Dream-Death
There is a breath at midnight that comes in
Sad as a sigh, for then the day is dead
And the young morrow doth his course begin,
Sowing new dreams in many a dreamer's head.
And there are two have waked in one dark bed
Just as the last stroke fades in lonely air,
And having whispered, half-awake, have sped
With silent feet into sleep's poppied lair.
She with the morning wakes, but he is gone;
Her tears and kisses are of no avail--
Perchance it was his good-bye murmured on
The midnight in death's visionary dale.
Ah, woe! she thought 'twas in sleep's fairyland
When in the dark he pressed her warm, soft hand.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Sleeper
Sleep that half dead,
sleep the body not the head.
Sleep that bad said,
Poor owns that bed,
Dreams are found on that herd.
Sleep while awake,
Sleep that dead not closed eye fake.
Sleep that weak,
Tommorow u gona take.
Eat that sleep and enjoy its steak.
Sleep still stands,
None to overtake.
Sleep that height dare for cake.
Sleep that stress and have the bless,
Sleep to confess as she do to embrance,
Sleep for paid cash as he do to love false.
Sleep that sleep as no one sleep ever deep.
Sleep that better as no other sleeper.
Wear that sweater as did Brother Peter,
Sleep that firm to dream that greater,
Sleep not slopy arrise all the weaker.
poem by Abdallah Mpogole
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dark.
Dark.
Dark is deep,
Is heavy
And soft,
Is gentle
And everywhere;
It's in your lungs.
Dark is in your lungs.
Dark is in limbo-land.
Dark is waxing
Waning as the
Phone is on/off ringing.
Dark is silent
Is in your bed,
And stirring the sheets,
Is your blanket tonight.
Every night.
Dark is warm/cold,
Is delecate hands
And elegant jewelry
Is wormed into your head.
And shiney
And thin
Is film over your eyes.
Dark.
Dark is in love.
Dark wants
You to sleep well
Tonight.
poem by Maia AlmediaAmir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
About May
One night Nurse Sleep held out her hand
To tired little May.
'Come, go with me to Wonderland,'
She said, 'I know the way.
Just rock-a-by-hum-m-m,
And lo! we come
To the place where the dream-girls play.'
But naughty May, she wriggled away
From Sleep's soft arms, and said:
'I must stay awake till I eat my cake,
And then I will go to bed;
With a by-lo, away I will go.'
But the good nurse shook her head.
She shook her head and away she sped,
While May sat munching her crumb.
But after the cake there came an ache,
Though May cried: 'Come, Sleep, come,
And it's oh! my! let us by-lo-by'-
All save the echoes were dumb.
She ran after Sleep toward Wonderland,
Ran till the morning light;
And just as she caught her and grasped her hand,
A nightmare gave her a fright.
And it's by-lo, I hope she'll know
Better another night.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In That Dark Silent Hour
In that dark silent hour
When the wind wants power,
And in the black height
The sky wants light,
Stirless and black
In utter lack,
And not a sound
Escapes from that untroubled round:--
To wake then
In the dark, and ache then
Until the dark is gone--
Lonely, yet not alone;
Hearing another's breath
All the quiet beneath,
Knowing one sleeps near
That day held dear
And dreams held dear; but now
In this sharp moment--how
Share the moment's sweetness,
Forgo its completeness,
Nor be alone
Now the dark is grown
Spiritual and deep
More than in dreams and sleep?
O, it is pain, 'tis need
That so will plead
For a little loneliness.
If it be pain to miss
Loved touch, look and lip,
Companionship
Yet is verier pain
Then, then
In that dark silent hour
When the wind wants power,
And you, near or far, sleep,
And your released thoughts toward me creep
While I, imprisoned, awake,
Ache--ache
To be for one
Long, little moment with myself alone.
poem by John Freeman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Olive At Midnight
An olive at midnight
Green
shiny
globe
of
black
The size of a dirty workman's thumb
They (the olives) tumble towards me
Down hills and in still slick lakes of olive oil
I meet my dark shining olive
By suprise
It's midnight in the olive grove
My ciabatta catches him
spinning on the tastebuds together
My olive and I
Two star crossed lovers
One black
On green
Obscene nights of perpetual fulfillment
What a scene! my olive and me
My olive my heart
Oh my darling lovely one
Olive at midnight
At last
you have come to me
And together we will may a delightful
pair
my lips quake at the thought of you
quivering as you slither in a plate of oil
towards them
Olive at midnight
You have possessed me
I am yours
But too many press in
Only one is chosen
It is dark I cannot see you
Oh olive
Are you green?
Or black?
Does it matter I am not prejudice
My dear dear one
At midnight you thunder towards me
My heart is an earthquake
My brain a melting pot offondant cheese
I slice my ciabatta
A tiny onion a tomato pressed between
And you oh olive my love
I am done
Please leave
I am not hungry
It is past midnight
I must sleep
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Child Asleep. (From The French)
Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's face,
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.
Upon that tender eye, my little friend,
Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me!
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend;
'Tis sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee!
His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;
His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm.
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,
Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm?
Awake, my boy! I tremble with affright!
Awake, and chase this fatal thought! Unclose
Thine eye but for one moment on the light!
Even at the price of thine, give me repose!
Sweet error! he but slept! -- I breathe again;
Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile!
Oh, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Midnight Greeting
Dark is the hour I awake
A shadow moves sly and fast
I rub my eyes to have a look
Nothing is there and do I laugh
My Imagination running wild
I lay my head down to sleep
I feel a sudden cold touch
I'm too scared to even speak
Midnight Greeting
I see your face faintly I do
Although I don't understand
What is it you want from me
You reach and touch my hand
I feel weak and so confused
My heart pounds so fast inside
You stand there and just stare
I wish not to open my eyes
Midnight Greeting
What have I done so wrong
You stand tall and peer at me
I shakes so badly I do inside
How I wish this all not to be
The odd smell of old flowers
I left up my head your gone
Why must you do this to me
You'll return before too long
Midnight Greeting
poem by Suelynn Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lullaby
Sleep, pretty lady, the night is enfolding you;
Drift, and so lightly, on crystalline streams.
Wrapped in its perfumes, the darkness is holding you;
Starlight bespangles the way of your dreams.
Chorus the nightingales, wistfully amorous;
Blessedly quiet, the blare of the day.
All the sweet hours may your visions be glamorous-
Sleep, pretty lady, as long as you may.
Sleep, pretty lady, the night shall be still for you;
Silvered and silent, it watches you rest.
Each little breeze, in its eagerness, will for you
Murmur the melodies ancient and blest.
So in the midnight does happiness capture us;
Morning is dim with another day's tears.
Give yourself sweetly to images rapturous-
Sleep, pretty lady, a couple of years.
Sleep, pretty lady, the world awaits day with you;
Girlish and golden, the slender young moon.
Grant the fond darkness its mystical way with you;
Morning returns to us ever too soon.
Roses unfold, in their loveliness, all for you;
Blossom the lilies for hope of your glance.
When you're awake, all the men go and fall for you-
Sleep, pretty lady, and give me a chance.
poem by Dorothy Parker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Serenade
Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how
I wake and passionate watches keep;
And yet while I address thee now,
Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep.
'Tis sweet enough to make me weep,
That tender thought of love and thee,
That while the world is hush'd so deep,
Thy soul's perhaps awake to me!
Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep!
With golden visions of thy dower,
While I this midnight vigil keep,
And bless thee in thy silent bower;
To me 'tis sweeter than the power
Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurl'd,
That I alone, at this still hour,
In patient love outwatch the world.
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Lullaby (Song)
Close your eyes
Go to sleep.
Find your soul
In arms I'll keep
Dream you Little dark Dream
In your eyes
There's a glow
See your dreams
Now you know
Dream you Little dark Dreams
See your dreams
Come alive
Watch them dance
Through your eyes
Dream you Little dark Dreams
Coming now into eternal
Slumber, Sleep your Life's infernal
Lies called dreams within our sorrow
Never waking for tomorrow
Bow your head
Lay on down
Wipe your tears
Do not frown
Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream
Dream you Little dark Dreams
Tonight.
poem by Sans Serif
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Maa, I can't sleep
Maa, I can't sleep.
A pain crawls up my spine, the loneliness shouts aloud
And the abrupt commotions in my head
Keep me from closing my eyes,
Keep me from peace
Maa, I can't sleep,
The bulb on the wall flickers,
I turn it off and it's too dark around,
Fear rides my nerves
And I am awake all night,
Remembering my deeds and my sins.
Maa I can't sleep,
The dark lids of my eyes
Have imprinted her face; she smiles
And reminds me of the good old times.
But I broke her twice, all the way down;
And so I can't sleep.
Maa, for my lost love and her broken heart
I can't sleep.
poem by Shouvik Roy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Abandoned
The moonlight touched the sombre waters white.
Beneath the bridge 'twas darker. Was she cold?
She shivered. Her poor shawl was worn and old,
And she was desolate, and it was night.
The slow canal crept onward; to her sight
It seemed to beckon, and the lapping told
Of rest and quiet sleep: how sweet to fold
The hands from toil and close the eyes from light,
And so shut out all memory, and go
There where men sleep, and dreams, perhaps, are not.
O never any dreams, she murmured; so,
Longing for sleep, the sleep that comes with death,
She fell, she felt the water, and forgot
All, save the drowning agony of breath.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ancestral
The star dissolved in evening—the one star
The silently
and night O soon now, soon
And still the light now
and still now the large
Relinquishing
and through the pools of blue
Still, still the swallows
and a wind now
and the tree
Gathering darkness:
I was small. I lay
Beside my mother on the grass, and sleep
Came—
slow hooves and dripping with the dark
The velvet muzzles, the white feet that move
In a dream water
and O soon now soon
Sleep and the night.
And I was not afraid.
Her hand lay over mine. Her fingers knew
Darkness,—and sleep—the silent lands, the far
Far off of morning where I should awake.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sing, Sweet Harp
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me
Some song of ancient days,
Whose sounds, in this sad memory,
Long-buried dreams shall raise; --
Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame,
Whose light once round us shone,
Of noble pride, now turn'd to shame,
And hopes for ever gone.
Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me;
Alike our doom is cast,
Both lost to all but memory,
We live but in the past.
How mournfully the midnight air
Among thy chords doth sigh,
As if it sought some echo there,
Of voices long gone by; --
Of chieftains, now forgot, who seem'd
The foremost then in fame;
Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd,
Now sleep without a name.
In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air
Among thy chords doth sigh;
In vain it seeks an echo there
Of voices long gone by.
Couldst thou but call those spirits round,
Who once, in bower and hall,
Sate listening to thy magic sound,
Now mute and mouldering all; --
But, no; they would but wake to weep
Their children's slavery;
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep,
The dead, at least are free!
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone,
That knell of Freedom's day;
Or, listening to its death-like moan,
Let me, too, die away.
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sleep Forever
Down I lie
Sleeping all day
Still asleep for years
Surrounded by tears
Of friends, relations and further
But still sleep, sleep and sleep forever.
My eyes all closed extremely shut
My body is dry, straight and flat
As I lie in wooden house
Helpless like a dead mouse
Alone with no any other
As I sleep, sleep and sleep forever.
In my best black suit
My voice on mute
Waiting for the judgement
In a new environment
Coping with underground weather
As I sleep, sleep and sleep forever.
I've left all my worth
And ignored all my breath
Tell that I slept to each and every head
For that's a polite word to me as the dead
To come back I'll never
It's a sleep, sleep and sleep forever.
poem by Walani Ndhlovu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Old Women
They pass upon their old, tremulous feet,
Creeping with little satchels down the street,
And they remember, many years ago,
Passing that way in silks. They wander, slow
And solitary, through the city ways,
And they alone remember those old days
Men have forgotten. In their shaking heads
A dancer of old carnivals yet treads
The measure of past waltzes, and they see
The candles lit again, the patchouli
Sweeten the air, and the warm cloud of musk
Enchant the passing of the passionate dusk.
Then you will see a light begin to creep
Under the earthen eyelids, dimmed with sleep,
And a new tremor, happy and uncouth,
Jerking about the corners of the mouth.
Then the old head drops down again, and shakes,
Muttering.
Sometimes, when the swift gaslight wakes
The dreams and fever of the sleepless town,
A shaking huddled thing in a black gown
Will steal at midnight, carrying with her
Violet bags of lavender,
Into the taproom full of noisy light;
Or, at the crowded earlier hour of night,
Sidle, with matches, up to some who stand
About a stage-door, and, with furtive hand,
Appealing: "I too was a dancer, when
Your fathers would have been young gentlemen!"
And sometimes, out of some lean ancient throat,
A broken voice, with here and there a note
Of unspoiled crystal, suddenly will arise
Into the night, while a cracked fiddle cries
Pantingly after; and you know she sings
The passing of light, famous, passing things.
And sometimes, in the hours past midnight, reels
Out of an alley upon staggering heels,
Or into the dark keeping of the stones
About a doorway, a vague thing of bones
And draggled hair.
And all these have been loved.
And not one ruinous body has not moved
The heart of man's desire, nor has not seemed
Immortal in the eyes of one who dreamed
The dream that men call love. This is the end
Of much fair flesh; it is for this you tend
Your delicate bodies many careful years,
To be this thing of laughter and of tears,
To be this living judgment of the dead,
An old gray woman with a shaking head.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
113
MIDNIGHT
She is the only one that moves now
Her soundless feet keen on the floor
Her silence seeps
In empty corners where all the sorrows sleep
She dances in the grace of afternoon petals falling off
Her cold breath hovers
In the roofs that vigil the death of the noisy crowd
A loner
A curious clone of a black ghost
She visits abandoned rooms
And cracks stories concealed by the muted angers
She drops a secret like a feather
Floating and I though awake
Throughout her wakings and walk-ins
Could not recall having caught one
In such slowness
What she really says amidst the silence
Or meant in all these dark passages
The mirror on the wall stares
And glares at me with anger
One must have just died
The killer fled
Hidden by her black capes
Another secret I supposed
And though I thought
I knew
She had already flown away
Like a black bird into the night
I want to make some rains for her
Or offer her a lace of my tears
But by then another morning has come
Gently touching me
With flowers
And dove on my palms.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Aint In It
Some folks said I was getting well
But through the tears I couldnt tell
I could not see past yesterday
Cause your memory stood there in my way
A lonely mind plays funny tricks
Works on things that cant be fixed
Its bound to dwell on what you miss
Like a midnight touch or a morning kiss
Chorus
Its still hard to face a day if you aint in it
But I had to draw the line, a million tears
Is a mans limit
No, I dont expect your memory to let me
Ever forget it
But once in a while I live through a minute
And you aint in it
It didnt take a clock to alarm me
I was always up, Id never sleep
Scared to death Id dream of you
Thats moren I wanted to put my old
Heart through
A big dark cloud followed me around
Didnt dare look up or Id have drowned
Thought you took that sun with you
But today my curtain let a little peep slip through
Chorus
song performed by by Diamond Rio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Shepherd Boy
WHEN the red moon hangs over the fold,
And the cypress shadow is rimmed with gold,
O little sheep, I have laid me low,
My face against the old earth's face,
Where one by one the white moths go,
And the brown bee has his sleeping place.
And then I have whispered, Mother, hear,
For the owls are awake and the night is near,
And whether I lay me near or far
No lip shall kiss me,
No eye shall miss me,
Saving the eye of a cold white star.
And the old brown woman answers mild,
Rest you safe on my heart, O child.
Many a shepherd, many a king,
I fold them safe from their sorrowing.
Gwenever's heart is bound with dust,
Tristram dreams of the dappled doe,
But the bugle moulders, the blade is rust;
Stilled are the trumpets of Jericho,
And the tired men sleep by the walls of Troy.
Little and lonely,
Knowing me only,
Shall I not comfort you, shepherd-boy?
When the wind wakes in the apple-tree,
And the shy hare feeds on the wild fern stem,
I say my prayers to the Trinity,–
The prayers that are three and the charms that are seven
To the angels guarding the towers of heaven,–
And I lay my head on her raiment's hem,
Where the young grass darkens the strawberry star,
Where the iris buds and the bellworts are.
All night I hear her breath go by
Under the arch of the empty sky.
All night her heart beats under my head,
And I lie as still as the ancient dead,
Warm as the young lambs there with the sheep.
I and no other
Close to my Mother,
Fold my hands in her hands, and sleep.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The First Spring Day
THE sunshine died long ago,
Stifled out long ago,
And the waste of the world was grey,
And night was the best to know,
For night was to doze and forget the day,
To be warm and forgetting and still,
And need not the sun and know not the chill:
But oh, for the day that was darkened so!
Why gaze on a barren heaven,
Void and unchanging heaven,
On a barren earth in the grime,
And not a poor blossom given,
No thing that was thinking of sunshine time,
For a promise, a praise of the past?
And so one forgot the sunshine at last;
And sleep could avail, but what to have striven?
The sunshine wakes once anew,
Wakes and is born anew,
And the Age of the earth grows young,
And heaven has its youth for hue,
And hope is the tune of the spring-bird's tongue,
And the leaves in their prisons all hark,
And blossoms will know there is end of the dark:
One hour of the sun, and the spring-time grew!
The sunshine new on the earth,
Heaven to brighten the earth,
And the deathful dimness gone by,
The barren and winter dearth!
And to-day is the best till the next is nigh,
And to-night is to-morrow begun,
To-morrow, when blossoms remember the sun!
Dead hopes, are ye born with the blossoms birth?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!