The Wayfarer
I. THE TREES
THERE is no glory of the sunset here!
Heavy the clouds upon the darkening road,
And heavy, too, the wind upon the trees!
The trees sway, making moan
Continuous, like breaking seas.
impotent, bare things,
You give at last the very cry of earth!
I walk this darkening road in solemn mood:
Within deep hell came Dante to a wood
Like him I marvel at the crying trees!
II. THE STAR
A mighty star anear has drawn and now
Is vibrant on the air
The half-divested, trembling trees of his
Bright presence are aware
Below within the stream I him behold
Between the marge and main -
My bone and flesh, what dust they'll be when he,
That star, dips here again!
III. THE CAPTIVE ARCHER
To-morrow I will bend the bow:
My soul shall have her mark again,
My bosom feel the archer's strain.
No longer pacing to and fro
With idle hands and listless brain:
As goes the arrow, forth I go.
My soul shall have her mark again,
My bosom feel the archer's strain.
To-morrow I will bend the bow.
IV. TRIUMPHATORS
The drivers in the sunset race
Their coal-carts over cobble-stones
Not draymen but tnumphators:
Their bags are left with Smith and Jones,
They let the horses take their stride,
Which toss their forelocks in their pride.
Not blue nor green these factions wear
Which make career o'er Dublin stones;
But Pluto his own livery
Is what each whip-carrier owns.
The Caesar of the cab-rank, I
Salute the triumph speeding by.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Related quotes
There Is a Solemn Wind Tonight
There is a solemn wind to-night
That sings of solemn rain;
The trees that have been quiet so long
Flutter and start again.
The slender trees, the heavy trees,
The fruit trees laden and proud,
Lift up their branches to the wind
That cries to them so loud.
The little bushes and the plants
Bow to the solemn sound,
And every tiniest blade of grass
Shakes on the quiet ground.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Mortal Wrinkles
The window arrests me by its side
Through its square making me ride
Every day a serene green does it show
Feel but today gonna be a different show
The studded trees afar
The nearer trees so far
'Ve been welcomming me to join
The peaks up and the valleys down
The stroking clouds and the murmuring stream..
My soul steps out
Soon reports to have a lookout
Lay there apart two sunset bodies bushed over
As if felled trees with running dews cry over
And my mind back in the past to myself stare...
'A man and a woman happily together
Walking and chatting over years earlier
Deeper, longer and wander
Grow older and older; Their fled children afar..'
Moribund pair one here malignantly in solitary fear
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Homeless Guitar
Well, I know how it feels to be ripped from my roots
And tossed into a world unbending.
Not long ago I was bitten by the truth
Some folks spend their whole life pretending.
Now I start each mornin' with the sunlight by my side
Find another highway, hitch another ride
And I use this six-string like an archer wields his bow
I believe when the arrow finds its mark
It pierces the soul.
(Chorus)
Three songs for a quarter each time I open my case
Four chords and the voice of a good man fallen from grace
No pity for me mister, I'm proud to be a drifter
A long shot from bein' a star
You know, the times ain't been easy
For me and my Homeless Guitar.
Now I know how it feels to be judged in a glance
Stripped of your pride and your passion.
I only know that the rivers of the soul
Run deeper than birthright or fashion.
I see you look me over, feel the weight of your stare
I'm sendin' you a message but you act like you don't care.
I see a ripple, a crack in your facade
You know, it really don't matter who you think you are
We're the same under God.
(2nd Chorus)
(Bridge)
I thank the Lord above for the gift He's given me
I'm richer than most men
Got a friend in my six-string
In a world where trust ain't got no guarantee
If you ain't got a penny
Gonna sing you this song for free, yeah.
(refrain)
Oh, I use these six-strings like an archer wields his bow
I believe when the arrow finds its mark
It pierces the soul.
(3rd Chorus)
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song by the Window Before Bed
Little Star, little Star,
Come down quick.
The Moon is a bogey-man;
He'll eat you certain if he can.
Little Star, little Star,
Come down quick!
Little Star, little Star,
Whisper "Yes."
The trees are just niggers all,
They look so black, the are so tall.
Little Star, little Star,
Whisper "Yes"
Little Star, little Star,
Gone--all gone.
The bogey-man swallowed you,
The nigger trees are laughing too.
Little Star, little Star,
Gone--all gone.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Who Can See And Feel / The Trees As They Are
WHO CAN SEE AND FEEL/ THE TREES AS THEY ARE
Who can see and feel
The trees as they are
The wind as it rains
The light as it trails
The clouds of dust
Goodbye?
Who can know the way
Of a stream
That feels deeper
Into the heart
Of all water sounds?
And beyond all being
Who can find the name of G-d
When no one knows
Who or why or where of how
All is Great and Good?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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At Night
The wind is singing through the trees to-night,
A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences
And crashing intervals. No summer breeze
Is this, though hot July is at its height,
Gone is her gentler music; with delight
She listens to this booming like the seas,
These elemental, loud necessities
Which call to her to answer their swift might.
Above the tossing trees shines down a star,
Quietly bright; this wild, tumultuous joy
Quickens nor dims its splendour. And my mind,
O Star! is filled with your white light, from far,
So suffer me this one night to enjoy
The freedom of the onward sweeping wind.
poem by Amy Lowell
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A Death in the Woods
The road fell out of the mountains
Into a field that spread toward the horizon,
Dark trees rose slowly,
Climb toward the sunset.
Presence to the traveler's eye
On road reach the crest of hill
Drop to the small river,
Climb down the sunset.
The horses slosh through,
The wagon wheel bolts below
Cross to the entrance of the forest
Known simply as Blackbird.
He escaped two days before,
His partner decides to give in
And turns to head toward sheriff
A bullet race through his head.
poem by A.K. Karam
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Trees and Plants
Plants and trees
So green so green
The kitchen is the leaf
And the root is the chief
They give us flowers to decorate
And also to celebrate
They give us paper from their wood
And they are found in the woods
With their help we can make whatever we want
From a rubberband to a pant
We don't need to pay tax or fees
To borrow from our lovely trees
They protect us from diseases
That would make us ill
All the carbondioxide
They always take in
Some people cut trees
For things like table and chair
Not knowing what pollution
They are doing to the air
Forests are turning from green to brown
Animals' faces are always with a frown
So let's make this place from brown to green
By planting more saplings and trees
poem by Deepika Ganesh
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A Camel's Dream
When he deserted me
I deserted water
When I deserted the water,
it lost its shine crying.
Trees were growing dark in their places
in the woods; that evening he came to take me
with him clearing the thick glow of the sunset hues
then came he to make a path a kind of road
At the end of the road
I became the back he can ride
deserting many things I so long have to long for
while I look at the village
through those green trees
with my deep eyes
I saw him waiving at me
to bid me goodbye.
I was already entering the desert
and a portion of his road became the whole
the entire road for me.
For the borders of the nation he ruled
were the horizons of the four directions,
the sand hills I walk on with him on my back
were always the initial spot I had departed.
Numerous mornings and evenings met
on the rooftops of the sandhills where the
next morning and the sun crossed.
Originally what he wanted from me
was some amount of water he could use,
always in the shape of the water
I obeyed him.
At the same speed as the sunlight speedy
falls on the ground, stars fell.
With the power of the star-falls
the water soaked itself down to the ground
and then to
the roots of the sands.
Whenever his forehead shined
with full of heavenly words
and thirstied,
I dug up the roots of the sands
where the water gathers and kept it
in my body.
When the sun rose,
everything except the sands were
under the power of the sun;
when the wind blew,
everything along with the sands were
under the windy flows.
There I took out the water from my body
and washed his dry face.
When he loved me
I had a large amount of waters.
When he was communicating with someone
in heavens,
I listened to the music the sands were making.
Many trees were there with no shadows,
and the worlds I look through those trees were
always moving forward.
Through those trees the wind blew.
The thicket-bushes were weeping
and there came about some animals
who loved the bushes, and the one
who rides on my back
lets things to be ruled ruled
lets things to die dead.
He stands the trees and the animals
that resemble each other on their spots
then he passes by.
In the mean time he took out the water
from my body numerous times
and drank it to cleanse his body.
His songs made the sand hills
create echoes to echo
to ring through the regions afar.
When he finally changed the desert into the sea,
at its open entrance
I began to grow old all alone.
Though I wanted to serve him on the sea
he walked away from me
onto the sea.
Many years have gone by
and come along and
for me not to serve him on the sea
meant to go back to the desert, and
the sea had turned into the desert back again.
At its entrance to the sea,
I could not become a small boat for him.
All day long, I was lonely;
all night long, lonesome for days.
When he left me, I deserted the water,
I deserted again the act of deserting
and by deserting it, I no longer was left
to exist.
poem by by unknown author (22 June 2003), translated by Sangnam Nam
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Editing Same Path
I HAVE walked upon this path
alone
and that was years ago
when i still cry
water the pebbles with tears
they do not grow
flowers
there are no trees there
One day
I come down from the clouds
since i am heavy with
rain in my
heart and decide to
walk back the path
of stones
I have seeds of clouds in my pocket
rainbow shoots in my hands
The path have since then
bloomed with dew
and vapors rise to the skies
in prayers
Trees grow and
bees pollinate
a new world is born
since then
and children come and play
their games
again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The River Note
And I behold once more
My old familiar haunts; here the blue river,
The same blue wonder that my infant eye
Admired, sage doubting whence the traveller came,--
Whence brought his sunny bubbles ere he washed
The fragrant flag-roots in my father's fields,
And where thereafter in the world he went.
Look, here he is, unaltered, save that now
He hath broke his banks and flooded all the vales
With his redundant waves.
Here is the rock where, yet a simple child,
I caught with bended pin my earliest fish,
Much triumphing,--and these the fields
Over whose flowers I chased the butterfly,
A blooming hunter of a fairy fine.
And hark! where overhead the ancient crows
Hold their sour conversation in the sky:--
These are the same, but I am not the same,
But wiser than I was, and wise enough
Not to regret the changes, tho' they cost
Me many a sigh. Oh, call not Nature dumb;
These trees and stones are audible to me,
These idle flowers, that tremble in the wind,
I understand their faery syllables,
And all their sad significance. The wind,
That rustles down the well-known forest road--
It hath a sound more eloquent than speech.
The stream, the trees, the grass, the sighing wind,
All of them utter sounds of 'monishment
And grave parental love.
They are not of our race, they seem to say,
And yet have knowledge of our moral race,
And somewhat of majestic sympathy,
Something of pity for the puny clay,
That holds and boasts the immeasurable mind.
I feel as I were welcome to these trees
After long months of weary wandering,
Acknowledged by their hospitable boughs;
They know me as their son, for side by side,
They were coeval with my ancestors,
Adorned with them my country's primitive times,
And soon may give my dust their funeral shade.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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From this High Window
From this high window
the invisible wind
moves silent trees:
motion without sound,
dance without song.
Behind painted walls
and heavy curtains,
I cannot not hear
the tumult,
but opening the heavy door,
at last I hear the trees sing,
stirred to passion
by unseen hands
waving branches
swept up
by the compelling wind,
and drawn outside,
exposed and complete,
finally I face the clear maelstrom,
my own hair flying free,
and gaze at the trees,
wild men
dancing as they chant
savage hymns
to their howling god.
poem by Steven Federle
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Finale
The cedar trees have sung their vesper hymn,
And now the music sleeps--
Its benediction falling where the dim
Dusk of the forest creeps.
Mute grows the great concerto--and the light
Of day is darkening, Good-night, Good-night.
But through the night time I shall hear within
The murmur of these trees,
The calling of your distant violin
Sobbing across the seas,
And waking wind, and star-reflected light
Shall voice my answering. Good-night, Good-night.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Among the Trees
I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for the one my heart calls for
I wonder lost among the trees
I see your light amongst the dark
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is brighter then the rest
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is out of my reach
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light comes closer
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light is bright like an angel from the sky
I wonder lost among the trees
Your light fades away and leaves me alone
I wonder lost among the trees
Without a hand to guide the way
I wonder lost among the trees
Looking for my guiding light
I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost, alone
I wonder afraid of the world
Around me I look for the one
I wonder lost among the trees
I wonder lost and alone forever...................................
poem by kelly Martini
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Star Bright
Star bright, first star I see tonight
Could you oh would you please shine your light
Shine it so I can see, my savior smilin at me
Star bright, I hear you once proclaimed
This is the way, keep on followin me
And at the end of the road will be, a baby
And there, in him youll find, a love that is truly blind
Given so from your heart that love that light, could shine
Shine, shine, shine, shine
Star bright, first star they saw that night
I am aware that this love is for me
And the greatest of gifts is free
Yet my heart of hearts is heavy
Star bright, if I give you my hand
Could you oh would you please see me through
I would love to take my heart blue, and give it to you
And there, in my heart youll find, a love that is truly blind
Given to me, so that I could let my, light shine
Shine, shine, shine, shine,
Star bright
Star bright, star bright, star bright
Star bright, star bright
Shine your light
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One
One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.
Along the darkening road he hurried alone,
With his eyes cast down,
And thought how the streets were hoarse with a tide of people,
With clamor of voices, and numberless faces . . .
And it seemed to him, of a sudden, that he would drown
Here in the quiet of evening air, These empty and voiceless places . . .
And he hurried towards the city, to enter there.
Along the darkening road, between tall trees
That made a sinister whisper, loudly he walked.
Behind him, sea-gulls dipped over long grey seas.
Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked.
And death was observed with sudden cries,
And birth with laughter and pain.
And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies
And night came down again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 03: One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand
One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.
Along the darkening road he hurried alone,
With his eyes cast down,
And thought how the streets were hoarse with a tide of people,
With clamor of voices, and numberless faces . . .
And it seemed to him, of a sudden, that he would drown
Here in the quiet of evening air,
These empty and voiceless places . . .
And he hurried towards the city, to enter there.
Along the darkening road, between tall trees
That made a sinister whisper, loudly he walked.
Behind him, sea-gulls dipped over long grey seas.
Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked.
And death was observed with sudden cries,
And birth with laughter and pain.
And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies
And night came down again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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A lane in England
In autumn I walked in England
in a lane full of trees
where leaves lay auburn
on a road wet from rain.
Barren, stripped oak trees
were between other green ones
and it was as if I was going
right through a tunnel
with here and there trees
of which the leaves were more yellow.
In the distance the road bended to the right
where a bush fence
cut neatly square
and telephone poles
ran along the edge of the road
and the green moss banks
were covered with auburn leaves
at places
and on the other side
of the road
a shrub stretched out green and long
like a sausage
that was lying next to the road
and I would love
to have a lane like that
next to my driveway.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Shield Bugs
I was assiduous
organizing my collection.
Had you not been told
what they were,
you might have thought
they were trees and stars,
or an orchard,
a small one of nine large trees,
three to a row,
or a large one of forty-five small conical trees
in nine groups of five,
three to a row,
or, taking part in a contest
to find the largest possible number of trees,
you could add the two together
and have fifty four
and think you had them all.
Some bright spark,
a contestant,
got the idea to replace the lot with wind turbines.
Someone was sure the turbines had been there
before the shield bugs.
Another, threw theory into chaos:
while agreeing that
a tree can be made of stars,
he also asserted,
a star can be made of trees!
Within a steady state of coexistence
each possibility pulsed
in and out of sense.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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The Road/Yes The Road Again
THE ROAD/ YES THE ROAD AGAIN
The road
Yes the road again
To see to feel
The beauty of the new in an ancient landscape-
Green green the trees
And blue the sky
And light the morning world-
The new
the road
The open road again
Who would have believed
I would ever find it again?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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