En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Fruits Of Sleep

the real job is to house-keep
what is not knee-deep
one knows how to leap
and go away from the sheep

the mountains are steep
more women shall weep
things simmer and seep
comes the time to reap
all the fruits of nice sleep

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Us Go

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying 'If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leave-Taking

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying 'If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Leave-Taking

A Leave-Taking

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing?time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as we all love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying, `If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon?flower making all the foam?flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reflecting

Reflecting on clouds that slowly creep,
Across the vast skies like woolly sheep,
The blues of heaven, the red sunset,
All sights that nobody can forget,
Sunshine and rain, crisp white frost and snow,
The softest breeze, and strong winds that blow,
Though I will gently doze, yet I may sleep,
For within your spirit my love you keep.

Reflecting on mighty oceans deep,
Stark mountains so craggy, tall and steep,
Valleys all filled with rich luscious green,
There’s such immense beauty to be seen,
But you are not here to see it too,
I can’t share these wondrous things with you,
You said not to cry though, nor will I weep,
For within my spirit your love I keep.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Shepherdess

She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.
Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white;
She keeps them from the steep;
She feeds them on the fragrant height,
And folds them in for sleep.

She roams maternal hills and bright,
Dark valleys safe and deep.
Into that tender breast at night
The chastest stars may peep.
She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.

She holds her little thoughts in sight,
Though gay they run and leap.
She is so circumspect and right;
She has her soul to keep.
She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.

poem by Alice Meynell
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The Lady of the Lambs

She walks -- the lady of my delight --
A shepherdess of sheep.
Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white;
She guards them from the steep.
She feeds them on the fragrant height,
And folds them in for sleep.

She roams maternal hills and bright,
Dark valleys safe and deep.
Her dreams are innocent at night;
The chastest stars may peep.
She walks -- the lady of my delight --
A shepherdess of sheep.

She holds her little thoughts in sight,
Though gay they run and leap.
She is so circumspect and right;
She has her soul to keep.
She walks -- the lady of my delight --
A shepherdess of sheep.

poem by Alice Meynell
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Villanelle

Apollo left the golden Muse
And shepherded a mortal's sheep,
Theocritus of Syracuse!

To mock the giant swain that woo's
The sea-nymph in the sunny deep,
Apollo left the golden Muse.

Afield he drove his lambs and ewes,
Where Milon and where Battus reap,
Theocritus of Syracuse!

To watch thy tunny-fishers cruise
Below the dim Sicilian steep
Apollo left the golden Muse.

Ye twain did loiter in the dews,
Ye slept the swain's unfever'd sleep,
Theocritus of Syracuse!

That Time might half with HIS confuse
Thy songs,--like his, that laugh and leap, -
Theocritus of Syracuse,
Apollo left the golden Muse!

poem by Andrew Lang
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Poppies

These are the flowers of sleep
That nod in the heavy noon,
Ere the brown shades eastward creep
To a drowsy and dreamful tune—
These are the flowers of sleep.

Love’s lilies are passion-pale,
But these on the sun-kissed flood
Of the corn, that rolls breast deep,
Burn redder than drops of blood
On a dead king’s golden mail.

Heart’s dearest, I would that we
These blooms of forgetfulness
Might bind on our brows, and steep
Our love in Lethe ere less
Grow its flame with thee or me.

When Time with his evil eye
The beautiful Love has slain,
There is nought to gain or keep
Thereafter, and all is vain.
Should we wait to see Love die?

Sweetheart, of the joys men reap
We have reaped; ’tis time to rest.
Why should we wake but to weep?
Sleep and forgetting is best—
These are the flowers of sleep.

poem by Victor James Daley
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Dedicated to ppl who dont sleep

Sleep, sleep, sleep
It’s magnificent and nice,
With dreams beyond wonder,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!

Sleep, sleep, sleep
Eyes tightly closed,
A little smile on you r cheeks,
Feeling the ambiance
Of the pure and precious sleep,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!

Sleep, sleep, sleep
Forgetting insane things of the mixed world outside
Relax my dear, feel the gentle breeze,
Do not worry about tomorrow, do not weep,
Wake up fresh in the morning with a recuperate mind,
Fresh and blessed with a wonderful sleep,
SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP!

poem by Tejaswini Iyer
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I Leap Too Deep

I try to walk,
talk,
but i go stuck.

And then i leap.
Leap,
deep.
Leap deeper.

Deep into the darkness
of her eyes.
Deep into her private
things.

With my wits,
i leap deep.
Deeper into the hidden
scenes of her heart.

Disaster.

I fought.
I Lost.
I sought,
but no way out.

Too deep.
No way out.
Now am stuck
in her deep thought.

poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!

SLEEP

Sleep, sleep, sleep
It’s magnificent and nice,
With dreams beyond wonder,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!

Sleep, sleep, sleep
Eyes tightly closed,
A little smile on you r cheeks,
Feeling the warm sensations
Of the pure and precious sleep,
Sleep! sleep! sleep!

Sleep, sleep, sleep
Forgetting insane things of the mixed world outside
Relax my little one, feel the gentle breeze,
Do not worry about tomorrow, do not weep,
Wake up fresh in the morn with a recuperated mind,
Fresh and blessed with a wonderful sleep,
SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP!

JERINE JAMES (3RD JULY 07)

poem by Jerine James
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Messidor

Put in the sickles and reap;
For the morning of harvest is red,
And the long large ranks of the corn
Coloured and clothed as the morn
Stand thick in the fields and deep
For them that faint to be fed.
Let all that hunger and weep
Come hither, and who would have bread
Put in the sickles and reap.

Coloured and clothed as the morn,
The grain grows ruddier than gold,
And the good strong sun is alight
In the mists of the day-dawn white,
And the crescent, a faint sharp horn,
In the fear of his face turns cold
As the snakes of the night-time that creep
From the flag of our faith unrolled.
Put in the sickles and reap.

In the mists of the day-dawn white
That roll round the morning star,
The large flame lightens and grows
Till the red-gold harvest-rows,
Full-grown, are full of the light
As the spirits of strong men are,
Crying, Who shall slumber or sleep?
Who put back morning or mar?
Put in the sickles and reap.

Till the red-gold harvest-rows
For miles through shudder and shine
In the wind's breath, fed with the sun,
A thousand spear-heads as one
Bowed as for battle to close
Line in rank against line
With place and station to keep
Till all men's hands at a sign
Put in the sickles and reap.

A thousand spear-heads as one
Wave as with swing of the sea
When the mid tide sways at its height;
For the hour is for harvest or fight
In face of the just calm sun,
As the signal in season may be
And the lot in the helm may leap
When chance shall shake it; but ye,
Put in the sickles and reap.

For the hour is for harvest or fight
To clothe with raiment of red;
O men sore stricken of hours,
Lo, this one, is not it ours
To glean, to gather, to smite?
Let none make risk of his head
Within reach of the clean scythe-sweep,
When the people that lay as the dead
Put in the sickles and reap.

Lo, this one, is not it ours,
Now the ruins of dead things rattle
As dead men's bones in the pit,
Now the kings wax lean as they sit
Girt round with memories of powers,
With musters counted as cattle
And armies folded as sheep
Till the red blind husbandman battle
Put in the sickles and reap?

Now the kings wax lean as they sit,
The people grow strong to stand;
The men they trod on and spat,
The dumb dread people that sat
As corpses cast in a pit,
Rise up with God at their hand,
And thrones are hurled on a heap,
And strong men, sons of the land,
Put in the sickles and reap.

The dumb dread people that sat
All night without screen for the night,
All day without food for the day,
They shall give not their harvest away,
They shall eat of its fruit and wax fat:
They shall see the desire of their sight,
Though the ways of the seasons be steep,
They shall climb with face to the light,
Put in the sickles and reap.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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My Plight.

Bear with me as I tell of my plight,
I am just an old man that cannot sleep at night.
I have counted millions of sheep in my time,
Even written verses that usually rhyme.
Full moon nights are really the worse
For then I am compelled to write more verse.
Sleeping tablets I have take by the score,
These make things worse and cause me to snore.
I have had hot baths before going to bed,
These make my skin wrinkly and red.
Cold showers I have tried to make me sleep,
But I only end up counting more sheep.
They say as one gets older one does not need so much sleep.
When I hear this psuedo wisdom I just want to weep.
When I was young eight hours sleep was just right.
It saw me through a long restful night.
If just for once I could sleep through the night,
I would not ask you to bear with my plight.

poem by Bernard Shaw
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Afraid To Sleep

We slept in this room together but now youre gone
And its so quiet I turn the tv on
We lived in this room together we painted the walls
Now time doesnt stand still
It crawls
And Im afraid to sleep
Cuz if I do I dream of you
And dreams are always deep
On the pillow where I weep
I never realized how much I was in love with you
Until you started sleeping with someone new
Last night I dreamed again and you were there
You kissed my face you touched my hair
And Im afraid to sleep
Cuz if I do I dream of you
And dreams are always deep
On the pillow where I weep
Lying alone in the darkness with a memory in my head
Theres a big hole where my heart is
And a lonely feeling rollin round my bed
And Im afraid to sleep
Cuz if I do I dream of you
Im afraid to sleep
Cuz if I do I dream of you
And dreams are always deep
On the pillow where I weep
On the pillow where I weep
Im afraid to sleep.

song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Counting Sheep

I shall not count the sheep by night
I shall not see them leap
The countless hours I do not sleep
mean nothing to the sheep

Someone else shall count them
Perhaps it will be you
I would like to think that so
Then I'd know you too

are losing sleep like me
and have me on your mind
And as the night turns into day
you'll leave the sheep behind

poem by Edwina Reizer
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How Do You Sleep

I place my head between my hands
As once again I softly weep
I think to myself, as there is no one else,
Please tell me; How do you sleep.
Do you not think of the things you have done
Or the lies and untruths that you have said
It pains my mind, probably till the end of time
Until the time that we both are dead.
You tell your lies as they are the truth
So you can cover up your ways and sin
Do you believe your lies, as the truth you deny
Thinking your innocent in front of God and men

As I sit alone in my chair
Thinking of the secrets you did keep
With your picture in hand, I cant understand
Then I say to you; how do you sleep.
I trusted you with all that I know
And I gave you all that I had to give
You were my life, and you were my wife
And i’d give you my soul for you to live.
But then your past it caught up with you
A time that I knew nothing about
When you were wild, like a crazy child
Who got there way, as it ended out.

As I walk through out the house
As for answers I still try to seek
I walked through our home, now I am alone,
Please tell me; how do you sleep.
As I look back at the things you have done
Remembering the vows that you had broke
And In my brain, now there is only pain
With all the lies you've done and spoke.
I find my bible and it I begin to read
Someday the devil will have your soul to reap
Until that time, your words are a crime,
And please tell me; how do you sleep.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Dog Days

August the Teenth, and hot;
Runs the riot of the rot.
In these septic days of summer
Sounds begin to simmer
And the tidal pools pour over.

Those curs, those mocking frogs,
Leap from beach to logs.
They scare away the sheep
& take away my sleep.
The sand begins to catch fire.

Fire is a hunter.
It is bound and out for Winter,
But going nowhere.
Canis Major stops amd stares
Into the sticky sun's glare.

poem by Stan Petrovich
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As i lay asleep......

Soft cushion
Flavoured incense
I lay asleep

Night
Day
All the same
I lay asleep

Hurted deep
Women weep
I lay asleep

I lay asleep
Amidst the noise
Mortal body
Left with no choice

Drones of people
Flock around
Curious for my name
In moments of despair
Feeling of fame

Its all over
Forget me now
Lay me lower
My house-the ground
And let me sleep
Let me sleep
Sleep
Sleep, forever........

-Royston Serrao

poem by Royston Serrao
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Whatever You Sow You Shall Reap

that is the law
you sow a sigh
you reap the deepest breath
from the guts
you sow the seeds of discord
you reap the poisonous fruits
of chaos
you sow the wind
and comes the fruits of your disgust
the seven storms of
hell

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Insomniacs Complaint

I take a pill to help me sleep.
I take another when I wake
To me the cost is rather steep
I got addicted by mistake.
Although I had tries counting sheep
It didn’t work I lay awake.
I take a pill to help me sleep
I take another when I wake.
From the first my sleep was deep
I found it difficult to wake.
Due to the pill I chose to take.
I still do though it’s not cheap
I take a pill to help me sleep.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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