En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Her Grave.

The flowers on her grave scarce breathe,
So sweet a flower lies hid beneath;
As if they feared their growth might stir
The sleepy earth that covers her.

poem by Robert Crawford
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Goodbye!

Come, thrust your hands in the warm earth
And feel her strength through all your veins;
Breathe her full odors, taste her mouth,
Which laughs away imagined pains;
Touch her life's womb, yet know
This substance makes your grave also.

Shrink not; your flesh is no more sweet
Than flowers which daily blow and die;
Nor are your mein and dress so neat,
Nor half so pure your lucid eye;
And, yet, by flowers and earth I swear
You're neat and pure and sweet and fair.

poem by Richard Aldington
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XLII: What Lies Beneath

beauty lies beneath
sense lies beneath
secret lies beneath
character lies beneath
rule lies beneath
mind lies beneath
past lies beneath
foundation lies beneath
root lies beneath
dark hole lies beneath

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Another

HERE a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies:
Pray be silent and not stir
Th' easy earth that covers her.

poem by Robert Herrick
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Upon A Child

Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies;
Pray be silent, and not stir
Th' easy earth that covers her.

poem by Robert Herrick
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Epitaph upon a Child that died

HERE she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood:
Who as soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her.

poem by Robert Herrick
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Upon A Child That Died

Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood;
Who as soon fell fast asleep,
As her little eyes did peep.
--Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth, that lightly covers her.

poem by Robert Herrick
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Margaret

I KNOW a garden where white lilies grow,
Under the grey sweet-laden apple boughs;
It is a garden where the roses blow,
And honeysuckle covers half the house.
O happy garden, do you keep the vows
Breathed in your quiet ear beneath the rose,
Or do you tell the tale to each soft wind that blows?

Across your grassy paths she used to stray,
She moved among you like a living flower,
Her beauty drank your beauty every day,
Your beauty decked her beauty every hour.
You gave her rose and lily for a dower,
With all sweet flowers and fruits your bosom bore--
She took them all--and now she comes not any more.

O garden, if you breathe such secret things
To the south wind who loves you, tell him this:
To spread the scented softness of his wings,
And seek that other garden where she is,
And bid him bear no blossom and no kiss;
Only, dear garden, tell the wind to say
How grey the world is grown since Margaret went away!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Lines On Observing A Blossom On The First Of February, 1796

Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month
Hath borrowed Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor flower!
These are but flatteries of the faithless year.
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,
E'en now the keen north-east is on its way.
Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee
To some sweet girl of too, too rapid growth,
Nipped by consumption mid untimely charms?
Or to Bristowa's bard, the wond'rous boy!
As amaranth, which earth scarce seemed to own,
Till disappointment come, and pelting wrong
Beat it to earth? or with indignant grief
Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's hope,
Bright flower of hope killed in the opening bud?
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes
Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour
From anxious self, life's cruel taskmaster!
And the warm wooings of this sunny day
Tremble along my frame, and harmonize
The attempered organ, that even saddest thoughts
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes
Played deftly on a soft-toned instrument.

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Dirge

PLACE this bunch of mignonette
In her cold, dead hand;
When the golden sun is set,
Where the poplars stand,
Bury her from sun and day,
Lay my little love away
From my sight.
She was like a modest flower
Blown in sunny June,
Warm as sun at noon's high hour,
Chaster than the moon.
Ah, her day was brief and bright,
Earth has lost a star of light;
She is dead.
Softly breathe her name to me,—
Ah, I loved her so.
Gentle let your tribute be;
None may better know
Her true worth than I who weep
O'er her as she lies asleep —
Soft asleep.
Lay these lilies on her breast,
They are not more white
Than the soul of her, at rest
'Neath their petals bright.
Chant your aves soft and low,
Solemn be your tread and slow, —
She is dead.
Lay her here beneath the grass,
Cool and green and sweet,
Where the gentle brook may pass
Crooning at her feet.
Nature's bards shall come and sing,
And the fairest flowers shall spring
Where she lies.
Safe above the water's swirl,
She has crossed the bar;
Earth has lost a precious pearl,
Heaven has gained a star,
That shall ever sing and shine,
Till it quells this grief of mine
For my love.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Her Face.

There is a something in her face
Which in no other I can trace,
And feelings sweet as music stir
When I gaze in her dreamy eyes,
And breathe a perfume, as it were,
From flowers in Paradise.
At morn, at noon and night it seems
As if I moved by faery streams,
A strange light on the leaves and grass;
As if her life-breath were the air
Through which the magic moments pass
In her dream-beauty there.
It is thought's paradise which she
Inhabits like a mystery,
Through which my feelings come and go
Like tunes which to her pulses stir;
And my life day by day, I trow,
Is one sweet dream of her.

poem by Robert Crawford
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N4

my theory lives thru
as you have said it: these are all lies
lies and more lies
and you know them all to be lies,

but as you said it,
you begin to understand the truth
beneath these lies

a layer of grass
another layer of flowers
another layer of clouds

beneath is the niche
burying the nuggets of
my own wisdom, how i live my life

and justify it later
before God, shall all lies be
truths

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Floridian

The cactus and the aloe bloom
Beneath the window of your room;
Your window where, at evenfall,
Beneath the twilight's first pale star,
You linger, tall and spiritual,
And hearken my guitar.

It is the hour
When every flower
Is wooed by moth or bee
Would, would you were the flower, dear,
And I the moth to draw you near,
To draw you near to me,
My dear,
To draw you near to me.

II.

The jasmine and bignonia spill
Their balm around your windowsill;
The sill where, when magnolia-white,
In foliage mists, the moon hangs far,
You lean with bright deep eyes of night
And hearken my guitar.

It is the hour
When from each flower
The wind woos fragrances
Would, would you were the flower, love,
And I the wind to breathe above,
To breathe above and kiss,
My love,
To breathe above and kiss.

poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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The Gardener

WITHIN this garden space are set
Sweet mignonette and violet,
Sunk in rich mould; at dawn and night
Their leaves dew-wet.
Who set them in the kindly loam
Lies buried 'neath the clover-foam
Of alien meadows, far away
From his loved home.
If it be glory thus to pass
For Honour's sake, and 'neath the grass
Red-wounded lie, then he, in truth,
Great glory has.
Yet, blossoms that he loved and set! —
Sweet mignonette, sweet violet —
Not Honour's self, nor Glory's crown,
Can stay regret.
'Twixt bud of leaf and fall of leaf,
Why should Fate in an hour so brief
Wreck flower and flower, and nurse alone
The cypress — Grief?
He is not gone — not all of him;
For trees have memories; leaf and limb
Shall breathe his name, and grateful flowers
At twilight dim.
For like these blooms, he left behind
Some fragrance, subtle and refined —
A memoried sweetness that shall haunt
Tree, flower and wind.

poem by Roderic Quinn
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Life

Oh Life! I breathe thee in the breeze,
I feel thee bounding in my veins,
I see thee in these stretching trees,
These flowers, this still rock's mossy stains.

This stream of odours flowing by
From clover-field and clumps of pine,
This music, thrilling all the sky,
From all the morning birds, are thine.

Thou fill'st with joy this little one,
That leaps and shouts beside me here,
Where Isar's clay-white rivulets run
Through the dark woods like frighted deer.

Ah! must thy mighty breath, that wakes
Insect and bird, and flower and tree,
From the low trodden dust, and makes
Their daily gladness, pass from me--

Pass, pulse by pulse, till o'er the ground
These limbs, now strong, shall creep with pain,
And this fair world of sight and sound
Seem fading into night again?

The things, oh LIFE! thou quickenest, all
Strive upwards toward the broad bright sky,
Upward and outward, and they fall
Back to earth's bosom when they die.

All that have borne the touch of death,
All that shall live, lie mingled there,
Beneath that veil of bloom and breath,
That living zone 'twixt earth and air.

There lies my chamber dark and still,
The atoms trampled by my feet,
There wait, to take the place I fill
In the sweet air and sunshine sweet.

Well, I have had my turn, have been
Raised from the darkness of the clod,
And for a glorious moment seen
The brightness of the skirts of God;

And knew the light within my breast,
Though wavering oftentimes and dim,
The power, the will, that never rest,
And cannot die, were all from him.

Dear child! I know that thou wilt grieve
To see me taken from thy love,
Wilt seek my grave at Sabbath eve,
And weep, and scatter flowers above.

Thy little heart will soon be healed,
And being shall be bliss, till thou
To younger forms of life must yield
The place thou fill'st with beauty now.

When we descend to dust again,
Where will the final dwelling be
Of Thought and all its memories then,
My love for thee, and thine for me?

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Beneath the plaster

Beneath the plaster
that covers
the cracks in the walls
there is a sickness.

Another side to laughter,
fancy dresses,
and dinner suits.

Superficially
there is order,
grandeur,
but beneath,
deceit and lies.

The priest who
likes small boys,

The business man
who makes his wealth
from whore houses.

The banker
who does dirty deals,
makes money from
the weaker willed.

The leaches,
fancy ladies
plundering a living
from rich husbands
and sugar daddies.

Beneath the plaster
that covers
the cracks in the walls
there is a sickness.

poem by Ruth Walters
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Stop The Train (feat. Peter Tosh)

Stir it up little darling, stir it up
Come on baby come on and stir it up little darling, stir it up
It's been a long long time since I've got you on my mind
And now you are here
I say it's so clear
To see what we can do, honey, just me and you
Come on and stir it up, little darling, stir it up
Come on baby come on and stir it up little darling, stir it up
I'll push the wood, I'll blaze your fire
Then I'll satisfy your heart's desire
Said I'll stir it up, yeah, ev'ry minute, yeah
All you got to do is keep it in, baby
And stir it up, little darling, stir it up
Come on and stir it up, oh, little darling, stir it up, yeah
Oh, will you quench me while I'm thirsty?
Come and cool me down when I'm hot?
Your recipe, darling, is so tasty
And you sure can stir your pot
So stir it up, little darling, stir it up
Come on and stir it up, oh, little darling, stir it up
Come on and stir it up, oh, little darling, stir it up

song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Try Not To Breathe

I will try not to breathe.
I can hold my head still with my hands at my knees.
These eyes are the eyes of the old, shiver and fold.
I will try not to breathe.
This decision is mine. i have lived a full life
And these are the eyes that I want you to remember. oh.
I need something to fly over my grave again.
I need something to breathe.
I will try not to burden you.
I can hold these inside. I will hold my breath
Until all these shivers subside,
Just look in my eyes.
I will try not to worry you.
I have seen things that you will never see.
Leave it to memory me. I shudder to breathe.
I want you to remember. oh. (you will never see)
I need something to fly (something to fly)
Over my grave again. (you will never see)
I need something to breathe. (something to breathe)
Baby, dont shiver now.
Why do you shiver now? (I will see things you will never see)
I need something to fly (something to fly)
Over my grave again. (I will see things you will never see)
I need something to breathe. oh. oh. oh.
I will try not to worry you.
I have seen things that you will never see.
Leave it to memory me. dont dare me to breathe.
I want you to remember. oh. (you will never see)
I need something to fly (something to fly)
Over my grave again. (you will never see)
I need something to breathe. (something to breathe)
Baby, dont shiver now.
Why do you shiver now? (I will see things you will never see)
I need something to breathe. (something to breathe - I have seen things
You will never see)
I want you to remember.

song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Phantom, flowers and the sentinel

'In the pitchy darkness what are you searching sir? '.
The watch keeper asked from the puritan.
'I am searching some rare herbal flowers brother'.
'These days it's very hard to find an unblemished flower sir
because of this unending war, flowers won't come out.
There were some flowers at the back yard of the grave side,
but I am not quite sure; an uncalled man has been here last week
and plucked all the flowers.'
'It's me can't you recognize?
those flowers for the altar
and not for medication'.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Bird and flower upon the tree

A bird and flower upon the tree,
Sweet peony and oriole,
Each of them a perfect soul,
Song and sweetness manifest
The bird and flower we love the best
Side by side on the tall tree.

'Flower who art sunlight and fire, flower who art perfume and joy,
Sweetest of sweet,
Ah for the gift withheld!
Ah for the given gift's alloy!
Why must thy spirit exhale only in beauty and breath?
Ah for the voice thou hast not! I by thy side on the tree,
Telling the world of love, pain, and all raptures that be,
Raptures of laughter and life, raptures of tears and death,
Singing my heart to heaven, singing to earth at my feet;
Silence in thee.'

'Bird who art dew-drops and flame, bird who art rapture and song,
Sweetest of sweet,
Lo there's a voice part mine, songs that to me too belong,
Songs that grew of my growth, voice that has breathed my breath.
Bird that while I sit mute singest beside on the tree,
Hast thou ever a song taking no perfume of me?
Give forth my sweetness in song; bird, thou art singing for both,
Singing our hearts to heaven, singing to earth at our feet;
My voice in thee.'

On the tree-top side by side,
Sweet oriole and peony;
Music rings through earth and sky,
Sweet and sweet in sweetness lost
The flower and bird we love the most,
On the tree-top side by side.

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Universal Flowers

All all

Trees are

Earth flowers...

Wonder of

Green...

Making trees

Is

Not only

Earth flower's...

A unversel flowers...

Some flowers

Is big...

Some is...

Sumall...

That is not enough

Trees also

Flowers

For

The univers...!

Yes or not...?

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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