Henry James
Who comes to-night? We open the doors in vain.
Who comes? My bursting walls, can you contain
The presences that now together throng
Your narrow entry, as with flowers and song,
As with the air of life, the breath of talk?
Lo, how these fair immaculate women walk
Behind their jocund maker; and we see
Slighted De Mauves, and that far different she,
Gressie, the trivial sphynx; and to our feast
Daisy and Barb and Chancellor (she not least!)
With all their silken, all their airy kin,
Do like unbidden angels enter in.
But he, attended by these shining names,
Comes (best of all) himself—our welcome James.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Related quotes
Walk with Angels
Walk with Angels
I talk to Jesus
I walk with angels
They live through him
I believe
Believe in everlasting life
I believe a man should take a wife
I believe, what I was taught
When I did wrong
I did my best to never get caught
Still I talk to Jesus
He shows me all I need to see
When I can’t go on
I know he’ll carry me
I talk to Jesus
I believe
Believe in everlasting life
I walk with angels
They are part of the my everyday life
And I still believe a man should take a wife
I believe in the Bible stories people tell
The Farmer in the Dell
Fairies
And the wishing well
I talk to Jesus
About life’s angles
Tangles
I Thank the Lord
For all our angels
poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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A Sweet Comparison Between Flowers And Us
Flowers blossom in the sunlight,
As we all need sunlight to blossom
too.
Flowers love a good shower of
cool and refreshing water,
Like we all need a refreshing
shower too.
Flowers are cheerful when music
plays that beautiful song,
In the same way that favorite
song cheers us up.
The breeze of the wind gives us
that breath of life,
Flowers are filled with the
breath of life,
That the breeze provides.
Delicate flowers lose their petals
in need of nourishment,
Just like we lose a strand of hair
that needs to be nourished to grow
back again.
A good night's sleep help us to feel
refreshed,
Flowers need a good night's sleep
to feel refreshed and to blossom
beautifully.
A sweet comparison between flowers
and us,
Knowing how we are very much alike,
It makes a beautiful story.
poem by Derek James
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Fata Morgana
O sweet illusions of song
That tempt me everywhere,
In the lonely fields, and the throng
Of the crowded thoroughfare!
I approach and ye vanish away,
I grasp you, and ye are gone;
But ever by night and by day,
The melody soundeth on.
As the weary traveller sees
In desert or prairie vast,
Blue lakes, overhung with trees
That a pleasant shadow cast;
Fair towns with turrets high,
And shining roofs of gold,
That vanish as he draws nigh,
Like mists together rolled --
So I wander and wander along,
And forever before me gleams
The shining city of song,
In the beautiful land of dreams.
But when I would enter the gate
Of that golden atmosphere,
It is gone, and I wonder and wait
For the vision to reappear.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace, a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity, and if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it and see it still.
quote by Ronald Reagan
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love
Love is the sunlight of the soul,
That, shining on the silken-tressèd head
Of her we love, around it seems to shed
A golden angel-aureole.
And all her ways seem sweeter ways
Than those of other women in that light:
She has no portion with the pallid night,
But is a part of all fair days.
Joy goes where she goes, and good dreams—
Her smile is tender as an old romance
Of Love that dies not, and her soft eye’s glance
Like sunshine set to music seems.
Queen of our fate is she, but crowned
With purple hearts-ease for her womanhood.
There is no place so poor where she has stood
But evermore is holy ground.
An angel from the heaven above
Would not be fair to us as she is fair:
She holds us in a mesh of silken hair,
This one sweet woman whom we love.
We pray thee, Love, our souls to steep
In dreams wherein thy myrtle flowereth;
So when the rose leaves shiver, feeling Death
Pass by, we may remain asleep:
Asleep, with poppies in our hands,
From all the world and all its cares apart—
Cheek close to cheek, heart beating against heart,
While through Life’s sandglass run the sands
poem by Victor James Daley
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Hall Of Doors
You walk through the hall of doors
With life in sight with death in mind
You watch people open their doors
And you think of how the doors and fate bind
You watch waiting to see your exit
As you see others turn down their path to their end
You know that the paths can not change
You know even with time fate shall not mend
Down the hall you walk
Doors lining each side
Every person holds the key to one of those locks
All around you people stride
Doors open
As people come to their door mats
You walk by doors just hoping,
hoping the next isn't yours, isn't your mat
You watch parents and children leaving eachothers sides
You see love being torn, hate being sewn
as the doors open wide
Some people leave together, some alone
You wait to see your door, your fate
You watch to see which door your key fits
You watch to see if your heart is with love or hate
You watch untill you find the mat at which you shall sit
You walk through the hall of doors
With life in sight, death in mind
You watch as people open their doors
You wait to see which door your fate lays behind.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Lover's Lane
The silken threads of night
begin to darken the sky
as lovers walk in secluded places
arm in arm under the moon.
They kiss and talk small talk
then continue to walk again
as evening stretches into night
on the lover’s lane.
20 February 2011
poem by David Harris
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The Narrow Doors
The Wide Door into Sorrow
Stands open night and day.
With head held high and dancing feet
I pass it on my way.
I never tread within it,
I never turn to see
The Wide Door into Sorrow.
It cannot frighten me.
The Narrow Doors to Sorrow
Are secret, still, and low:
Swift tongues of dusk that spoil the sun
Before I even know.
My dancing feet are frozen.
I stare. I can but see.
The Narrow Doors to Sorrow
They stop the heart in me.
Oh, stranger than my midnights
Of loneliness and strife
The Doors that let the dark leap in
Across my sunny life!
poem by Fannie Stearns Davis
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The Narrow Doors
The Wide Door into Sorrow
Stands open night and day.
With head held high and dancing feet
I pass it on my way.
I never tread within it,
I never turn to see
The Wide Door into Sorrow.
It cannot frighten me.
The Narrow Doors to Sorrow
Are secret, still, and low:
Swift tongues of dusk that spoil the sun
Before I even know.
My dancing feet are frozen.
I stare. I can but see.
The Narrow Doors to Sorrow
They stop the heart in me.
-- Oh, stranger than my midnights
Of loneliness and strife
The Doors that let the dark leap in
Across my sunny life!
poem by Frannie Stearns Davis
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A Heaven And Two Hells
A heaven opens its doors
And two souls enter,
A king and his rod of power;
And somebody sings a song musical.
Two hells open their doors
And ten thousand souls enter,
A man and his dead brethern;
And a cry for the second burning is heard.
The meadows of the green planet go dry
The sheep bleat, the shepherd goes missing
The mothers show their breast-nipples sealed
The infants wail, the fathers wage a battle to be lost.
Once again the heaven opens its door
And the king and the rod wait to enter.
So do the two hells with two doors
A crowd is pushed in once more.
The burning flesh chokes the nostrils
But the sweet song is played on....
A bird flies unto the sky
As the torrents swallow its feeble frame.
The green planet celebrates an existence.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Never Again
SHE looked on me with sadder eyes than Death,
And, moving through the large, autumnal trees,
Failed like a phantom on the bitter breath
Of midnight; and the unillumined seas
Roared in the darkness out of centuries.
Never on earth, or in the holy sky,
Beyond the limits of the secret ring
God walls about His Kingdom jealously,
Has ever been a fairer, sweeter thing
Than she: more fair than all imagining.
Never again! though I should waste the hours
To search the galleries of angels thro’,
Or, in the exhalation of the flowers,
Gaze for her spirit, tremulous as dew,
To reascend the unfathomable blue.
I seek her in the labyrinthine maze
Of stars unravelling their golden chain,
And, from my cavern, mark the lightning blaze
A pathway for her down the singing rain.
In vain, in vain: she cannot come again.
poem by Hugh McCrae
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Eyrie
Between the mountain and the sea
I've made a happy landing;
And here a peace has come to me
That passeth understanding;
A shining faith and purity
Beyond demanding.
With palm below and pine above,
Where wings of gulls are gleaming;
By orange tree and olive grove,
From walls of airy seeming,
My roses beg me not to rove,
But linger dreaming.
So I'm in love with life again,
And would with joy dissever
My days from ways of worldly men,
And mingle with them never:
Let silken roses to my ken
Whisper forever.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Women Of The Marketplace
The black market was clogged
By the preoccupied populace
And there as I sat
In front of a kiosk
On a badly-beaten russet chair
That creaked everytime
I passed kinetics and physics
As I fancy my lips ajar with cigarette,
I saw women
Going in and out of stores
With paper bags and lavish shoes
Sprawling, lingering upon
Their silken skin
And I noticed that there
Are two types of women:
Women who leave
Without closing doors
And
Women who slam
The doors upon their exit.
poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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I Have Loved Flowers That Fade
I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents:
A honeymoon delight-
A joy of love at sight,
That ages in an hour-
My song be like a flower!
I have loved airs that die
Before their charm is writ
Along a liquid sky
Trembling to welcome it.
Notes, that with pulse of fire
Proclaim the spirit's desire,
Then die, and are nowhere-
My song be like an air!
Die, song, die like a breath,
And wither as a bloom;
Fear not a flowery death,
Dread not an airy tomb!
Fly with delight, fly hence!
'Twas thine love's tender sense
To feast; now on thy bier
Beauty shall shed a tear.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Alls Quiet On The Eastern Front
Watch the watch the way I walk
Cant you think my movements talk
Watch the watch the way I walk
Cant you think my movements talk
See me silently quietly creep I am too
Amped up to sleep lamp rays shining down
Street lamps make the bussing sound subway
Creaking down below garbage piled up and ready to go
Lock the windows the gates on taxi in the
Distance coming along stalking the streets
Till the break of day new york beauty take my
Breath away near some cats but dogs dont
Bark cool cats strolling after dark
Watch the watch the way I walk
Cant you think my movements talk
Watch the watch the way I walk
Cant you think my movements talk
Shaky lock and kicky door smokey air that
I adore down in the alley is where I hunt
All is quiet on the eastern front
Stalking the streets till the break of day
New york beauty take my breath away
Watch the watch the way I walk
Cant you think my movements talk
Watch the watch the way I walk
Cant you think my movements talk
Cant you think my movements talk
Cant you think my movements talk
song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Halloween
It's Halloween again! The moon is high
And waxing. The night is calm and darkness
Predominates everything. Some clouds try
In vain to quench the lunar fluorescence.
Below, a ray of light exposes weird
And freakish happenings, surreal things!
A quiet crowd of ghoulish kids appear.
Impressive costumes make the evening
An apropos success. The parents walk
Behind the throng of hideous creatures
As each approach the lighted doors to knock.
The townspeople behind their doors are sure
To answer every rap with something sweet
When little voices bellow, trick or treat!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Mother Country
Oh what is that country
And where can it be,
Not mine own country,
But dearer far to me?
Yet mine own country,
If I one day may see
Its spices and cedars,
Its gold and ivory.
As I lie dreaming
It rises, that land:
There rises before me
Its green golden strand,
With its bowing cedars
And its shining sand;
It sparkles and flashes
Like a shaken brand.
Do angels lean nearer
While I lie and long?
I see their soft plumage
And catch their windy song,
Like the rise of a high tide
Sweeping full and strong;
I mark the outskirts
Of their reverend throng.
Oh what is a king here,
Or what is a boor?
Here all starve together,
All dwarfed and poor;
Here Death's hand knocketh
At door after door,
He thins the dancers
From the festal floor.
Oh what is a handmaid,
Or what is a queen?
All must lie down together
Where the turf is green,
The foulest face hidden,
The fairest not seen;
Gone as if never,
They had breathed or been.
Gone from sweet sunshine
Underneath the sod,
Turned from warm flesh and blood
To senseless clod,
Gone as if never
They had toiled or trod,
Gone out of sight of all
Except our God.
Shut into silence
From the accustomed song,
Shut into solitude
From all earth's throng,
Run down tho' swift of foot,
Thrust down tho' strong;
Life made an end of
Seemed it short or long.
Life made an end of,
Life but just begun,
Life finished yesterday,
Its last sand run;
Life new-born with the morrow,
Fresh as the sun:
While done is done for ever;
Undone, undone.
And if that life is life,
This is but a breath,
The passage of a dream
And the shadow of death;
But a vain shadow
If one considereth;
Vanity of vanities,
As the Preacher saith.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Song And Dance Man
Last night I felt a wind
of change blow through me.
It spoke of a million things
before I die I should see.
Open up your eyes.
Life is poetry in motion.
Ride the open sky
I'll be ok as soon as I'm on my way
I am a song and dance man
Yes, I am a song and dance man
Woman. Oh, woman, sometimes I hear your voice.
It calls out to me,
makes my heart bleed.
Haven't got any chance.
Open my eyes.
Life is poetry in motion
Ride the open sky.
I'll be ok as soon as I'm on my way.
I am a song and dance man
Oh yes I am, a song and dance man
I am a song and dance man
Tokyo has rolling thunder
beautiful women and warm summer rain
Honolulu has stars of fire
words alone cannot explain
Open up your eyes
Spread your wings and fly
Oh Lord I am a song and dance man
Oh Lord I am a song and dance man
That's what I am
A song and dance man
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song And Dance Man
Last night I felt a wind
of change blow through me.
It spoke of a million things
before I die I should see.
Open up your eyes.
Life is poetry in motion.
Ride the open sky
I'll be ok as soon as I'm on my way
I am a song and dance man
Yes, I am a song and dance man
Woman. Oh, woman, sometimes I hear your voice.
It calls out to me,
makes my heart bleed.
Haven't got any chance.
Open my eyes.
Life is poetry in motion
Ride the open sky.
I'll be ok as soon as I'm on my way.
I am a song and dance man
Oh yes I am, a song and dance man
I am a song and dance man
Tokyo has rolling thunder
beautiful women and warm summer rain
Honolulu has stars of fire
words alone cannot explain
Open up your eyes
Spread your wings and fly
Oh Lord I am a song and dance man
Oh Lord I am a song and dance man
That's what I am
A song and dance man
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Promenade
Undulant rustlings,
Of oncoming silk,
Rhythmic, incessant,
Like the motion of leaves…
Fragments of color
In glowing surprises…
Pink inuendoes
Hooded in gray
Like buds in a cobweb
Pearled at dawn…
Glimpses of green
And blurs of gold
And delicate mauves
That snatch at youth…
And bodies all rosily
Fleshed for the airing,
In warm velvety surges
Passing imperious, slow…
Women drift into the limousines
That shut like silken caskets
On gems half weary of their glittering…
Lamps open like pale moon flowers…
Arcs are radiant opals
Strewn along the dusk…
No common lights invade.
And spires rise like litanies -
Magnificats of stone
Over the white silence of the arcs,
Burning in perpetual adoration.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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