Sonnet 04
A garden so well watered before morn
Is hotly up, that not the swart sun's blaze
Down beating with unmitigated rays,
Nor arid winds from scorching places borne,
Shall quite prevail to make it bare and shorn
Of its green beauty -- shall not quite prevail
That all its morning freshness shall exhale,
Till evening and the evening dews return --
A blessing such as this our hearts might reap,
The freshness of the garden they might share,
Through the long day a heavenly freshness keep,
If, knowing how the day and day's glare
Must beat upon them, we would largely steep
And water them betimes with dews of prayer.
poem by Richard Chenevix Trench
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Related quotes
The song that Mary sang
In the stillness of the dawn,
in the stillness of the dusk,
then, my heart is most alive,
there, my soul is most at peace.
In the freshness of the morning,
in the coolness of the eve,
the Lord God walks in every garden;
be still, so to know Him there.
All day long I tend my garden;
there, this evening, God may walk;
I may see Him; I may not - but
yet I meet Him in my work.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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In an Old Town Garden
Shut from the clamor of the street
By an old wall with lichen grown,
It holds apart from jar and fret
A peace and beauty all its own.
The freshness of the springtime rains
And dews of morning linger here;
It holds the glow of summer noons
And ripest twilights of the year.
Above its bloom the evening stars
Look down at closing of the day,
And in its sweet and shady walks
Winds spent with roaming love to stray,
Upgathering to themselves the breath
Of wide-blown roses white and red,
The spice of musk and lavender
Along its winding alleys shed.
Outside are shadeless, troubled streets
And souls that quest for gold and gain,
Lips that have long forgot to smile
And hearts that burn and ache with pain.
But here is all the sweet of dreams,
The grace of prayer, the boon of rest,
The spirit of old songs and loves
Dwells in this garden blossom-blest.
Here would I linger for a space,
And walk herein with memory;
The world will pass me as it may
And hope will minister to me.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Sunbeams
The warming rays
streaming on the freshness
of the morning
The slanting rays
trembling between
the green leaves
The guiding rays
sneaking from the arched
roofs of the trees
The shimmering rays
spreading on the curtain panels
of the windows
The scorching rays
flaring on the barren
dry fields
The crimson rays
touching the bare path
like beads of rubies
The outward light fades
while the inward light
gleams to enlighten us.
poem by Rizvana Parveen
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There Are Many Who Have Left Behind This Activity
Can't you taste tomorrow's freshness?
Is it not apparent,
That which is stale.
Can no longer prevail on its present course.
And that beating a dead horse,
Will not revive a survival of that which has died.
And a flipping back through pages,
Seeking direction for which step to take.
Is not advantageous,
For those choosing to keep up with a forward pace.
Although some will continue,
With a beating of a horse done.
There are many who have left behind this activity.
With an acknowledgement that a past once lived.
Is clearly not meant for those living.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Spring Garden
The blossoming of new life
A spring garden of beauty
To prepare you to embrace
The season with freshness,
To offer her benevolence
A smile of love and vigor
The beauty of flowers budding
Bees and butterflies rejoicing
Spreading fragrance of spring
To awaken you in her blossom
To begin a new day's chore
To offer your due diligence
To receive her gift of loyalty
To bask in spring’s newness
To immerse in her novelty
To enjoy the season as it unfolds
To soak up in her divine beauty
Wrapped in evening splendor!
poem by Oyekake Satty Joshua
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Virgin Dreams
Gimme that one!
Wrap it up,
And bring it here.
Gimme that one.
And make it clear,
The tightened freshness
Should stay as it seems.
Gimme that one!
Wrap it up,
And bring it here.
Gimme that one.
And make it clear,
The tightened freshness
Should stay as it seems.
Gimme no one fanatic.
Or inclined to be dramatic.
With no knowledge of love.
Gimme someone who is romantic.
One who still sings,
Ecstactically.
I must fulfill my virgin dreams.
My search will end when I hear screams.
Gimme that one!
Wrap it up,
And bring it here.
Gimme that one.
And make it clear,
The tightened freshness
Should stay as it seems.
Gimme that one!
Wrap it up,
And bring it here.
Gimme that one.
And make it clear,
The tightened freshness
Should stay as it seems.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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At Parting II
AND you could leave me now--
After the first remembered whispered vow
Which sings for ever and ever in my ears--
The vow which God among His Angels hears--
After the long-drawn years,
The slow hard tears,
Could break new ground, and wake
A new strange garden to blossom for your sake,
And leave me here alone,
In the old garden that was once our own?
How should I learn to bear
Our garden's pleasant ways and pleasant air,
Her flowers, her fruits, her lily, her rose and thorn,
When only in a picture these appear--
These, once alive, and always over-dear?
Ah--think again: the rose you used to wear
Must still be more than other roses be
The flower of flowers. Ah, pity, pity me!
For in my acres is no plot of ground
Whereon could any garden site be found,
I have but little skill
To water weed and till
And make the desert blossom like the rose;
Yet our old garden knows
If I have loved its ways and walks and kept
The garden watered, and the pleasance swept.
Yet--if you must--go now:
Go, with my blessing filling both your hands,
And, mid the desert sands
Which life drifts deep round every garden wall,
Make your new festival
Of bud and blossom--red rose and green leaf.
No blight born of my grief
Shall touch your garden, love; but my heart's prayer
Shall draw down blessings on you from the air,
And all we learned of leaf and plant and tree
Shall serve you when you walk no more with me
In garden ways; and when with her you tread
The pleasant ways with blossoms overhead
And when she asks, 'How did you come to know
The secrets of the ways these green things grow?'
Then you will answer--and I, please God, hear,
'I had another garden once, my dear'.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Mothers' Love
It rips at the soul the way only a mothers love could do.
The freshness of it is yet of the autumn dew.
Trees start to turn the colors of reds, yellows and orange.
And then is the sadness in which it comes. the first brown leaf being crumbled up and blowing away.
It becomes dirt and creates something new.
A little baby sprout is growing from it.
It carries but the very features she has.
One day too, she'll become like the freshness of the autumn dew.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare
AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE
An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-
Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-
Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.
There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Every Day Is Festival!
Every dawn is decorated,
as if an auspicious day,
As if everyday is festival,
On the treetops shining bulbs of dews,
like golden beads and bulbs,
Every leaf of grass bent with dew drops weight,
As if bowing to welcome the Sun,
fields look like green lakes,
wave of breeze,
on the mountain peak,
Clouds dancing around,
Golden rays piercing darkness,
Shining globules of dews,
Shining like decorative light bulbs,
Reflecting face of nature,
Bathed fresh,
look like a woman just excited
to welcome Sun,
her eternal Love!
Busy birds flying above,
Singing their own song,
Every heart has a song,
Busy, yet hearts kept cool by morning breeze!
In the flow of river,
Or in the sound of waterfalls,
The mantra that chanted,
With bells of temples and churches,
Call for prayer from mosques heard,
But call of love
in every heart is strongly heard,
than any sound
Light of love, melts hearts,
Melts negative feelings,
Bathing in beauty,
Every day is festival,
O mother, you are divine,
Washed by morning dews,
You make everyone to bathe in thy beauty,
just like mother calls children,
When father returns home,
Earth welcomes Sun,
With her children,
Shining whole nature as one!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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What Is It To Be Alive?
What is it to be alive?
To stand in the early morning Jerusalem cold
And remember the same kind of cold
My father of blessed memory also sensed on the road down from the junk shop
In Lansingburgh New York so many many years ago?
What is to be alive
And sense the morning brightness and freshness
And to know in five or ten or who knows how many years
Someone else will sense this elsewhere?
What is to not be alive?
And perhaps never know this special kind of morning freshness and brightness again?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Night and Day
When the golden day is done,
Through the closing portal,
Child and garden, Flower and sun,
Vanish all things mortal.
As the blinding shadows fall
As the rays diminish,
Under evening's cloak they all
Roll away and vanish.
Garden darkened, daisy shut,
Child in bed, they slumber--
Glow-worm in the hallway rut,
Mice among the lumber.
In the darkness houses shine,
Parents move the candles;
Till on all the night divine
Turns the bedroom handles.
Till at last the day begins
In the east a-breaking,
In the hedges and the whins
Sleeping birds a-waking.
In the darkness shapes of things,
Houses, trees and hedges,
Clearer grow; and sparrow's wings
Beat on window ledges.
These shall wake the yawning maid;
She the door shall open--
Finding dew on garden glade
And the morning broken.
There my garden grows again
Green and rosy painted,
As at eve behind the pane
From my eyes it fainted.
Just as it was shut away,
Toy-like, in the even,
Here I see it glow with day
Under glowing heaven.
Every path and every plot,
Every blush of roses,
Every blue forget-me-not
Where the dew reposes,
"Up!" they cry, "the day is come
On the smiling valleys:
We have beat the morning drum;
Playmate, join your allies!"
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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New Begining
Let me close my eyes,
till I gather a few sun rays,
to keep it safe, for my dark days
to brighten my life and end the pain,
of my mistakes.
Let me close my eyes,
till the rose buds blossom
on a beautiful day,
to start all over again, unbound
into the fragrance and freshness
on thy green earth.
poem by Dr Madhavi Grace
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In This Vast Garden of Variety
If it was not for left stench,
Of your presence...
The freshness of flower scents,
Would be more inviting...
In this vast garden of variety.
But you choose to come,
And leave a reek!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Own Emptiness
morning
is an empty slate.
i go outside
this room into an open garden
rays of sun arrive
upon leaves soundlessly
mushrooms grow on the sides
of the old narra tree
i imagine i see some
elves
big biga leaves capture
water and on its edges are dews
i am empty like an empty slate of
morning
sunlight cannot
neither dew
nor nymphs of myth
fill it up.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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St. Senanus and the Lady
St. Senanus
"On! haste, and leave this sacred isle,
Unholy bark, ere morning smile;
For on thy deck, though dark it be,
A female form I see;
And I have sworn this sainted sod
Shall ne'er by woman's feet by trod!"
The Lady
"Oh! Father, send not hence my bark
Through wintry winds and billows dark,
I come, with humble heart, to share
Thy morn and evening prayer;
Nor mine the feet, oh! holy Saint,
The brightness of thy sod to taint."
The lady's prayer Senanus spurn'd;
The winds blew fresh, the bark return'd.
But legends hint, that had the maid
Till morning's light delay'd,
And given the saint one rosy smile,
She ne'er had left his lonely isle.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Say your prayers in a garden early, ignoring stead¬fastly the dew, the birds and the flowers, and you will come away overwhelmed by its freshness and joy; go there in order to be overwhelmed and, after a certain age, nine times out of ten nothing will happen to you.
C.S. Lewis in The Four Loves
Submitted by Rebeca Bucur
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Evil Will Prevail
With loving hands and their arms are stretched so wide they cant
Seem to take a breath knowing evil will prevail, and a million people
Seems
Like a lot, and a million people cant be wrong...
With loving smiles, and their mouths are stretched so wide they cant
Even
Take a breath, knowing evil will prevail, and the magic bullet is the
Glowing mother ship, and the mother zaps you dead...
With loving hands knowing evil will prevail
Knowing evil will prevail
Knowing that evil will prevail
Knowing evil will prevail
Knowing that evil will always win...
song performed by by Flaming Lips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Smiled And Nodded
'I am losing the freshness of my garden, '
She said.
Staring at me as she reached for my hand.
And anticipating my response.
'This time of the year,
I would begin to smell my roses bloom.'
I smiled and nodded.
And grateful I was to keep my lips sealed.
Because the bush I thought she referred to...
Began to show signs of drying out,
Long before her admission.
'Do you remember how fragrant it use to be?
With just one sniff I was re-energized.'
~Yep!
I remember my addiction to sniffing that freshness.~
'Would you stop it.
You never helped me with the weeding.'
~You're right.
Especially when you stopped,
Softening up the bed.~
'There you go again...
Not paying me any attention.
I am talking about the sweetness of the fragrance.
And you refer to my leg hairs.'
And grateful I was to keep my lips sealed.
Because the bush I thought she referred to...
Began to show signs of drying out,
Long before her admission.
Leg hairs?
~Oh!
So that's how all my razors,
Lost their sharpness.~
'That's 'almost' funny.
You get no 'hees' but a half of a 'ha' with that one.'
~I'm not complaining.
When am I going to get a piece of that? ~
And she removed her hand...
With a daring look.
As if I wasn't up to the challenge.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Be Here In The Morning
Its been such a long day so you better hurry home
Lit all my incense and I wish you were home
Only five minutes and you walk through my door
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life full
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
Stay here on the weekend and unplug the phone
(alright then)
No calls from korthoff, parks, or grillo
I only hope that you come here alone
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life full
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
Be here in the morning
Be here in the evening
Be here and make my life
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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