Departed Days
Yes, dear departed, cherished days,
Could Memory’s hand restore
Your morning light, your evening rays,
From Time’s gray urn once more,
Then might this restless heart be still,
This straining eye might close,
And Hope her fainting pinions fold,
While the fair phantoms rose.
But, like a child in ocean’s arms,
We strive against the stream,
Each moment farther from the shore
Where life’s young fountains gleam;
Each moment fainter wave the fields,
And wider rolls the sea;
The mist grows dark,—Âthe sun goes down,—Â
Day breaks,—Âand where are we?
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Related quotes
Fragment of Ballad
How shall I sing? the thing I crave
To say is speechless as a Lover's trance.
How shall I give to thee
What even now is all so wholly thine
That but by losing thee in me
Or me in thee it never can be mine?
As a sliding wave of sliding sea
Before my following hand doth dance
Ever and ever onward to the shore,
And breaks and is a thousand things at once,
And from the moment's multiplicity
Takes itself up again into a wave:
So all I feel and see
Breaks to the thousand-fold of Fate and Chance,
But from the moment's multiplicity
Takes itself up into the thought of thee.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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To Natasha
The crimson summer now grows pale;
Clear, bright days now soar away;
Hazy mist spreads through the vale,
As the sleeping night turns gray;
The barren cornfields lose their gold;
The lively stream has now turned cold;
The curly woods are gray and stark,
And the heavens have grown dark.
Where are you, my light, Natasha?
No one's seen you, - I lament.
Don't you want to share the passion
Of this moment with a friend?
You have not yet met with me
By the pond, or by our tree,
Though the season has turned late,
We have not yet had a date.
Winter’s cold will soon arrive
Fields will freeze with frost, so bitter.
In the smoky shack, a light,
Soon enough, will shine and glitter.
I won't see my love, - I'll rage
Like a finch, inside a cage,
And at home, depressed and dazed,
I’ll recall Natasha's grace.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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Restless Soul Is Mad
Restless soul
Is mad
Ruled by a force unseen but dominating
Eluding it
Yet longing for it
What fear is it?
What desire?
That grows each day
As the light submits to dark
And as the doors slowly close
It’s daytime for my soul
What horizons does it explore through the lands of dreams?
And what glitters for it far is its own illusionary reflections
That shine
A mirage
I do know!
Yet I live with its doubts
For my soul is restless
And it is mad
And it won't believe what shows
For it chases the truth
Not knowing that it beats within him
Falling in the rhythms of heart
Unheard
Moving like slow winds through its lungs
It’s the moment that is lived and to be lived the truth
A moment, an infinite lives
And a moment death
Yet I would live in doubt
For one day, my soul shall find the way to its own heart
To its own self
The ways untrodden for now
And till then I shall be restless
I shall be mad...
poem by Lama Abbas
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Our Indian Summer
You 'll believe me, dear boys, 't is a pleasure to rise,
With a welcome like this in your darling old eyes;
To meet the same smiles and to hear the same tone
Which have greeted me oft in the years that have flown.
Were I gray as the grayest old rat in the wall,
My locks would turn brown at the sight of you all;
If my heart were as dry as the shell on the sand,
It would fill like the goblet I hold in my hand.
There are noontides of autumn when summer returns.
Though the leaves are all garnered and sealed in their urns,
And the bird on his perch, that was silent so long,
Believes the sweet sunshine and breaks into song.
We have caged the young birds of our beautiful June;
Their plumes are still bright and their voices in tune;
One moment of sunshine from faces like these
And they sing as they sung in the green-growing trees.
The voices of morning! how sweet is their thrill
When the shadows have turned, and the evening grows still!
The text of our lives may get wiser with age,
But the print was so fair on its twentieth page!
Look off from your goblet and up from your plate,
Come, take the last journal, and glance at its date:
Then think what we fellows should say and should do,
If the 6 were a 9 and the 5 were a 2.
Ah, no! for the shapes that would meet with as here,
From the far land of shadows, are ever too dear!
Though youth flung around us its pride and its charms,
We should see but the comrades we clasped in our arms.
A health to our future--a sigh for our past,
We love, we remember, we hope to the last;
And for all the base lies that the almanacs hold,
While we've youth in our hearts we can never grow old!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Morning Breaks Out
the morning breaks out in beauty
and I say hello to the storms
to the clouds and the blue
to the shore to the sea
the morning breaks out in love
and I say hello to the hearts
to the faces and the smiles
to the hands and to the eyes
the morning breaks out in wonder
and I say hello to the child
to the young to the old
to the living and the dead
the morning breaks out in hope
and I say hello to the horizon line
drawing the instinct pre-nature soul
within whose wisdom I'll daily dwell
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Hope Is.... X
hope is the silver lining round every grey cloud,
hope is the rays in the sky when the sun comes out,
hope is the day u wake up on the right side of bed
hope is the angry thoughts u feel that are not said
Hope is the light that follows the dark on every new day
Hope is the right track on the path of life that leads the way
Hope is the pleasure u get from your lovers kiss
Hope is moment your in his arms and it feels like bliss
Hope is the joy that follows every sunken heart
Hope is the promise made thats kept right from the start
Hope is........
poem by Deborah Hyslop
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Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded
Has sorrow thy young days shaded,
As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded
That, even in sorrow, were sweet?
Does Time with his cold wing wither
Each feeling that once was dear? --
Then, child of misfortune, come hither,
I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.
Has love to that soul, so tender,
Been like our Lagenian mine,
Where sparkles of golden splendour
All over the surface shine --
But, if in pursuit we go deeper,
Allured by the gleam that shone,
Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper,
Like Love, the bright ore is gone.
Has Hope, like the bird in the story,
That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glittering glory --
Has Hope been that bird to thee?
On branch after branch alighting,
The gem did she still display,
And, when nearest, and most inviting,
Then waft the fair gem away?
If thus the young hours have fleeted,
When sorrow itself look'd bright;
If thus the fair hope hath cheated,
That led thee along so light;
If thus the cold world now wither
Each feeling that once was dear --
Come, child of misfortune, come hither,
I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Sonnet XXXVI.
SHOULD the lone wanderer, fainting on his way,
Rest for a moment of the sultry hours,
And though his path through thorns and roughness lay,
Pluck the wild rose, or woodbine's gadding flowers,
Weaving gay wreaths beneath some sheltering tree,
The sense of sorrow he awhile may lose;
So have I sought thy flowers, fair Poesy!
So charm'd my way with Friendship and the Muse.
But darker now grows life's unhappy day,
Dark with new clouds of evil yet to come,
Her pencil sickening Fancy throws away,
And weary Hope reclines upon the tomb;
And points my wishes to that tranquil shore,
Where the pale spectre Care pursues no more.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Says My Heart
Frank loesser / burton lane
Fall in love, tall in love
Says my heart,
Its romance, take a chance
Says my heart
But each time that Im almost in your arms
This old schoolteacher brain of mine
Keeps bringing in false alarms
Then my head rolls instead and Im wise
To the scheme of that gleam in your eyes
So I kiss and run
But the moment were apart
Oh! you fool, that was love
Says my heart
Then my head rolls instead and Im wise
To the scheme of that gleam in your eyes
So I kiss and run
But the moment were apart
Oh! you fool, that was love
Says my heart.
It wasnt the moon, it wasnt the stars
That was love!
Says my heart
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Requital
LOUD roared the tempest,
Fast fell the sleet;
A little Child Angel
Passed down the street,
With trailing pinions
And weary feet.
The moon was hidden;
No stars were bright;
So she could not shelter
In heaven that night,
For the Angels’ ladders
Are rays of light.
She beat her wings
At each windowpane,
And pleaded for shelter,
But all in vain;—
“Listen,” they said,
“To the pelting rain!”
She sobb’d, as the laughter
And mirth grew higher,
“Give me rest and shelter
Beside your fire,
And I will give you
Your heart’s desire.”
The dreamer sat watching
His embers gleam,
While his heart was floating
Down hope’s bright stream;
…So he wove her wailing
Into his dream.
The worker toil’d on,
For his time was brief;
The mourner was nursing
Her own pale grief;
They heard not the promise
That brought relief.
But fiercer the tempest
Rose than before,
When the Angel paus’d
At a humble door,
And ask’d for shelter
And help once more.
A weary woman,
Pale, worn, and thin,
With the brand upon her
Of want and sin,
Heard the Child Angel
And took her in:
Took her in gently,
And did her best
To dry her pinions;
And made her rest
With tender pity
Upon her breast.
When the eastern morning
Grew bright and red,
Up the first sunbeam
The Angel fled;
Having kiss’d the woman
And left her—dead.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
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Voices Of The Night : The Beleaguered City
I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.
Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.
I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.
No other voice nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.
And when the solemn and deep churchbell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Beleaguered City, The
I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.
Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.
I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.
No other voice nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.
And when the solemn and deep churchbell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Rays Of Hope
RAYS OF HOPE
Hole of the cell brings the hope of rays,
These rays are sun-rays
Which dance in the cell of prison from morning to evening?
In morning when sun-rays touch my forehead
They recall the blessings of my mother and father.
In evening when sun-rays lit up the wall of the cell
They tell me that miseries are not universal,
They end as night ends in the morning.
Sun-rays also memorizes the morning of my village and sun set on the hill near the village.
These rays also vitalize me and create patient in me so I can bear the difficulties of the prison.
Now I am hopeful that in near future I will come out from the prison and meet my beloved people.
Because they are waiting for me as I am waiting for the sun-rays of the morning.
(From the diary of a prisoner)
poem by Vijay Gupta
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Care for the Worst
Yellow flowers absorbed around her feet
Tears that reflect mother’s golden sun rays
A quiet walk in the arms of placid fields
Where no one sees her restless body lay
Her weak fingers trace drawings in the dirt
As the day brings warmth to her little face
Slowly she drifts farther away hurtles
To her own creation of bliss places
People with sparked sympathy of sad stares
Embrace the earth stroking her dainty hands
They only take notice to express their care
When the worst grows and takes a dreadful stand
Yellow flowers absorbed around her feet
An eternal moment of spirits free
poem by Marijke McKinney
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Alaskan Balladry
Krinken was a little child,-
It was summer when he smiled.
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him,
Calling, 'Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!'
But the child heard not the sea,
Calling, yearning evermore
For the summer on the shore.
Krinken on the beach one day
Saw a maiden Nis at play;
On the pebbly beach she played
In the summer Krinken made.
Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he.
'Krinken,' said the maiden Nis,
'Let me have a little kiss,
Just a kiss, and go with me
To the summer-lands that be
Down within the silver sea.'
Krinken was a little child-
By the maiden Nis beguiled,
Hand in hand with her went he,
And 'twas summer in the sea.
And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him-
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm.
Now the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-
Winter where that little child
Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though 'tis summer on the sea
Where with maiden Nis went he,-
Summer, summer evermore,-
It is winter on the shore,
Winter, winter evermore.
Of the summer on the deep
Come sweet visions in my sleep:
His
fair face lifts from the sea,
His
dear voice calls out to me,-
These my dreams of summer be.
Krinken was a little child,
By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Crying, 'Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!'
But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,-
Winter, cold and dark and wild;
Krinken was a little child,-
It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea,
And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.
poem by Eugene Field
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Sonnet XXIII. By The Same. To The North Star.
TO thy bright beams I turn my swimming eyes,
Fair, favourite planet, which in happier days
Saw my young hopes, ah, faithless hopes!--arise,
And on my passion shed propitious rays.
Now nightly wandering 'mid the tempests drear
That howl the woods and rocky steeps among,
I love to see thy sudden light appear
Through the swift clouds--driven by the wind along:
Or in the turbid water, rude and dark,
O'er whose wild stream the gust of Winter raves,
Thy trembling light with pleasure still I mark,
Gleam in faint radiance on the foaming waves!
So o'er my soul short rays of reason fly,
Then fade:--and leave me to despair and die.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Fire of Stone
limit my day of stay; I am not a stone but
a fire that close and kindle the cooled Heart
in your beautiful dream; the road comes to
dark without the light, dear someone …
long did I wish for your presence, as far
as the distance of the ocean, I travel up and
high in the blue sky I fly, just to be with
your side, dear heart …
lend me your moment, and guide my
ways to reach you, wherever pain I rejoice
for nothing will soften my heart, than to
love you deep in my soul, my dear hope my
hope …
I come to float far beyond the wrapped
in your vintage arm, and follows the breath
with you dear goodbye; that day will be the
forever you, my dear love …
flow my spark, for I will be in your fire …..
poem by Antonio Liao
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Just To Be Close To You
Just to be close to you, girl
Just for a moment, well,
Just for an hour
Just to be close to you girl
I was a lonely man
A man with no direction
With no purpose
With no one to love
And no one to love me, for me
Oh girl then you came into my life
You made my jagged edges smoothe
You made my direction so clear
And you oh women you became my purpose
My reason for living girl you see
Youre my heart, youre my soul
Youre my strong inspiration baby
Thats why Im standing here
Singing and opening my arms to you
I wanna say child, why dont you
Take my hand,
Oh well live and love forever
Take my hand,
Ooh well be alone you and me
Take my hand
Girl well live our lives together
Yeah together
Just to be close to you, girl
Just for the moment baby,
Well just for an hour
Just to be close to you, girl
I need you baby
To make love, to be loved by you baby
To have your warm body close to mine
To whisper words that make you feel like a woman
Girl I know our love will stand the test of time
Just to be close to you girl
For the moment baby (for the moment baby, for the moment baby)
For the sugar sugar yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Just to be close to you girl
Just for the moment (fade)
song performed by by Lionel Richie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Linda Paloma
At the moment the music began
And you heard the guitar player starting to sing
You were filled with the beauty that ran
Through what you were imagining
Dreaming of scenes from those songs of love
I was the endless sky
And you were my mexican dove
Now the music that played in your ears
Grows a little bit fainter each day
And you find yourself looking through tears
At the love you feel slipping away
Though its not the kind
Of love you might hope to find
If tears could release the heart
From the shadows preferred by the mind
Like a wind that comes up in the night
Caressing your face while you sleep
Love will fill your eyes with the sight
Of a world you cant hope to keep
Dreaming on after that moments gone
The light in your lovers eyes
Disappears with the light of the dawn
But the morning brings
Strength to your restless wings
And some other lover sings
To the suns bright corona
I know all about these things
Linda paloma
Fly away
Linda paloma
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Krinken
Krinken was a little child,--
It was summer when he smiled.
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him,
Calling, "Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the child heard not the sea,
Calling, yearning evermore
For the summer on the shore.
Krinken on the beach one day
Saw a maiden Nis at play;
On the pebbly beach she played
In the summer Krinken made.
Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he.
"Krinken," said the maiden Nis,
"Let me have a little kiss,
Just a kiss, and go with me
To the summer-lands that be
Down within the silver sea."
Krinken was a little child--
By the maiden Nis beguiled,
Hand in hand with her went he,
And 'twas summer in the sea.
And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him--
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm.
Now the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,--
Winter where that little child
Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though 'tis summer on the sea
Where with maiden Nis went he,--
Summer, summer evermore,--
It is winter on the shore,
Winter, winter evermore.
Of the summer on the deep
Come sweet visions in my sleep:
His fair face lifts from the sea,
His dear voice calls out to me,--
These my dreams of summer be.
Krinken was a little child,
By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Crying, "Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,--
Winter, cold and dark and wild;
Krinken was a little child,--
It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea,
And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.
poem by Eugene Field
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