En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A December Day

Blue, blue is the sea to-day,
Warmly the light
Sleeps on St. Andrews Bay --
Blue, fringed with white.

That's no December sky!
Surely 'tis June
Holds now her state on high,
Queen of the noon.

Only the tree-tops bare
Crowning the hill,
Clear-cut in perfect air,
Warn us that still

Winter, the aged chief,
Mighty in power,
Exiles the tender leaf,
Exiles the flower.

Is there a heart to-day,
A heart that grieves
For flowers that fade away,
For fallen leaves?

Oh, not in leaves or flowers
Endures the charm
That clothes those naked towers
With love-light warm.

O dear St. Andrews Bay,
Winter or Spring
Gives not nor takes away
Memories that cling

All round thy girdling reefs,
That walk thy shore,
Memories of joys and griefs
Ours evermore.

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Memories

Orbison/dees
In a cold december, memories can melt your heart away
In a warm september, you can still remember yesterday
Even in the darkest night when dreams fade away
When your love is gone, youll never be alone in memories
Memories, while walking through a winter snow, memories, when summer breezes start to blow
When true love is far away it may be yours in memories
Memories, while falling leaves just fill the air, memories, when springtime comes and loves not there
Even when you cry, try not to say goodbye to memories
Golden memories can turn the night into day, teach your heart to smile
And live each day a while in memories

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Remember the Snows in the Summer's Light

I remember the snows in the summer's light
Thinking of winter in summer;
When I see the blue, I see white;

I see the fume over roofs so bright,
Feel the warm air caressed by azure,
I remember the snows in the summer's light.

Summers are lazy in my inner sight,
Winters, lazy on the outside, are sure to secure
The blue when I sense the cold of white.

Winter takes me on a summer's flight
To visit the summer and endure
Snows and remember the light.

Perhaps I like spring and fall best,
But winter is spring in summer to allure
Me to feel the fall and see blue in white.

I keep remembering, seeing the bright;
Everything is just a thought you conjure;
I always remember the snows hiding in the light;
When I see the blue, I also see the white.

poem by Dejan Stojanovic
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Come Back to St Andrews

Come back to St. Andrews! Before you went away
You said you would be wretched where you could not see the Bay,
The East sands and the West sands and the castle in the sea
Come back to St. Andrews--St. Andrews and me.

Oh, it's dreary along South Street when the rain is coming down,
And the east wind makes the student draw more close his warm red gown,
As I often saw you do, when I watched you going by
On the stormy days to College, from my window up on high.

I wander on the Lade Braes, where I used to walk with you,
And purple are the woods of Mount Melville, budding new,
But I cannot bear to look, for the tears keep coming so,
And the Spring has lost the freshness which it had a year ago.

Yet often I could fancy, where the pathway takes a turn,
I shall see you in a moment, coming round beside the burn,
Coming round beside the burn, with your swinging step and free,
And your face lit up with pleasure at the sudden sight of me.

Beyond the Rock and Spindle, where we watched the water clear
In the happy April sunshine, with a happy sound to hear,
There I sat this afternoon, but no hand was holding mine,
And the water sounded eerie, though the April sun did shine.

Oh, why should I complain of what I know was bound to be?
For you had your way to make, and you must not think of me.
But a woman's heart is weak, and a woman's joys are few -
There are times when I could die for a moment's sight of you.

It may be you will come again, before my hair is grey
As the sea is in the twilight of a weary winter's day.
When success is grown a burden, and your heart would fain be free,
Come back to St. Andrews--St. Andrews and me.

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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The Rose Tree Of Winter

In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.

poem by Francis Duggan
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When time glides by and days past into night

When time glides by and days past into night
and violet, white even blue flowers are withering
with every morning’s light
as if everything is dying

trees are barren stripped of their leaves,
still perfect you are in every way
while wheat are bound in golden sheaves
while winter brings its own decay

it is as if you are still blossoming
with love serene, true and amazing
as if caught in an eternal spring
as if the heat from your heart is blazing:

on the other side of death, of heaven or doom
your flower will still bloom.

[Reference: Sonnet 16 “But wherefor do not you a mightier way” by William Shakespeare.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Blue Me

Blue me, blue me
Blue is the color
That fits best on me
Im blue
Just as blue as can be
Blue me, blue me
I cry
And I die
I lie awake at night
And I question why
Must it be
I can never be free
Blue me, blue me
My heart is heavy
But its empty inside
No one to love me
Or to lay down beside
Im blue
The queen of sorrow
Wears royal blue
My luck aint changin
Is it ever goin to
Im blue, oh Im blue
Why must I wear this robe of blue misery
Blue me, blue me
Ooh
This sad old feeling
Is breakin me down
No satisfaction with these blues hangin round
Lord, Im blue
Oh, Im so blue
Why cant I shake it tell me where will this end
When will I get out of this blue rut Im in
Oh, Im blue
Looks like the blues just took a liking to me
Blue me, blue me
Blue me, blue me
Blue is the color that fits best on me
Ooooh, Im blue
Im just as blue as can be
Blue me,
Blue me

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Blue Rose!

Genetically modified flower blue rose is unique!
Rose colour gives hope of future by its very look;
Red rose is unique among flowers as it is queen
In the flower world nobody can deny having it!

Yellow rose shines bright in the long green garden
Full of many trees and other flower plants broad!
Pink rose flowers are many everywhere as border
Mainly in the botanical garden of hill stations here!

Blue rose, a new addition in the flower kingdom
Among lavender, blue bells and rare kurinjis of
Light blue, violet and ink blue colours everywhere
Stands majestic and having healing touch to all!

Rose is rose by whatever name it is called and also
Rose is rose by whatever colour it is produced ever!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Blue Light

Oh well, here we are again
Lookin 4 something 2 get us in the mood
I tell each and every one of my friends
That the love we make is really pretty rude
But they dont believe me cuz its written all over my face
Like evian and the deep blue sea
U and me got different taste
U like it in the dark but I like a
Blue light
Can u turn on a blue light
Then cuddle up 2 me so tight
Just u and me all night
Alright, blue light
Can u turn on a blue light
Then everything will be alright
Oh, blue light
U say u wish I was shy
I always take a simple thing and push it way 2 far
But baby, thats the problem with u and i
U say not in public but I say in the car
Say, we need to get wild again like it was when we first met
Close your eyes and count 2 ten and when u open em -
Ill be standing naked with nothing but a smile on
Blue light
Can u turn on a blue light
Then cuddle up 2 me so tight
Just u and me all night
Alright, blue light
Can u turn on a blue light
Then everything will be alright
Oh, blue light
Ill be 117
Ull be still sayin baby not 2 nite
Its easy 2 see us on the cover of a magazine
double heart attack, couple both die in a fight
Oh baby! I dont wanna cross that road cuz I love u 2 much
Id do anything just 2 heat up your cold touch
Anything I would do, but up until u tell me 2
Blue light
Can u turn on a blue light
Then cuddle up 2 me so tight
Just u and me all night
Alright, blue light
Can u turn on a blue light
Then everything will be alright
Oh, blue light
Blue light
Can u turn on a blue light (cuddle up 2 me)
So tight
Cuddle up next 2 me baby
U and me all night, alright blue light
Light (u turn on a) blue light
And every thing will be alright
Oooh blue light
Blue light
Blue light
Blue light
Blue light
Blue light

song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seasons

I

As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.

The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.

Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings

until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.

II

Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid

until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food

and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble

until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.

III

Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing

but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe

and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open

when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Winter's Spring

The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.

I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.

I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.

I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.

It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.

poem by John Clare
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Life's Winter

Idle, semiconscious winter fog
Settles heavy on deforested nude,
Grey and dull, everywhere, dull lull;
Spine-chilling cold, blinding grey fog,
Nowhere light streaks to warm-up heart.

Flowers and fruits of yester seasons
Only breed pains ‘neath smashing dead-weight
And drags life unto cold slow death;
Eyes go red in search of shadows
That grow tall in dusk’s twilight
To squeeze blood in bone-chilling pain.

Days are short, nights are along,
No greens, bare top everywhere;
Winds bite, old memories sting,
Eyes well up like dense white clouds
In distant brood of blue sky.

No colours, only shades of grey;
Thin dull shrieks of deep pain
Leak in slow moves form gulfs
Of grim wilderness of loneliness;
Cold void all round till eyes stretch,
No ripples of joy or warmth anywhere.

What a contrast in winter and spring!
How the spring deepens the chill of winter!
That fulsome spring; this bald winter;
Where has gone those fragrance and musics?
Those warmth, colours and sensuous tastes?

poem by Praveen Kumar
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The Winter's Come

Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn;
The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun;
That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn,
What a strange scene before us now does run--
Red, brown, and yellow, russet, black, and dun;
White thorn, wild cherry, and the poplar bare;
The sycamore all withered in the sun.
No leaves are now upon the birch tree there:
All now is stript to the cold wintry air.

See, not one tree but what has lost its leaves--
And yet the landscape wears a pleasing hue.
The winter chill on his cold bed receives
Foliage which once hung oer the waters blue.
Naked and bare the leafless trees repose.
Blue-headed titmouse now seeks maggots rare,
Sluggish and dull the leaf-strewn river flows;
That is not green, which was so through the year
Dark chill November draweth to a close.

Tis Winter, and I love to read indoors,
When the Moon hangs her crescent up on high;
While on the window shutters the wind roars,
And storms like furies pass remorseless by.
How pleasant on a feather bed to lie,
Or, sitting by the fire, in fancy soar
With Dante or with Milton to regions high,
Or read fresh volumes we've not seen before,
Or oer old Burton's Melancholy pore.

poem by John Clare
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I Told You

I told you the winter would go, love,
I told you the winter would go,
That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.
You said the blustering fellow
Would never yield to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death
The flowers, the birds, and trees.

And I told you the snow would melt, love,
In the passionate glance o' the sun;
And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees,
Would come back again, one by one.
That the great, gray clouds would vanish,
And the sky turn tender and blue;
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring
And, love, it has all come true.

I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again;
That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.

I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and full of warm light
That 'twould waken at length, in its smile.
Ah, love! was I not a true prophet?
There's a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown - the snow-drift is gone,
And the buttercups bloom in its place.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Hendecasyllabics

In the month of the long decline of roses
I, beholding the summer dead before me,
Set my face to the sea and journeyed silent,
Gazing eagerly where above the sea-mark
Flame as fierce as the fervid eyes of lions
Half divided the eyelids of the sunset;
Till I heard as it were a noise of waters
Moving tremulous under feet of angels
Multitudinous, out of all the heavens;
Knew the fluttering wind, the fluttered foliage,
Shaken fitfully, full of sound and shadow;
And saw, trodden upon by noiseless angels,
Long mysterious reaches fed with moonlight,
Sweet sad straits in a soft subsiding channel,
Blown about by the lips of winds I knew not,
Winds not born in the north nor any quarter,
Winds not warm with the south nor any sunshine;
Heard between them a voice of exultation,
'Lo, the summer is dead, the sun is faded,
Even like as a leaf the year is withered,
All the fruits of the day from all her branches
Gathered, neither is any left to gather.
All the flowers are dead, the tender blossoms,
All are taken away; the season wasted,
Like an ember among the fallen ashes.
Now with light of the winter days, with moonlight,
Light of snow, and the bitter light of hoarfrost,
We bring flowers that fade not after autumn,
Pale white chaplets and crowns of latter seasons,
Fair false leaves (but the summer leaves were falser),
Woven under the eyes of stars and planets
When low light was upon the windy reaches
Where the flower of foam was blown, a lily
Dropt among the sonorous fruitless furrows
And green fields of the sea that make no pasture:
Since the winter begins, the weeping winter,
All whose flowers are tears, and round his temples
Iron blossom of frost is bound for ever.'

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Jacky Frost

When Summers blue sky fades to grey
And swiftly ends the shortening day,
When coldness takes the flowers away
Ill dance the dance of winter!
Over hedges see me trip
To frost the leaf and haw and hip,
To petrify each sparkling drip
And dance the dance of winter.
Ill fade the roses red to white,
Redress the landscape in one night!
Make the cobwebs crisp and white
And herald in the winter.
I’ll tiptoe over lawns and trees
The water pipe I soon shall freeze,
Ill bring transport to its knees!
And turn all things to winter
In leafy Hollows, see me hide,
I herald in the Christmas tide
Where man keeps snug by fires inside
While outside, I am winter.

poem by Lucy Burrow
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Memories [Amintiri]

In people's mind, however blurred,
Remain the times when they were glad...
So in my soul are always stirred
The memories of what I had;

Here I can see a house so white...
Sweet girls, round dances, butterflies,
Leaves on the trees, flowers and light,
A pure white dove that quickly flies!

I see myself on other shores
A wanderer on foreign plains,
And by blue lakes my heart adores,
With hard black rocks and old remains!

And here I see a lad absorbed,
With a nice woman on his arm...
Their hearts are beating in accord
Discovering the Heaven's charm!

The woods envelop in their shade
A beautiful and precious love
While sun is setting in the glade
Watched by the golden sky above!

O, God, but tell me why, I pray,
When you shed happiness down here
So soon you take it all away
And leave us just a souvenir?

poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Everything is going to be wet

Every day rain falls down
from the overcast grey sky
and lightning bolts
flash blue white
like the fingers
of the gods
caressing the earth
while the leaves of autumn
cover every tree
in auburn, yellow and brown.

Green leaves on the stems
of big pink hollyhocks
here and there
dip up and down
when hit by drops of rain
as if suddenly coming alive

and it’s going to be
a wet winter
and probably
not all that chilly
with rain falling
out of season.

The grass is green
and everything but trees
are growing
as if it’s still spring.

and flowers bloom
on geraniums, roses, hollyhocks,
lilies, irises and petunias
in colours ranging
from white, orange, yellow,
violet to red and blue
and without covering
everything is going
to be wet.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Promise Of Spring

JUST a whisper, half-heard,
But our heart knows the word;
Caresses that seem
Like love's lips in a dream;
Yet we know she is here,
The desirèd, the dear,
The love of the year!
In the murmur of boughs,
In the softening of skies,
In the sun on the house,
In the daffodil's green
(Half an inch, half-unseen
Mid the mournful brown mould
Where the rotten leaf lies)
Her story is told.

O Spring, darling Spring,
O sweet days of blue weather
The thrushes shall sing,
Fields shall grow green again,
Daisies be seen again,
Hedges grow white;
Then down the lane,
Grown leafy again,
Shall go lovers together--
Lovers who see again
Sunshine and showers,
Perfume and flowers,
Dewy dear hours,
Dream and delight.

Warm shall nests be again,
Winter's behind us;
Springtime shall find us,
Taking our hands,
Lead us away from the cold and the snow,
Into the green world where primroses grow.
Winter, hard winter, forgotten, forgiven;
All the old pain paid, to seventy times seven,
All the new glory a-glow.
Love, when Spring calls, will you still turn away?
Winter has wooed you in vain, and shall May?
Love, when Spring calls, will you go?

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Winter Love Song

My heart is now in dark
As the day dimly goes
In the wintry cold and spark
As the winter now grows
Summer feeling deep in heart
Only memories now on
Kisses and touches apart
To yesterdays now gone

Summer feeling we had everywhere
Burned in yellow brown leaves
Red and gold is still thou here
In those moments of old grieves
Every hour is in a silence deep
Through the streets we walk alone
Nothing but old memories to keep
With this dark and wintry tone

I miss my roses red
All the sunshine flowers
My garden's an empty bed
In these lonely hours
Summer feeling deep in heart
Only memories now on
Kisses and touches apart
To yesterdays now gone

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Chorus

from Atalanta in Calydon

When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,
The mother of months in meadow or plain
Fills the shadows and windy places
With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;
And the brown bright nigthingale amorous
Is half assuaged for Itylus,
For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces,
The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.

Come with bows bent and emptying of quivers,
Maiden most perfect, lady of light,
With a noise of winds and many rivers,
With a clamour of waters, and with might;
Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet,
Over the splendour and speed of thy feet;
For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers,
Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night.

Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her,
Fold our hands round her knees, and cling?
O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her,
Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring!
For the stars and the winds are unto her
As raiment, as songs of the harp-player;
For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her,
And the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing.

For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

The full streams feed on flower of rushes,
Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot,
The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes
From leaf to flower and flower to fruit;
And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire,
And the oat is heard above the lyre,
And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes
The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root.

And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night,
Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid,
Follows with dancing and fills with delight
The Maenad and the Bassarid;
And soft as lips that laugh and hide
The laughing leaves of the trees divide,
And screen from seeing and leave in sight
The god pursuing, the maiden hid.

The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair
Over her eyebrows hiding her eyes;
The wild vine slipping down leaves bare
Her bright breast shortening with sighs;
The wild vine slips with the weight of its leaves,
But the berried ivy catches and cleaves
To the limbs that glitter, the feet that scare
The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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