Hope Deferred
When the weary night is fled,
And the morning sky is red,
Then my heart doth rise and say,
`Surely she will come to-day.'
In the golden blaze of noon,
`Surely she is coming soon.'
In the twilight, `Will she come?'
Then my heart with fear is dumb.
When the night wind in the trees
Plays its mournful melodies,
Then I know my trust is vain,
And she will not come again.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Night, Dim Night
Night, dim night, and it rains, my love, it rains,
(Art thou dreaming of me, I wonder)
The trees are sad, and the wind complains,
Outside the rolling of the thunder,
And the beat against the panes.
Heart, my heart, thou art mournful in the rain,
(Are thy redolent lips a-quiver?)
My soul seeks thine, doth it seek in vain?
My love goes surging like a river,
Shall its tide bear naught save pain?
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Patience
If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it.
I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil
and its head bent low with patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish,
and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests,
and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fear Not
Fear not, Oh weary heart
Though the road gets tough
And the ride seems hell
Fear not, for it will surely end
Fear not, Oh weary heart
Let nothing you disturb
Let not the voice of darkness
Sings inside your mind
poem by Rose de Ramar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Is the Wind For?
What is the wind for?
If it's not for songs in trees;
What is the wind for?
I feel a song inside of me.
Every day the wind blows,
I think of thoughts from my heart.
Wind melodies come and they go,
Without me knowing where they start.
What is the wind for?
If not for songs like these.
What is the wind for?
If not for songs in trees.
I have been going through life,
Both with comfort and pain.
I have been going through life,
Both with effect and in vain.
But still I hear wind songs,
As they steadily grow;
With melodies chanting,
That no one really knows.
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Seasons
you know the seasons
how the horizon changes its background
light, fading, darkness coming, dusk and twilight
and morning and noon and night
we have embraced all these
how many times together?
the rain and the drought
the swollen river and the emaciated
trees and the falling of the leaves and the budding
and blooming and the seeding
over and over again
we are carried with the seasons
and we too carry all these changes in our hearts
not for just any reason
but that we must learn to love and be patient and be alive
do not tell me about death
for surely it will come by itself and we can do nothing about it
tell me about what you do
to make another one happy
no! do not tell me about how you make yourself happy
that is not our essence
we are meant for something else
we have a purpose
we did not come here by random
by sheer luck or the popping out of circumstances and chances
tell me for once
no! do not tell me why you are sad and lonely
i have all the reasons and i have known them all by heart and soul
tell me for once
why you failed to live up to the true nature of yourself
the ought
the categorical imperative
the seeking heart the loving and the tenderness of the caress
tell me why you have given up life and refuse to listen
to the palpitations of the heart
tell me no more about
the selfish longings of your mouth and tongue
the journey of your fingers
the watery nature of your hairs
tell me about a flame a flicker a ray of light
tell me about hope and desire to more
to be beyond the grasp of your hands
to be beyond the steps of your feet
tell me about the secret tunnel of your mind
and the light at the end
an exit a door opening a window with the wind
and then i shall also tell you about myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Obedience
Trust him in the common light;
Trust him in the awesome night;
Trust him when the earth doth quake:
Trust him when thy heart doth ache;
Trust him when thy brain doth reel
And thy friend turns on his heel;
Trust him when the way is rough,
Cry not yet,
It is enough
!
But obey with true endeavour,
Else the salt hath lost his savour.
poem by George MacDonald
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Raison D'Etre
O WEARY night, O weary day,
When heart's delight is far away!
What is the day? A frame of blue
The vacant-glaring sun grins through.
What is the night? A sable veil
Through which the moon peers tired and pale.
O weary day! O weary night!
How far away is heart's delight!
Love hung the sun in his high place
To give me light to see her face,
And love spread out the veil of night
To hide us two from all men's sight.
O kindly night, O pleasant day,
Your use is gone--why should ye stay?
My heart's delight is far away,
O weary night, O weary day.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Trust Thy Heart
I Trust my blossoming heart
I understand why I am blue and red around the bushes
Of the earth.
Ye, To trust my heart
I will surely be at the top of the tree
Yelling loud to the heaven
So Blue.
I keep my heart to win back myself,
I trust my heart,
His an old friend back back
When the seed get rooted in bed!
I trust my fading heart
I knew how deep and shallow the waters it be,
Ye, though it rains in cycles
Pour down, ye pour down
What a new pearl I found!
Because I win back my heart.
I trust my heart,
I trust her colors in tints and shades
Ye, I had known it
Thy Heart is a bundle of color pencils
And the names of it I trust.
To trust thyself and heart once more.
poem by Agnes Quirante
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dreams
SURELY I heard a voice-surely my name
Was breathed in tones familiar to my heart!
I listened-and the low wind stealing came,
In darkness and in silence to depart.
Surely I saw a form, a proud bright form,
Standing beside my couch! I raised mine eyes:
'Twas but a dim cloud, herald of a storm,
That floated through the grey and twilight skies.
Surely the brightness of the summer hour
Hath suddenly burst upon the circling gloom!
I dream; 'twas but the perfume of a flower,
Which the breeze wafted through the silent room.
Surely a hand clasped mine with greetings fond!
A name is murmured by my lips with pain;
Woe for that sound-woe for love's broken bond.
I start-I wake-I am alone again!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Surely I Love You
(m. oliver, j. bracken)
Chorus:
Surely, surely, surely, surely,
Surely, surely, surely, surely,
I, i, i, i,
I, i, i, i,
Love ov, lo lo, love ov, lo lo, love ov, lolo love you
Come rain, come snow
Come, come sunshine
Your love will stop the rain
It will melt the snow
cause youre mine
All I find to say
When I feel this way
Is just i...i
Love you, love you, love you
I love you because
Darling, youre for real
You showed this heart of mine
How a real true lovin ought to feel
Surely, surely, surely, surely,
Surely, surely, surely, surely,
I, i, i, i,
I, i, i, i,
I love you because
Honey, youre for real
You showed this aching heart
How a real true lovin ought to feel
Chorus
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
This Wind
This wind it howls, this wind it moans,
A mournful eerie sound.
This wind gathers fallen autumnal leaves,
Just to dash them to the ground.
This wind makes fools of washing lines,
On its travels throughout the nation.
This wind plays with all the locomotives,
Huddled at St.Pancras railway station.
This wind buffets and shakes the aeroplanes,
As they seek a calmer, foreign sky.
This wind will grow tired soon enough,
Then it will surely die.
The Song For My Beloved
The song for my beloved, voiced sweetly to thee-
My opus, others may only surmise as to its beauty!
A melodious tune surely, yet there be not word-
The love in my heart, the only sounds heard!
Its magic seen, its power felt-over many a mile-
Many years its nemesis, though it lasted all the while!
Nothing is there surely to dispute its glory,
So is the wondrous tale of my heart's story!
In every beautiful moment, I hear it louder still-
In the power of the summer sun, the winter's chill;
I hear it as when, to me, He did deliver-
Hear it surely, as my heart doth quiver!
This, my melodic muse, since I was young-
Surely, the sweetest song ever to be sung!
Maurice Harris,28 August 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Death Fugue
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at sundown
we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
we drink it and drink it
we dig a grave in the breezes there one lies unconfined
A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents
he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden
hair Margarete
he writes it ans steps out of doors and the stars are
flashing he whistles his pack out
he whistles his Jews out in earth has them dig for a
grave
he commands us strike up for the dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you in the morning at noon we drink you at
sundown
we drink and we drink you
A man lives in the house he plays with the serpents
he writes
he writes when dusk falls to Germany your golden hair
Margarete
your ashen hair Sulamith we dig a grave in the breezes
there one lies unconfined
He calls out jab deeper into the earth you lot you
others sing now and play
he grabs at teh iron in his belt he waves it his
eyes are blue
jab deper you lot with your spades you others play
on for the dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at at noon in the morning we drink you
at sundown
we drink and we drink you
a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Sulamith he plays with the serpents
He calls out more sweetly play death death is a master
from Germany
he calls out more darkly now stroke your strings then
as smoke you will rise into air
then a grave you will have in the clouds there one
lies unconfined
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at noon death is a master from Germany
we drink you at sundown and in the morning we drink
and we drink you
death is a master from Germany his eyes are blue
he strikes you with leaden bullets his aim is true
a man lives in the house your golden hair Margarete
he sets his pack on to us he grants us a grave in
the air
He plays with the serpents and daydreams death is
a master from Germany
your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith
Translated by Michael Hamburger
poem by Paul Celan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At First. To Charlotte Cushman.
My crippled sense fares bow'd along
His uncompanioned way,
And wronged by death pays life with wrong
And I wake by night and dream by day.
And the Morning seems but fatigued Night
That hath wept his visage pale,
And the healthy mark 'twixt dark and light
In sickly sameness out doth fail.
And the woods stare strange, and the wind is dumb,
-- O Wind, pray talk again --
And the Hand of the Frost spreads stark and numb
As Death's on the deadened window-pane.
Still dumb, thou Wind, old voluble friend?
And the middle of the day is cold,
And the heart of eve beats lax i' the end
As a legend's climax poorly told.
Oh vain the up-straining of the hands
In the chamber late at night,
Oh vain the complainings, the hot demands,
The prayers for a sound, the tears for a sight.
No word from over the starry line,
No motion felt in the dark,
And never a day gives ever a sign
Or a dream sets seal with palpable mark.
And O my God, how slight it were,
How nothing, thou All! to thee,
That a kiss or a whisper might fall from her
Down by the way of Time to me:
Or some least grace of the body of love,
-- Mere wafture of floating-by,
Mere sense of unseen smiling above,
Mere hint sincere of a large blue eye,
Mere dim receipt of sad delight
From Nearness warm in the air,
What time with the passing of the night
She also passed, somehow, somewhere.
poem by Sidney Lanier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love Doth Persist as Time Doth Wend
Love doth persist as time doth wend,
Omnipresent and efficacious, all doth portend!
No longer fantastic, nor made but in dream-
Though real, a wraith it still doth seem!
Presence without, still not to matter
Mere thought of thee: my heart, pitter-patter!
You are desired yet, though you are not near-
It clements compassion to know you reside here!
Bereft of sentiment am I, more pure-
Than to opine that, by you, I am enraptured!
Time shall doth not belie this fact of most import:
I am not plenary unless with you I do consort!
Ne'er to wither, surely ne'er to wane-
A love as this- surely to ne'er come again!
Maurice Harris,4 December 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Autumn Melody
The hot summer had passed by
The cool autumn have arrived
The trees are adorned
with colors like bride
at wedding night
The swift flurry of wind
passes by greeting autumn
The trees branches
swinging in joy and ecstasy
All in heart filled harmony
The golden sun in the blue sky
send its rays to shine
on the pastures,
valleys and hamlets
You can hear the happiness
and the autumn melodies
poem by Sherif Monem
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Loving Truth
Mine is a lady surely not prime for her own beauty-
To ensure she be attestant to same, my solemn duty!
One wish have I for my beloved-to show her in no uncertain terms
All the resplendence she doth possess and my heart affirms!
Certainly, she must know all the jollity she doth endue;
Indubitably, she is all my hopes and dreams come true-
Yet, beyond humility, she disbelieves what doth obviate-
If but she could, her sense of self would surely ameliorate!
I want for this more than any, due my love and fidelity-
God willing, one day, she will meet this with amenability;
If but only I could evince my heart's magnificent glory
Directly to her, without having to tell it, by way of a story-
Then her convincing would be assured, ne'er belittled-
Until then, my loving truth ensures her own esteem is gentled!
Maurice Harris,20 November 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Love Surely Has Foresaken Me
My love surely has foresaken me,
Look just where my love's deceit has taken me!
Lonely is the night, lo the day,
Since my love sent me away!
I envision her and nary a foul thought enters my head,
Never would or could I allow for a negative word to be said!
Fear made her a monster, yet love shall surely prevail,
Restore it shall, all as before, when she did me, fail!
Many moments in life define you as a man,
None though more than this, surely you understand!
Hysteria led thee astray, to that dark place,
Where, no longer may I visage the beauty of your face!
As with the pasage of time, reality is restored,
Soon, my love, relief shall be had for our heart's dischord!
Maurice Harris,31 March 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fugue of Death
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at nightfall
we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
we drink it and drink it
we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there
A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden
hair Margarete
he writes it and walks from the house the stars glitter he
whistles his dogs up
he whistles his Jews out and orders a grave to be dug in
the earth
he commands us strike up for the dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you in the morning at noon we drink you at
nightfall
drink you and drink you
A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden
hair Margarete
Your ashen hair Shulamith we are digging a grave in the
sky it is
ample to lie there
He shouts stab deeper in earth you there and you others
you sing and you play
he grabs at the iron in his belt and swings it and blue are
his eyes
stab deeper your spades you there and you others play on
for the dancing
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightfall
we drink you at noon in the mornings we drink you at
nightfall
drink you and drink you
a man in the house your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith he plays with the serpents
He shouts play sweeter death's music death comes as a
master from Germany
he shouts stroke darker the strings and as smoke you
shall climb to the sky
then you'll have a grave in the clouds it is ample to lie
there
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at noon death comes as a master from
Germany
we drink you at nightfall and morning we drink you and
drink you
a master from Germany death comes with eyes that are
blue
with a bullet of lead he will hit in the mark he will hit
you
a man in the house your golden hair Margarete
he hunts us down with his dogs in the sky he gives us a
grave
he plays with the serpents and dreams death comes as a
master from Germany
your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith.
poem by Paul Celan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Her Ardor
I believe in, yet know not how to accept, her ardor-
This is my mind's and heart's conflicted barter;
My mind says: 'surely, truth hath been spoken-
Her soul, lain bare to me, ne'er merely token! '
My heart says: 'surely, this may not be real-
Yet, she relays what her heart doth truly feel! ? '
Not once in my life have I been so tender-
Until God shone upon me again, her splendor!
At times, I am in awe, others, in disbelief-
Either way, my heart purloined-she, its thief!
Each solitary nox, as I lie down, to sleep,
I thank God: 'Heavenly Father, allow me to keep
This love she offers me-e'er allow that it be earned-
Assured Thee must be, it will be likewise returned! '
Maurice Harris,5 May 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!