En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Night.

The wings of Evening, spread like phantom sails
Athwart the waning west,
Now as the last thin streak of crimson fails,
Seem as with sleep possessed.
Now hope is changed to memory, and time
Becomes eternity,
As thought were chaunting to a runic rhyme
In some old mystery.
The shadows deepen, and the Night's weird stir
Seems like a spirit still
To tremble in the silence, as with her
Death walked invisible.
The heart can ken, e'en like an echo dead,
The eerie things they say
Who have come from a coast where none may tread
Within the dream of Day.
Night and her paramour — the last of things
That touch the soul with fear,
As that which deems that it is deathless clings
To its own shadow here.

poem by Robert Crawford
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Exile

I heard it in my sleep
A voice more dead than old
I thought Id known the fear
But then it touched my soul and said:
You will pray for me
Bow your head to me.
It came for me at night
And took me dream by dream
To where everything is dark
And no-one hears you scream
Took everything I loved
And turned love into pain
It said Im the prophecy
And Ill make you believe in me.
Sacrifice for me
Be humility.
It said:
Ill make everyone pay
Ill make everyone pay
Some things you cant forget
Ill make everyone pay
Some things you cant forgive
Ill make everyone pay.
And so it comes to this
Death or eternity?
Or would you like to pay
For all humanity?
Do you believe in faith?
Than choose. heaven or hell or me?
A shadow on the sane
The final treachery of god.
You will kneel for me
Lose your eyes for me.
Betray the world for me
Burn your soul for me.
It said:
Ill make everyone pay
Ill make everyone pay
Some things you cant forget
Ill make everyone pay
Some things you cant forgive
Ill make everyone pay.

song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God's Rest.

I saw God in a dream go by,
As if He trod the phantom air
Within a hushed eternity,
Dead worlds around Him everywhere.
No sign of life — and God asleep!
All things absorbed in Him at last;
Nothing for Him to care for, keep,
Since thought from everything had passed.
A mystic vision on its way
His image filled the awful gloom,
As if His work were o'er for aye —
Himself His own creation's tomb!
As if, when sleep fell on Him, all
Sensation with a tremor ceased,
As all things felt the weird recall,
And the gigantic strain released.
The worlds stayed still without a breath,
Entranced within the phantom air,
Since God had done with life and death
And ta'en Himself from everywhere.
This was His Sabbath. In the past
'Tis said He rested for a day;
But this was a sleep that would last,
Since He had done with all for aye.

poem by Robert Crawford
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Touch The Night

Out on the road the traffic slowed down to a crawl
Strobe lights flashin on the overpass
The tangled steel could not reveal what no one saw
Or how he walked away without a scratch
He thought of her and walked along the exit ramp
He touched the night between two old street lamps.
And every one will touch the night
And every one will touch the night
And every one will touch the night.
Imagine blue dissolve into the empty night
Slowly fadin no one answerin
She walked away and left him standing all alone
Between the shadows of his memory
And those who loved and lost will know the way it feels
To touch the night without the one you love.
And every one will touch the night
And every one will touch the night
And every one will touch the night.

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nocturne III

One night
one night all full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings;
one night
in which fantastic fireflies burnt in the humid nuptial shadows,
slowly by my side, pressed altogether close, silent and pale,
as if a presentiment of infinite bitternesses
agitated you unto the most hidden fibers of your being,
along the flowering path which crosses the plain
you walked;
and the full moon
in the infinite and profound blue heavens scattered its white light;
and your shadow,
fine and languid,
and my shadow
projected by the rays of the moon,
upon the sorrowful sands
of the path, joined together;
and they became one,
and they became one,
and they became only one long shadow,
and they became only one long shadow,
and they became only one long shadow....

Tonight
alone; my soul
full of the infinite bitternesses and agonies of your death,
separated from you by time, by the tomb and by distance,
by the infinite blackness
where our voice cannot reach,
silent and alone
along the path I walked ...
And the barking of dogs at the moon could be heard,
at the pale moon,
and the chirping
of the frogs ...
I felt cold. It was the coldness that in your alcove
your cheeks and your temples and your adoréd hands possessed
within the snowy whiteness
of the mortuary sheets.
It was the coldness of the sepulcher, it was the ice of death,
it was the coldness of oblivion.
And my shadow,
projected by the rays of the moon,
walked alone,
walked alone,
walked alone along the solitary plain;
and your shadow, svelte and agile,
fine and languid,
as in that warm night of springtime death,
as in that night full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings,
approached and walked with mine,
approached and walked with mine,
approached and walked with mine ... Oh, the shadows intertwined!
Oh, the corporeal shadows united with the shadows of the souls!
Oh, the seeking shadows in those nights of sorrows and of tears!

poem by Jose Asuncion Silva
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I Hope You Dream Of Me

As your day passes by,
Without a single thought of me.
Not a memory of the heart,
You would rather let it be.

Of all the things that come to mind,
I am an absentee.
But when the night falls on you,
I hope you dream of me.

I hope you see me with you,
I hope emotions flow.
I hope you wake up crying,
Because you miss me so.

So as the days go on by,
And it's me you do not see.
When night comes and you sleep,
I hope you dream of me.

poem by Adam McKim
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This Life.

This life that glides away
As in a night and day —
This that is shade and shine from Night brought forth
To Night returning on a cloudy wing,
As if it took with it out of the earth
Everything!
A specimen of Time — a fact
Which hope and fear have verified,
Whate'er the after aeons may enact,
Whate'er has been or will be thought of here;
Something that must still in itself abide
As if in its own sphere.
Oh! who can sing it — the immaterial I,
One with the earth, one with the sky?
It is so brief, so everlasting too,
So all apart from Him and You —
This that within itself contains
The first and last of all we hear and see,
Time centred in Eternity
With all its joys and pains,
Its hopes and fears through all the years
That still like an ethereal dew
Fall on the senses, which therethrough
Still gloom and gleam — This that is as apart
As the Universal Heart,
That re-absorbs itself, as if it were,
Beyond all praise and prayer
Within its own immensity —
This patent, yet impalpable ME
Like a divine thing in a mystic mart
Trading on its own authenticity ...
It cannot sing itself, self-dumb
'Mid the world's hum,
Though vocal in all else, as thought
Embodied in itself all things,
Yet left the Thinker by himself apart
As in a region whose
Shadows and lights confuse
The semblances of his identity
With mystic movements, eerie vanishings;
Until his being seems to be
A very dream, imbued
With some primeval mood
In which weird pictures of the soul appear,
Grotesque and crude
As the first rude
Conceits of the untutored eye and ear
In prehistoric breathings fraught
With all the little there was then
Divine in thought.
It cannot sing itself, and yet
Pourtraying the world's heart
It has, as if it were, command
Of an interior land
Untraced on any mortal chart,
Beneath a sky whose sun has never set
Since first Thought's eastern curtains drawn
Let in the dawn
Of the illusive light by which we know
That we are here, and go
To a most certain end not far away!

poem by Robert Crawford
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Earth Rune.

I heard the Earth within me sing
As if it were a trancéd thing,
Or as if under thought's control
All things were chaunting in my soul.
I was the centre of the sphere,
And made the imaginary year,
Whose seasons four were each a mood
Like God's within His solitude.
The unborn may dream of our life
As we still dream of death, until
Its shadow falls upon our strife,
As the birth-light on the unborn will
When they emerge as from a tomb
Within the antenatal gloom.
Ah! they may guess at what we know,
May picture what their lives will be
When they into time's essence flow
And take on thought's reality,
As we may deem of death, who pass
Like shadows o'er the shining grass.

poem by Robert Crawford
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Life

What know we of the dead, who say these things,
Or of the life in death below the mould--
What of the mystic laws that rule the old
Grey realms beyond our poor imaginings
Where death is life? The bird with spray-wet wings
Knows more of what the deeps beneath him hold.
Let be! Warm hearts shall never wax a-cold,
But burn in roses through eternal springs;
For all the vanished fruit and flower of Time
Are flower and fruit in worlds we cannot see,
And all we see is as a shadow-mime
Of things unseen, and Time that comes to flee
Is but the broken echo of a rhyme
In God's great epic of Eternity.

poem by Victor James Daley
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The Portrait

This is her picture as she was:
It seems a thing to wonder on,
As though mine image in the glass
Should tarry when myself am gone.
I gaze until she seems to stir,--
Until mine eyes almost aver
That now, even now, the sweet lips part
To breathe the words of the sweet heart:--
And yet the earth is over her.

Alas! even such the thin-drawn ray
That makes the prison-depths more rude,--
The drip of water night and day
Giving a tongue to solitude.
Yet only this, of love's whole prize,
Remains; save what in mournful guise
Takes counsel with my soul alone,--
Save what is secret and unknown,
Below the earth, above the skies.

In painting her I shrin'd her face
Mid mystic trees, where light falls in
Hardly at all; a covert place
Where you might think to find a din
Of doubtful talk, and a live flame
Wandering, and many a shape whose name
Not itself knoweth, and old dew,
And your own footsteps meeting you,
And all things going as they came.

A deep dim wood; and there she stands
As in that wood that day: for so
Was the still movement of her hands
And such the pure line's gracious flow.
And passing fair the type must seem,
Unknown the presence and the dream.
'Tis she: though of herself, alas!
Less than her shadow on the grass
Or than her image in the stream.

That day we met there, I and she
One with the other all alone;
And we were blithe; yet memory
Saddens those hours, as when the moon
Looks upon daylight. And with her
I stoop'd to drink the spring-water,
Athirst where other waters sprang;
And where the echo is, she sang,--
My soul another echo there.

But when that hour my soul won strength
For words whose silence wastes and kills,
Dull raindrops smote us, and at length
Thunder'd the heat within the hills.
That eve I spoke those words again
Beside the pelted window-pane;
And there she hearken'd what I said,
With under-glances that survey'd
The empty pastures blind with rain.

Next day the memories of these things,
Like leaves through which a bird has flown,
Still vibrated with Love's warm wings;
Till I must make them all my own
And paint this picture. So, 'twixt ease
Of talk and sweet long silences,
She stood among the plants in bloom
At windows of a summer room,
To feign the shadow of the trees.

And as I wrought, while all above
And all around was fragrant air,
In the sick burthen of my love
It seem'd each sun-thrill'd blossom there
Beat like a heart among the leaves.
O heart that never beats nor heaves,
In that one darkness lying still,
What now to thee my love's great will
Or the fine web the sunshine weaves?

For now doth daylight disavow
Those days,--nought left to see or hear.
Only in solemn whispers now
At night-time these things reach mine ear;
When the leaf-shadows at a breath
Shrink in the road, and all the heath,
Forest and water, far and wide,
In limpid starlight glorified,
Lie like the mystery of death.

Last night at last I could have slept,
And yet delay'd my sleep till dawn,
Still wandering. Then it was I wept:
For unawares I came upon
Those glades where once she walk'd with me:
And as I stood there suddenly,
All wan with traversing the night,
Upon the desolate verge of light
Yearn'd loud the iron-bosom'd sea.

Even so, where Heaven holds breath and hears
The beating heart of Love's own breast,--
Where round the secret of all spheres
All angels lay their wings to rest,--
How shall my soul stand rapt and aw'd,
When, by the new birth borne abroad
Throughout the music of the suns,
It enters in her soul at once
And knows the silence there for God!

Here with her face doth memory sit
Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline,
Till other eyes shall look from it,
Eyes of the spirit's Palestine,
Even than the old gaze tenderer:
While hopes and aims long lost with her
Stand round her image side by side,
Like tombs of pilgrims that have died
About the Holy Sepulchre.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Chorus of the Dead

And all returns to Thee, alone eternal,
And all Thee returning.
Oh Death, in Thy vast shadow,
Simple and bare we languish,
Not happy, but from the anguish
Of life at last set free. The night profoundly
Falls on the shaken spirit,
And dark in dark confuses;
The withered soul sourage and hope refuses;
Spent and uncaring,
Free now from sorrow and from fear for ever,
We lie here undespairing
Through void eternity.
We lived... And as a phantom from a dream of terror
Wanders into the day,
And draws across the speechless souls of children
A memory and a fear,
We, as we linger here,
Are haunted still by life: but fears of children
Haunt us not now. What were we?
What was that bitter point in time
That bore the name of life?
Mysterious, stupendous,
Lost in our thought that hidden country lies:
As in our day of life there lay
The secret land of death. And as from dying
Our living souls drew back, so now they draw
Back from the flame of life,
Simple and bare to languish,
Not happy, but not in anguish;
For happiness we know
Fate upon life or death will not bestow.

poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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Evening Shadows

When evening shadows fall
Minutes seem so long
When evening shadows fall
I'm waiting for the dawn
I miss you every night
Just about this time
You're always on my mind
When evening shadows fall
When evening shadows fall
End up staring at the wall
Even when you're gone
The feeling's all so strong
Want you to come on back
Back where you belong
So I can sing my song
When evening shadows fall
Well I'm living in a dream
And it s getting so late
And you call my name
And I'm wide awake
It might as well be night
Hope that you're alright
Well I just can't wait
To get you in my sight
I'm here every day
Just about this time
From dusk till dawn
When evening shadows fall
Well I'm living in a dream
And it's getting so late
And you call my name
Then I'm wide awake
It might as well be night
Hope that you're alright
Well I just can't wait
To get you in my sight
You ask me if I miss you
I say not at all
Only every night
'Bout this time
When evening shadows fall
Every night about this time
When evening shadows fail
You're always on my mind
When evening shadows fall

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moving Through The Dew

I
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Ere I waken in the city—Life, thy dawn makes all things new!
And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men,
Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again!

Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
O mountains of my boyhood, I come again to you,
By the little path I know, with the sea far below,
And above, the great cloud-galleons with their sails of rose and snow

As of old, when all was young, and the earth a song unsung
And the heather through the crimson dawn its Eden incense flung
From the mountain-heights of joy, for a careless-hearted boy,
And the lavrocks rose like fountain sprays of bliss that ne’er could cloy,

From their little beds of bloom, from the golden gorse and broom,
With a song to God the Giver, o’er that waste of wild perfume;
Blowing from height to height, in a glory of great light,
While the cottage-clustered valleys held the lilac last of night,

So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I rise,
And I follow my lost boyhood to the heights of Paradise.
Life, thy dawn makes all things new! Hills of Youth, I come to you,
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.

II

Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Floats a brother’s face to meet me! Is it you? Is it you?
For the night I leave behind keeps these dazzled eyes still blind!
But oh, the little hill-flowers, their scent is wise and kind;

And I shall not lose the way from the darkness to the day,
While dust can cling as their scent clings to memory for aye;
And the least link in the chain can recall the whole again,
And heaven at last resume its far-flung harvests, grain by grain.

To the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho’ eyeless Death may thrust
All else into the darkness, in their heaven I put my trust;
And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme
Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme.

And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow,
Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below.
Death, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Youth, I come to you,
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.

poem by Alfred Noyes
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Awoken from a winters heart

Awoken from a winters heart
~
The perpetual hours of night
Which haunted the lonesome soul
Cast shadows upon the world
The isolate dream within
Decayed hope and faith with ease
The black dogs howled
While the spirit sank to nothingness
Fear, a fear of loneliness
Silence, the fear which speaks
The season of the solitary heart
The winter of a broken man
Came to an end
Awaking to a spring named love
New hope grew and spread
A warmth settled into new dreams
A future still uncertain
But no longer filled with dread
Light, a light now filled the eye
Ode to the beauty which became
The emotion thawed
Awoken from a winters heart

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Ulla, Or The Adjuration

'Thou'rt gone!–thou'rt slumb'ring low,
With the sounding seas above thee;
It is but a restless wo,
But a haunting dream to love thee!
Thrice the glad swan has sung,
To greet the spring-time hours,
Since thine oar at parting flung
The white spray up in showers.

There's a shadow of the grave on thy hearth and round thy home;
Come to me from the ocean's dead!–thou'rt surely of them–come!'

'Twas Ulla's voice–alone she stood
In the Iceland summer night,
Far gazing o'er a glassy flood,
From a dark rock's beetling height.

'I know thou hast thy bed
Where the sea-weed's coil hath bound thee;
The storm sweeps o'er thy head,
But the depths are hush'd around thee.
What wind shall point the way
To the chambers where thou'rt lying?
Come to me thence, and say
If thou thought'st on me in dying?

I will not shrink to see thee with a bloodless lip and cheek–
Come to me from the ocean's dead!–thou'rt surely of them–speak!'

She listen'd–'twas the wind's low moan,
'Twas the ripple of the wave,
'Twas the wakening osprey's cry alone,
As it started from its cave.

'I know each fearful spell
Of the ancient Runic lay,
Whose mutter'd words compel
The tempest to obey.
But I adjure not thee
By magic sign or song,
My voice shall stir the sea
By love,–the deep, the strong!

By the might of woman's tears, by the passion of her sighs,
Come to me from the ocean's dead!–by the vows we pledg'd–arise!'

Again she gazed with an eager glance,
Wandering and wildly bright;–
She saw but the sparkling waters dance
To the arrowy northern light.

'By the slow and struggling death
Of hope that loath'd to part,
By the fierce and withering breath
Of despair on youth's high heart;
By the weight of gloom which clings
To the mantle of the night,
By the heavy dawn which brings
Nought lovely to the sight,

By all that from my weary soul thou hast wrung of grief and fear,
Come to me from the ocean's dead–awake, arise, appear!'

Was it her yearning spirit's dream,
Or did a pale form rise,
And o'er the hush'd wave glide and gleam,
With bright, still, mournful eyes?

'Have the depths heard?–they have!
My voice prevails–thou'rt there,
Dim from thy watery grave,
Oh! thou that wert so fair!
Yet take me to thy rest!
There dwells no fear with love;
Let me slumber on thy breast,
While the billow rolls above!

Where the long-lost things lie hid, where the bright ones have their home,
We will sleep among the ocean's dead–stay for me, stay!–I come!'

There was a sullen plunge below,
A flashing on the main,
And the wave shut o'er that wild heart's wo,
Shut,–and grew still again.

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Falling Through Time

I can't answer the questions you ask me,
I don't know what to say.
The answers are somewhere lost in the stars
when the night has turned to day.
But I know if the silence of night could be here,
It would drift through my soul and calm all my fear
And I could reach out and draw you so near to me
Touch me and warm me and I will lie still.
And all that you ask me to give you I will
One living moment we'll have for our own.
A brief flash of time that we spent unalone.
But you ask me for nothing and give what you can
And we're wrapped in a pillow of sleep once again
And my memory drifts through the universe when we are one
Closely we're falling through time
And the earth will turn in the silence of space,
always in motion yet always in place
And all things will change yet remain what they are.
And far will be near and near will be far
And the ages will darken and blend into time
And all that is poetry will no longer rhyme
But our moment together is forever sublime
For the time has arrived when we must understand
That we're lost in a void on this sad speck of sand
And nobody knows where we are, no one cares
And the tears that we shed in the dark no one cares
And the madmen who plunder this world for their fame
Have forgotten that no one remembers their name
But time and the universe are always the same
Closely we're falling through time

song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shadow Of The West

Written by lindsey buckingham.
Dancing ever changing desert sand
I was burned by the touch of her hand
The setting of the sun scares me to death
Im a shadow
Shadow
Shadow of the west
Once upon a time I was strong and proud
Everything that the law would allow
But more and more
I feel less and less
Im a shadow
Shadow
Shadow of the west
Memories like shadows scorched in the sand
Im alone, a lonely man
The setting of the sun scares me to death
Im a shadow
Shadow
Shadow of the west

song performed by by Lindsey Buckingham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unable To Sleep

didn't sleep well last night
I didn't dream last night
Losing all the battles
Losing all my fight

I didn't sleep well last night
Barely closed my eyes
tossed and turned and paced
until sunrise

I didn't dream last night
Any time I tried
I cried inside
and wanted to run and hide

I didn't sleep well last night
My world seems confused
Like a dead-end in a maze
like an ocean without a sky

All my friends are far away
the hands I hold are imagined
my life in shades of blue and grey
A life derailed and gone astray

I didn't dream last night
All my dreams feel broken
Hardly uttered or spoken
my tears have run dry

I didn't sleep at all last night
caught up in dispair
for all the things not right
not all black and white

I didn't dream last night
my heart is ablaze
with sadness and fright
No way to make things right

I didn't sleep at all last night
My ship must have sailed away
All I can do is pray
but I've forgotten why

2008 © James T. Adair

poem by James T. Adair
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The Hamadryad.

Last night I was like one who prayed
Beneath a mystic tree
Whose windless leaves a murmur made,
As if it there might be
A spirit in the sap that laid
Its spell on them and me.
A creature who, invisible,
In sorrow and in mirth,
Through summer's heat or when the chill
Is on the dreaming Earth,
Sings as in sleep divinely still
The secret of its birth.
(And as it sings, possessed, apart
From all things far and near,
The music of its own strange heart
Is all it seems to hear,
As if its ardour made an art
Of its own atmosphere.
Still none who come there hear the song
Until their souls are bowed
Beneath the mystic boughs, among
Whose living leaves a crowd
Of spirit voices, weak and strong,
Sing all that God allowed).
Oh! wondrous was that faery strain,
Too holy to be heard
But by the soul with no profane
Imagination stirr'd —
Like a seer when his heart and brain
Are in the coming word,
And he bows low before the breath
Of that which, as a flame,
All that he is illumineth
And calls him as by name,
When one to him are Life and Death,
One honour and one shame.
Ah! so possessed I heard them sing,
The many voices who
Were the sense of a secret thing
That with the tree-life grew,
As it did from the same seed spring
And a dream-breath from it drew —
The mystic life which God had shut
Within the dark seed's core,
Diverse from all that He had put
In others evermore —
No hint of death behind it, but
Of life that is before!
The tree-life in more lives than this —
Of that it sings for aye —
And as I listened the world's hiss
In silence died away,
And the perfect life for all that is
Like a dream on me lay.

poem by Robert Crawford
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The Skeleton Butterfly

A skeleton butterfly, Kisses my cheek,
A kiss so beautiful...so gentle....so sweet,
It floats around the air, where death has been,
Always following me, for death has always been to close to touch,
Its beautiful bones, and wings of Crimson embers, Is left as a reminder that death Lives within us all,
he'll pay you a visit the cost is small,
This beautiful creature of death, left to ponder the living,
Lost in the sarrows of humans Frightened be fear,
It clings to me for life has more meaning when Death visits and leaves,
Lost in the devils eternity,
A butterfly stays with those touched by death, forever there friend,
when the world has left.

poem by Crimson Love
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Flying without wings

i could surf the sky without my wings,
yes i can reach the sky with your blue eyes
moon, if only you believe in me

i don't even needs a wings to dive, when
i know that your are there, ready to catch
me when everything is on high

i know i can tell you that beyond that dark
clouds, you still awaits me in the shadow
of that sky

i can now ask, the reason why when iam
almost there i heard an alluring voice of
sound asking me to lay my wings

i know where my heart tremble, shaking
shouting for joy, for where ever i close my
eyes my ears listen to your voice of love

tell me then if my soul echo in a distance
land who reveals the melody of my heart,
and the spirit of your wings lingers on beneath
the horizon of my heaven

come my wings, fly and bring me to the
place where no wind could blew my dream
for only in you i will hold on to the sky of
dreams

poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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