Related quotes: Whene'er I try to read...

Love's Phantom

Whene'er I try to read a book,
Across the page your face will look,
And then I neither know nor care
What sense the printed words may bear.

At night when I would go to sleep,
Thinking of you, awake I keep,
And still repeat the words you said,
Like sick men murmuring prayers in bed.

And when, with weariness oppressed:
I sink in spite of you to rest,
Your image, like a lovely sprite,
Haunts me in dreams through half the night.

I wake upon the autumn morn
To find the sunrise hardly-born,
And in the sky a soft pale blue,
And in my heart your image true.

When out I walk to take the air,
Your image is for ever there,
Among the woods that lose their leaves,
Or where the North Sea sadly heaves.

By what enchantment shall be laid
This ghost, which does not make afraid,
But vexes with dim loveliness
And many a shadowy caress?

There is no other way I know
But unto you forthwith to go,
That I may look upon the maid
Whereof that other is the shade.

As the strong sun puts out the moon,
Whose borrowed rays are all his own,
So, in your living presence, dies
The phantom kindled at your eyes.

By this most blessed spell, each day
The vexing ghost awhile I lay.
Yet am I glad to know that when
I leave you it will rise again.

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Zapolya

Song

(Act II, Scene I, lines 65-80)

A sunny shaft did I behold,
From sky to earth it slanted :
And poised therein a bird so bold--
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted !

He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled
Within that shaft of sunny mist ;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
All else of amethyst !

And thus he sang : `Adieu ! adieu !
Love's dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms they make no delay :
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.
Sweet month of May,
[Image] We must away ;
[Image][Image] Far, far away !
[Image][Image][Image] To-day ! to-day !'

----------------------------

Hun ting Song

(Act IV, Scene II, lines 56-71)

Up, up ! ye dames, ye lasses gay !
To the meadows trip away.
'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,
And scare the small birds from the corn.
Not a soul at home may stay :
[Image]For the shepherds must go
[Image]With lance and bow
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse :
Find grannam out a sunny seat,
With babe and lambkin at her feet.
Not a soul at home must stay :
[Image]For the shepherds must go
[Image]With lance and bow
To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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An Image From A Past Life

He. Never until this night have I been stirred.
The elaborate starlight throws a reflection
On the dark stream,
Till all the eddies gleam;
And thereupon there comes that scream
From terrified, invisible beast or bird:
Image of poignant recollection.

She. An image of my heart that is smitten through
Out of all likelihood, or reason,
And when at last,
Youth's bitterness being past,
I had thought that all my days were cast
Amid most lovely places; smitten as though
It had not learned its lesson.

He. Why have you laid your hands upon my eyes?
What can have suddenly alarmed you
Whereon 'twere best
My eyes should never rest?
What is there but the slowly fading west,
The river imaging the flashing skies,
All that to this moment charmed you?

She. A Sweetheart from another life floats there
As though she had been forced to linger
From vague distress
Or arrogant loveliness,
Merely to loosen out a tress
Among the starry eddies of her hair
Upon the paleness of a finger.

He. But why should you grow suddenly afraid
And start -- I at your shoulder --
Imagining
That any night could bring
An image up, or anything
Even to eyes that beauty had driven mad,
But images to make me fonder?

She. Now She has thrown her arms above her head;
Whether she threw them up to flout me,
Or but to find,
Now that no fingers bind,
That her hair streams upon the wind,
I do not know, that know I am afraid
Of the hovering thing night brought me.

poem by William Butler Yeats
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New Year's Morning

Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year's heart all weary grew,
But said: The New Year rest has brought."
The Old Year's hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but trusting, said:
"The blossoms of the New Year's crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead."
The Old Year's heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,
And cried: "I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year's generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all y failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet pace where I leave strife."

Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.

Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!
Each morn is New Year's morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old coem true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Almighty, Please Give Me Beautiful Heart!

When I look into your eyes,
Reflected image of my being,
there I found my eyes,
My eyes found themselves in yours!

When your eyes shine,
How can I believe myself,
When my image is so small,
What growth may make me,
great in your eyes?

I imagine what may be my size,
if that small lens capture half world,
Is image large when you are so near,
your image cover whole world,
I can't see anything but you,
My eyes are blind to world!

But you look at the world,
how much I can be In Your eyes dear?
I was able to lose myself,
Trying to find myself in you,
Is it love or simply a madness,
Am I mad with my own desire?

Your eyes captured my image,
But with eyes you captured my soul,
By being is lame,
It can't walk,
Only sit where it is,
Absorbed in own calculations,
Absorbed in dreams and expectations,
My soul is not where it should be,
Gone out of my body,
It goes wherever you go,
Trying to measure your footsteps!

Strange enough, you are unmoved by me, Moved my soul,
like unmoved mover of souls,
Is it love? If it is, then what is use of this love,
Is it only to make me feel strain?
is it only to add more pain?
Why can't Almighty,
Give that beautiful heart,
Which can see and feel beloved within?
Please, Almighty, give me a beautiful heart!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Read The Book

Dolce said to read the book.
Don’t skip any pages though,
Lizzy; I want you to read it
From cover to cover. Ok lover,
You said and examined the
Book’s covers; the hard leather,
The well sewn pages. You knew
He wrote it without his name on
The spine with the title. It was
As he spoke, the words flowing
Across the page, the meaning
Carried on and over and into
Your head. You stopped on page
Nine; he’d written about the night
He’d screwed you five times, although
No name was mentioned, you knew
It was you. Even the bed and room
Were as it had been, written right
Down to the creaking springs and
The man next door banging on the
Wall with his darn shoe. You read on
Carrying that image with you, the way
He’d caught it all with the right words,
Hammered that night right home like
Some crucified butterfly onto the page
And into your head. You paused at page
Twelve. Some paragraph about some
Lark in the bushes in the park after dark.
That didn’t ring true, at least not with you.
Who was the woman? Who was the screw?
You closed up the book; refused to look
Or read anymore; you wondered who it
Was he’d had that night in the bushes
Beneath the moonlight. Maybe it was just
Poetic licence made up to make it sell well
And the cash machines ring loud and true.
But the bitch in the bushes wasn’t you.

poem by Terry Collett
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The Fortune-Teller

Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever 'twas told, by the new-moon's light,
To a young maiden, shining as newly.

But, for the world, let no one be nigh,
Lest haply the stars should deceive me,
Such secrets between you and me and the sky
Should never go farther, believe me.

If at that hour the heavens be not dim,
My science shall call up before you
A male apparition -- the image of him
Whose destiny 'tis to adore you.

And if to that phantom you'll be kind,
So fondly around you he'll hover,
You'll hardly, my dear, any difference find
'Twixt him and a true living lover.

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight,
He'll kneel, with a warmth of devotion --
An ardour, of which such an innocent sprite
You'd scarcely believe had a notion.

What other thoughts and events may arise,
As in destiny's book I've not seen them,
Must only be left to the stars and your eyes
To settle, ere morning, between them.

poem by Thomas Moore
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Awake From A Dream

In the silent of night
the only sound that I hear
is your voice in my head
as if you were here.
In the darkness of night
the only image I see
is the image of you,
you in my dreams.
And in the chill of the night
I only wish I could feel
the warmth of your flesh
from lips down to heel.

In the first morning rays
the only sight coming in
is the radiant glow
of your porcelain skin.
But awake from a dream?
The only reason you're here
is a dream within dreams -
is a dream that I fear.
Like a dream come untrue
you're fading away.
If it were only real
I could ask you to stay.

poem by Jason Cline
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(Inspiration Poem) A Book Never Read

Living by the fire
Living to admire
Living down to the wire
Still the wheels don't turn
I think it is because I want it
Urn for it
The beautiful almighty
I will not pray
Not as long as I live day by day
How much does my soul really weigh?
How many sins can be forgiven?
The fog will eventually choke you out
Whine and pout all you want
It won't make a dent in my steel cage
Because it was built from pure rage
If Its not a stage
What am I going through?

Its just another page of my book never read

Words as stale as the food I was fed
Maybe it was how many times I have been dropped on my head
I plead guilty to an unwritten destiny
I lied to myself in a mirror straight to my very own face
Memories erased

It's just another page of my book never read

I can't be lead astray
Especially if I'm willing
It's not much different then stealing
A moral yeng then yang
A oh so perfect harmony
Keeping things on a even keel
Always questioning what is real

It's just another page of my book never read

I hold on so tight to my comfy bed
Such a beautiful night
The stars are glistening oh so bright
I turn off the lights
Sleep for the dreams of a tomorrow
We are all living on borrowed time
So I ask again where's mine?
A question that continues to go unanswered
Draw your own conclusion
It's another one of the deep dark mysterious illusions

It's just another page of my book never read
It's as if every word has never been said
It's just another page of my tattered and torn book that will be never read

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Your Eyes

Around every corner, I turn, you are there;
Fixing me with your steely, unseeing, stare.
Your eyes are static: they do not move,
But, your eternal presence seems to soothe.

The scenario, very slightly, freaks me out,
As, everywhere I go, I see your face about.
Whenever I see your watchful blue eyes,
I suddenly begin to feel just a little bit shy.

You seem to watch me, wherever I go.
But, no emotion does your face show.
What I know for sure, in my own mind,
Is that, in real life, you are caring and kind.

A poster image of you, is what I am seeing:
A momentary snapshot of your very being.
The image lacks colour, but for eyes of light blue;
This very distinguishing feature of yours, is so true.

It brings a strange sense of comfort to me,
Even if, me, you are unable to physically see.
In some strange way, I feel safe and sound,
Knowing that, wherever I go, you are around.

It’s almost as though you have been multiplied;
There is no place where, from you, I can hide.
But when I head home, away from that place,
I no longer see you, or any image of your face.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Ghost

I believe I saw your image moving quickly
To hide amongst the shadows along the wall,
Or were my eyes playing tricks on me?
I thought I heard your gentle voice
Singing the words to a familiar song,
Or was it my imagination?
I swore I felt your sweet laughter
Pass by my ear,
Soft as a whisper in the night,
Or was it only wishful thinking?
I know I saw your lovely face
In my dreams,
Bathed in heavenly light,
There is no doubt in my mind

poem by Erika Wingo
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Unable To Find A Grave

My memory is a shadowy ghost
That I cannot dispel
Or a dark car driving me down
Unhappy streets I’d like to avoid.

When I think tears have dissipated
And a sunrise of genuine smiles
Is over the horizon, you reemerge
In lonely dreams and I awake
With a heavy heart and a wet face.

From the night of insufferable separation
When you told me you didn’t love me
Until all these purposeless years later,
I have been a breathing corpse
Unable to find a grave.

Yet, you are around me
Like the dense air of a humid night,
You have soaked your presence
Into my eternal pores.

I’ve sung so many laments,
But I don’t know where I’ll be
When I finally succumb to silence.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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åŠ› Aura of Felicity çˆ±

He meets by chance he'll ever bless
a maiden, and some hidden hand
unveils an inner loveliness
too few take time to understand.
Time stands stock still, clock can't progress,
as second sight's embracing strand
second-thoughts disbands - caress
sends shivers through pores which expand.

His promise, through her presence, grows
to match the merits in her eyes,
to blushing envy turns the rose
acknowledging true Paradise.
They flow together, former woes -
in ways no verse may summarize -
replaced by links which cannot close
metamorphosis supplies.

Thought trains awake dreams skeins asleep,
her aura haunts him day and night,
one image still will senses sweep
with wonder, worship, and delight.
Warm aura rippling, rich and deep,
excites, incites to more insight,
love's neurones bridge synaptic leap
like salmon fording stream, scales bright.

Drawn by strong dreams nightlong he longs,
most humble where he most aspires,
to offer sacred, secret songs
to her he honours and desires
where 'we belong' may know no wrongs,
all echoes joy's celestial choirs,
where happiness itself prolongs,
no guarantees, no pleas requires.

Her graces make him rich. He'd ask
no golden ring engraven while
he may not prove himself to task
the equal of that precious smile.
Meanwhile would pleasure find and bask
in soft reflection, reconcile
hopes, fears, fears, hopes, and, shedding mask,
beguiled by feelings versatile.

He aims to catch flame's eye, perform
some labour, famed reward immense,
anticipates ways to transform
bright bloom in new-born innocence
to future shared, trust crystal clear.
Hope holds key to true happiness.
He trembles, mixing joy and fear,
would stand beside her, nothing less...

September 2006,4 July 2008
see below for previous versions: previous titles Her aura Haunts

Her Aura Haunts

He meets by chance he'll ever bless
a maiden, and some hidden hand
unveils an inner loveliness
too few take time to understand.

His promise, through her presence, grows
to match the merits in her eyes,
to blushing envy turns the rose
acknowledging true Paradise.

Thought trains awake dreams skeins asleep,
her aura haunts him day and night,
one image still will senses sweep
with wonder, worship, and delight.

(20 April 1990 and 2 September 2006 see below for first version)

Her Beauty Haunts

He meets by chance, he must confess,
a damsel, and some hidden hand
unveils her inner loveliness
that others fail to understand.

His promise, through her presence, grows
to match the merits in her eyes,
to blushing envy turns the rose
who knows that She is Paradise.

For joy of her he finds no sleep,
her beauty haunts him day and night,
dreams melt his heart, his senses sweep
with wonder, worship, and delight.

Inspired by her nightlong he longs,
most humble where he most aspires,
to offer sacred, secret songs
to her he honours and desires.

Her graces make him rich. He'd ask
no golden ring engraven while
he may not prove himself to task
the equal of that precious smile.

He hopes to catch her eye, and do
some labour, joy's reward immense,
anticipates the date she'll, too,
see bloom in new-born innocence

shared future - vision crystal clear
which holds the key to happiness, -
he trembles, mixing joy and fear,
to stand beside her, nothing less...

(20 April 1990)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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How Do You Sleep At Night

(jim mcbride/jerry salley)
I havent had a good nights sleep
In weeks now thanks to you
The ghost of broken promises you made
Haunts every room
A hurtin heart cant get no rest round here
I lie awake and wonder how
Your conscience could be clear
How do you sleep at night
Do you toss and turn till the morning light
Does the darkness help
When you lie down with the truth?
How do you sleep at night?
Are you all alone or do you hold someone tight
Do you see me
When you close your eyes?
How do you sleep at night?
Now your side of the beds as cold
As the lies that I believed
Im at the point when I cant even
Trust you in my dreams
Did the way you left me leave you feelin proud?
Or does the loneliness come callin
When the sun goes down?
How do you sleep at night
Do you toss and turn till the morning light
Does the darkness help
When you lie down with the truth
How do you sleep at night
Are you all alone or do you hold someone tight
Do you see me
When you close your eyes
How do you sleep at night

song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Do You Sleep At Night

(jim mcbride/jerry salley)
I havent had a good nights sleep
In weeks now thanks to you
The ghost of broken promises you made
Haunts every room
A hurtin heart cant get no rest round here
I lie awake and wonder how
Your conscience could be clear
How do you sleep at night
Do you toss and turn till the morning light
Does the darkness help
When you lie down with the truth?
How do you sleep at night?
Are you all alone or do you hold someone tight
Do you see me
When you close your eyes?
How do you sleep at night?
Now your side of the beds as cold
As the lies that I believed
Im at the point when I cant even
Trust you in my dreams
Did the way you left me leave you feelin proud?
Or does the loneliness come callin
When the sun goes down?
How do you sleep at night
Do you toss and turn till the morning light
Does the darkness help
When you lie down with the truth
How do you sleep at night
Are you all alone or do you hold someone tight
Do you see me
When you close your eyes
How do you sleep at night

song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghost Bear, page 1 of 4

Long ago, in a small village
Where the Great River meets the
Limitless Salt Sea, lived Muin Manitu,
An aging shaman.

Ghost Bear had two good wives
Who gave him four fine daughters
And many grand-children.
But now both wives were dead.

Ghost Bear was getting old,
So old that he made his death song
Mumbling it often under his breath
So he would not forget it.

One night, Raven came to Ghost Bear
In a dream, bringing an important message.
“You must leave wigwam and village,
before the sun rises again.”

“This must be my time, ” thought
Ghost Bear, “My time to die.
I am glad. It is a good time
to leave this world.”

And so, taking only his knife and
His Medicine Bag, Ghost Bear pushed
His canoe out into the river while
All the village slept.

“I will go west on the Great River, ”
Thought Ghost Bear to himself, “Then,
When it is my time to go, I will be
pointed in the right direction.”

All morning long, Ghost Bear paddled
Westward on the Great River, and when
Sun was directly above him, he saw
A raven flying high above.

“I am going true, ” he thought, “Raven
Has sent me an unmistakeable sign.”
And Ghost Bear kept paddling with
Neither food nor drink.

As day became night, Ghost Bear
Continued on, for the full moon was bright
And showed him the right path on the
Great River clearly, brightly.

poem by John Bliven Morin
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Love's Nocturne

Master of the murmuring courts
Where the shapes of sleep convene!--
Lo! my spirit here exhorts
All the powers of thy demesne
For their aid to woo my queen.
What reports
Yield thy jealous courts unseen?

Vaporous, unaccountable,
Dreamland lies forlorn of light,
Hollow like a breathing shell.
Ah! that from all dreams I might
Choose one dream and guide its flight!
I know well
What her sleep should tell to-night.

There the dreams are multitudes:
Some that will not wait for sleep,
Deep within the August woods;
Some that hum while rest may steep
Weary labour laid a-heap;
Interludes,
Some, of grievous moods that weep.

Poets' fancies all are there:
There the elf-girls flood with wings
Valleys full of plaintive air;
There breathe perfumes; there in rings
Whirl the foam-bewildered springs;
Siren there
Winds her dizzy hair and sings.

Thence the one dream mutually
Dreamed in bridal unison,
Less than waking ecstasy;
Half-formed visions that make moan
In the house of birth alone;
And what we
At death's wicket see, unknown.

But for mine own sleep, it lies
In one gracious form's control,
Fair with honourable eyes,
Lamps of a translucent soul:
O their glance is loftiest dole,
Sweet and wise,
Wherein Love descries his goal.

Reft of her, my dreams are all
Clammy trance that fears the sky:
Changing footpaths shift and fall;
From polluted coverts nigh,
Miserable phantoms sigh;
Quakes the pall,
And the funeral goes by.

Master, is it soothly said
That, as echoes of man's speech
Far in secret clefts are made,
So do all men's bodies reach
Shadows o'er thy sunken beach,--
Shape or shade
In those halls pourtrayed of each?

Ah! might I, by thy good grace
Groping in the windy stair,
(Darkness and the breath of space
Like loud waters everywhere,)
Meeting mine own image there
Face to face,
Send it from that place to her!

Nay, not I; but oh! do thou,
Master, from thy shadowkind
Call my body's phantom now:
Bid it bear its face declin'd
Till its flight her slumbers find,
And her brow
Feel its presence bow like wind.

Where in groves the gracile Spring
Trembles, with mute orison
Confidently strengthening,
Water's voice and wind's as one
Shed an echo in the sun.
Soft as Spring,
Master, bid it sing and moan.

Song shall tell how glad and strong
Is the night she soothes alway;
Moan shall grieve with that parched tongue
Of the brazen hours of day:
Sounds as of the springtide they,
Moan and song,
While the chill months long for May.

Not the prayers which with all leave
The world's fluent woes prefer,--
Not the praise the world doth give,
Dulcet fulsome whisperer;--
Let it yield my love to her,
And achieve
Strength that shall not grieve or err.

Wheresoe'er my dreams befall,
Both at night-watch, (let it say,)
And where round the sundial
The reluctant hours of day,
Heartless, hopeless of their way,
Rest and call;--
There her glance doth fall and stay.

Suddenly her face is there:
So do mounting vapours wreathe
Subtle-scented transports where
The black firwood sets its teeth.
Part the boughs and look beneath,--
Lilies share
Secret waters there, and breathe.

Master, bid my shadow bend
Whispering thus till birth of light,
Lest new shapes that sleep may send
Scatter all its work to flight;--
Master, master of the night,
Bid it spend
Speech, song, prayer, and end aright.

Yet, ah me! if at her head
There another phantom lean
Murmuring o'er the fragrant bed,--
Ah! and if my spirit's queen
Smile those alien prayers between,--
Ah! poor shade!
Shall it strive, or fade unseen?

How should love's own messenger
Strive with love and be love's foe?
Master, nay! If thus, in her,
Sleep a wedded heart should show,--
Silent let mine image go,
Its old share
Of thy spell-bound air to know.

Like a vapour wan and mute,
Like a flame, so let it pass;
One low sigh across her lute,
One dull breath against her glass;
And to my sad soul, alas!
One salute
Cold as when Death's foot shall pass.

Then, too, let all hopes of mine,
All vain hopes by night and day,
Slowly at thy summoning sign
Rise up pallid and obey.
Dreams, if this is thus, were they:--
Be they thine,
And to dreamworld pine away.

Yet from old time, life, not death,
Master, in thy rule is rife:
Lo! through thee, with mingling breath,
Adam woke beside his wife.
O Love bring me so, for strife,
Force and faith,
Bring me so not death but life!

Yea, to Love himself is pour'd
This frail song of hope and fear.
Thou art Love, of one accord
With kind Sleep to bring her near,
Still-eyed, deep-eyed, ah how dear.
Master, Lord,
In her name implor'd, O hear!

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Love's Nocturn