply felt their changeful ray
Spoke other love than mine.
My love is almost anguish now,
It beats so strong and true;
'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou
Such anguish ever knew.
I have been but thy transient flower,
Thou wert my god divine;
Till checked by death's congealing power,
This heart must throb for thine.
And well my dying hour were blest,
If life's expiring breath
Should pass, as thy lips gently prest
My forehead cold in death;
And sound my sleep would be, and sweet,
Beneath the churchyard tree,
If sometimes in thy heart should beat
One pulse, still true to me.
poem by Charlotte Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Cold Blows The Wind
Cold blows the wind over my true love
Cold blows the drops of rain
I never had but one true love
And in camville he was slain
I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
I'll sit and weep down by his grave for twelve month and one day
But when twelve months were come and gone
This young man he arose
What makes you weep down by my grave
I can't take my repose
One kiss, one kiss of your lily white lips -- one kiss is all i crave
One kiss, one kiss of your lily white lips and return back to your grave
My lips they are as cold as my clay
My breath is heavy and strong
If thou was to kiss my lily white lips
Thy days would not be long
Oh don't you remember the garden grove where we used to walk
Pluck the finest flower of them all, twill wither to a stalk
Go fetch me a nun from the dungeon deep
And water from a stone
And white milk from a maiden's breast,
That babe ere never known
Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep as quickly as you may
I'll lie down in it and take one sleep for twelve month and one day
Cold blows the wind over my true love
Cold blows the drops of rain
I never had but one true love
And in camville he was slain
I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
I'll sit and weep down by his grave for twelve month and one day
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Hands Have Met
Our hands have met, our lips have met
Our souls - who knows when the wind blows
How light souls drift mid longings set,
If thou forget'st, can I forget
The time that was not long ago?
Thou wert not silent then, but told
Sweet secrets dear - I drew so near
Thy shamefaced cheeks grown overbold,
That scarce thine eyes might I behold!
Ah was it then so long ago!
Trembled my lips and thou wouldst turn
But hadst no heart to draw apart,
Beneath my lips thy cheek did burn -
Yet no rebuke that I might learn;
Yea kind looks still, not long ago.
Wilt thou be glad upon the day
When unto me this love shall be
An idle fancy passed away,
And we shall meet and smile and say
'O wasted sighs of long ago!'
Wilt thou rejoice that thou hast set
Cold words, dull shows 'twixt hearts drawn close,
That cold at heart I live on yet,
Forgetting still that I forget
The priceless days of long ago?
poem by William Morris
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The Price to Peace
LONG since I taught my spirit to obey
The Sage's great commandment - to forget
And so to lose life's bitterness and fret
And taste its sweetness; and I went my way
Eluding joy and sorrow, grave and gay,
And lived exempt, my being always set
Upon the striking hour, without regret,
Secure, refreshed, remote from yesterday.
But oh my friend, my love, my very dear,
My practised wisdom is a curse to me;
I do forget, and when you are not near
It is, by Heaven, as if you ceased to be;
And I would buy with agony and fear
One hour, one little hour of memory.
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Morning
Its the same old situation
Same old faces, but a different town
Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide
Im dancing with the shadows,
In a cold moonlight.
And I cant wait until the morning
I cant wait another minute, hour day or night,
I cant wait until the morning,
You know it wont feel so cold.
Its 5 am, and I just got into bed
And the heart of the city is almost gone,
And I know what is right
And I know what is wrong
Im dancing with the shadows,
In a cold moonlight.
And I cant wait until the morning
I cant wait another minute, hour day or night,
I cant wait until the morning,
You know it feels so cold.
Sometimes in between my dreams at night,
I walk alone Im going underground.
And in the distance I can hear a crowd.
It makes me wonder what its all about.
All about...
All about
Its the same old consolation,
Different faces in the same old town,
Nowhere to run to
Nowhere to hide,
Theyre dancing with the shadows,
In a cold moonlight
And I cant wait until the morning
I cant wait another minute, hour day or night,
I cant wait until the morning,
You know it feels so cold
song performed by by Wet Wet Wet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lord from my tongue, my mouth
Lord from my tongue, my mouth
and lips let there be
gently words,
from my tongue let there be
formed inspiring
words like rose petals
let my mouth open
like a beautiful morning breaking
between two shadows of
hills
let my lips give a smile
as sweet as that of a
kitten
let this poem be as sweet
as a flying kiss
gently so gently
landing on hers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Morning Kiss
It was a kiss
A kiss in the morning mist
But she doesn’t know whose lips it is
She doesn’t know who ghostly touches her heart
It was a kiss
It was definitely a kiss that wakes her sleep
But she wonders now whether she still dreaming or not
It was a kiss
It was a sweet and dark kiss
Who dares to sneak in her room and steal her lips?
Maybe he is a secret admirer
Maybe he is a desperate lover
Maybe he is a heartbreak murder
It was a kiss
A kiss that makes this morning strangely bright
And she wants to forget, she starts to keep smiling all the time
It was a kiss
A kiss that brief and suddenly came to her cold and calm life
It changes her feeling
And she can’t control the world anymore
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Perfect Present
SO I have kissed you! And this hour is mine.
Its light along the level future lasts,
It crowns a drab eternity of Pasts!
Here soul and soul have crossed the border-line
Of self, and merged. No years can e'er untwine
This hour from us! What though to-morrow casts
The memory out, and your cold glance contrasts
With this day's rich red lips, need I repine?
No. I have kissed you! And the brief warm flower
Born of our lips perfumes eternity.
From the long loneliness that silently
Stretches behind, before, I am content
To cull this blossom of one perfect hour—
To snatch one star from Time's deep firmament!
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Speak Gently
Speak gently! -- It is better far
To rule by love, than fear --
Speak gently -- let not harsh words mar
The good we might do here!
Speak gently! -- Love doth whisper low
The vows that true hearts bind;
And gently Friendship's accents flow;
Affection's voice is kind.
Speak gently to the little child!
Its love be sure to gain;
Teach it in accents soft and mild: --
It may not long remain.
Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear --
Pass through this life as best they may,
'T is full of anxious care!
Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not the care-worn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run,
Let such in peace depart!
Speak gently, kindly, to the poor;
Let no harsh tone be heard;
They have enough they must endure,
Without an unkind word!
Speak gently to the erring -- know,
They may have toiled in vain;
Perchance unkindness made them so;
Oh, win them back again!
Speak gently! -- He who gave his life
To bend man's stubborn will,
When elements were in fierce strife,
Said to them, 'Peace, be still.'
Speak gently! -- 't is a little thing
Dropped in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy, which it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.
poem by David Bates
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A Living Picture
No, I'll not say your name. I have said it now,
As you mine, first in childish treble, then
Up through a score and more familiar years
Till baby-voices mock us. Time may come
When your tall sons look down on our white hair,
Amused to hear us call each other thus,
And question us about the old, old days,
The far-off days, the days when we were young.
How distant do they seem, and yet how near!
Now, as I lie and watch you come and go,
With garden basket in your hand; in gown
Just girdled, and brown curls that girl-like fall,
And straw hat flapping in the April breeze,
I could forget this lapse of years--start up
Laughing--'Come, let's go play!'
Well-a-day, friend,
Our play-days are all done.
Still, let us smile:
For as you flit about your garden here
You look like this spring morning: on your lips
An unseen bird sings snatches of gay tunes,
While, an embodied music, moves your step,
Your free, wild, springy step, like Atala's,
Or Pocahontas, careless child o' the sun--
Those Indian beauties I compare you to--
I, still your praiser,--
Nay, nay, I'll not praise,
Fair seemeth fairest, ignorant 't is fair:
That light incredulous laugh is worth a world!
That laugh, with childish echoes.
So then, fade,
Mere dream. Come, true and sweet reality:
Come, dawn of happy wifehood, motherhood,
Ripening to perfect noon! Come, peaceful round
Of simple joys, fond duties, gladsome cares,
When each full hour drops bliss with liberal hand,
Yet leaves to-morrow richer than to-day.
Will you sit here? the grass is summer-warm.
Look at those children making daisy-chains,
So did we too, do you mind? That eldest lad,
He has your very mouth. Yet, you will have 't
His eyes are like his father's? Perhaps so:
They could not be more dark and deep and kind.
Do you know, this hour I have been fancying you
A poet's dream, and almost sighed to think
There was no poet to praise you--
Why, you're flown
After those mad elves in the flower-beds there,
Ha--ha--you're no dream now.
Well, well--so best!
My eyelids droop content o'er moistened eyes:
I would not have you other than you are.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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There Was A Time, I Need Not Name
There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,
None, none hath sunk so deep as this---
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,
But transient in thy breast alone.
And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.
Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.
Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
Harmattan
Sahara desert is coming with its dry wind
Dry wind that desiccates the skin
See it come with its cold wind
Cold wind that makes oil sleep in tin
It comes to dry the lips
To force the lips to tear
Then the tongue licks the lips
To reduce its burden to bear
Sahara desert is here with its moistless wind
Our fields are loosing its fresh foliage
Our moist soil is now arid and drained
It makes all things look its old age
The young wrinkles like the old
And their future old nature unfold
poem by YoungBen Ulebor
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These Red Strawberries
red as love
more than the roses
cloying
my sense of taste
and smell
to such an attractive
fruit
ornate luxuriously appealing
enriched
desire of strawberry
days
your lips and nipples
touching my lips
savor this
delicious feeling
of love
i could have forgotten
but not
brave enough
strawberry fields
spreading under the sun
on cold days
of my wasted youth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cold is The Heart
Cold is the heart of the man who lets no one into his life.
Cold is the heart of the woman who has lost her love.
Cold is the heart of the girl who is better than everyone around her.
Cold is the heart of the man who fights only for himself.
Cold is the heart of the Teenager who needs and wants no one in his life.
Cold is the heart of the cocky young man.
Cold is the heart of the Criminal who is not forgiven for what he has done.
Cold is the heart of the Widow who is left alone in this world.
Cold is the heart of the woman angry at love.
Cold is the heart of the angry young man.
Cold is the heart of the one who does not laugh, and will not smile.
Cold is the heart of the woman who feels no love, and feels no pain.
Cold is the heart of the Businessman who claws his way to the top.
Cold is the heart of the child who feels left out while the others play.
Cold is the heart of the man who denies his emotions freedom.
Coldness in the heart is an absence of love.
It is the feeling of Loneliness,
The presence of Anger,
The lack of Respect,
And the loss of emotion.
It is found in the joyless,
In the emotionless,
And in the inhospitable.
It is a trait of the passionless,
Of the unconcerned,
Of the unsympathetic,
And in those who deny the truth.
But through love any heart can be warmed.
poem by Trever Barlow
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If My Heart
if my heart has a tongue
let it utter only the words of love
if my heart has hands
let it touch but only tenderness
if my heart has lips
let it kiss your lips so sweetly
if my heart has arms
let it embrace you softly
if my heart has eyes
let it see nothing but you only
but my heart has none of these senses
without hands, without eyes, without arms
without lips, without a tongue
let it beat somehow just for you
let it be true
to love no one but only you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Eleventh Hour
[verse]
Trace the shape of my heart
Till it becomes more familiar
To your eyes
I've been lost without you
Cold without your love
It's taken days and nights
To make me realize
[chorus]
Rescue me from hanging on this line
I won't give up on giving you
The chance to blow my mind
Let the eleventh hour quickly
Pass me by
I'll find you when I think
I'm out of time
[verse]
Take the place of my heart
Till I become a stranger to my life
I've been down without you
Wrong without your love
In time will I be what
You're thinking of
[chorus]
Out of time
[bridge]
I've been down without you
Cold without your love
In time will I be what
You're thinking of
[chorus 2x]
Time...time...time
song performed by by Jars Of Clay from The Eleventh Hour
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why the silence?
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or the eyes may straggle and it's the hour of dreams
Or the mind may have been displaced and it's hour of reflections
Or the heart has been busy and it's hour of the groans
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or the words have got lost in the midst of ideas
Or silence now become the language of the times
Or the tongue tie with a sunset
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or now no need for my presence
Or now I am a hidden friend
Or now I am not who I was
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or... And the story continue silently
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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