I Dreamed Of Forest Alleys fair
I.
I DREAMED of forest alleys fair
And fields of gray-flowered grass,
Where by the yellow summer moon
My Jenny seemed to pass.
I dreamed the yellow summer moon,
Behind a cedar wood,
Lay white on fields of rippling grass
Where I and Jenny stood.
I dreamed - but fallen through my dream,
In a rainy land I lie
Where wan wet morning crowns the hills
Of grim reality.
II.
I am as one that keeps awake
All night in the month of June,
That lies awake in bed to watch
The trees and great white moon.
For memories of love are more
Than the white moon there above,
And dearer than quiet moonshine
Are the thoughts of her I love.
III.
Last night I lingered long without
My last of loves to see.
Alas! the moon-white window-panes
Stared blindly back on me.
To-day I hold her very hand,
Her very waist embrace -
Like clouds across a pool, I read
Her thoughts upon her face.
And yet, as now, through her clear eyes
I seek the inner shrine -
I stoop to read her virgin heart
In doubt if it be mine -
O looking long and fondly thus,
What vision should I see?
No vision, but my own white face
That grins and mimics me.
IV.
Once more upon the same old seat
In the same sunshiny weather,
The elm-trees' shadows at their feet
And foliage move together.
The shadows shift upon the grass,
The dial point creeps on;
The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass,
As then they passed and shone.
But now deep sleep is on my heart,
Deep sleep and perfect rest.
Hope's flutterings now disturb no more
The quiet of my breast.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Baby Face
White moon comes in on a baby face.
The shafts across her bed are flimmering.
Out on the land White Moon shines,
Shines and glimmers against gnarled shadows,
All silver to slow twisted shadows
Falling across the long road that runs from the house.
Keep a little of your beauty
And some of your flimmering silver
For her by the window to-night
Where you come in, White Moon.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Moonlight Sestina
While reading Li Po, I fall
Asleep, and dream of the moon
My body lies on white
Cool sheets, flooded in a pool
Of moonlight. Lost in a dream
I lie in light, floating.
Like a full moon floating
On waves, I feel the fall
And rise, the tide of these dream
Currents. Closer, the moon
Approaches to my pool
Of flesh, shining me white.
From the glare of waxing white,
Gauze curtains – breeze floating -
Shield this rippling pool,
Become a waterfall,
And break the mirror moon-
Light through wet prisms, I dream.
Is this Shechinah? my dream
Self asks. At once the cold white
Chills me to ice. The moon
Swells until it's a floating
City, waiting to fall -
Atlantis – in the pool.
I yearn to be that pool
Skin, transparent as dream.
Instead I fear the moon fall:
I cannot part the white
Sea of thighs, Still floating
Whole, I cry to the moon:
“I am not ready, Moon”
Silence shimmers my pool,
But brightness fades, Floating
Away. Then from the dream
I emerge, weeping white
Tears that shine like star-fall.
Li Po's moon plunge sank dream
Deep. Whirlpool of lunar white
Drowns us; floating, we fall.
poem by Lillian Susan Thomas
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The New Moon
What have you got in your knapsack fair,
White moon, bright moon, pearling the air,
Spinning your bobbins and fabrics free,
Fleet moon, sweet moon, in to the sea?
Turquoise and beryl and rings of gold,
Clear moon, dear moon, ne’er to be sold?
Roses and lilies, romance and love,
Still moon, chill moon, swinging above?
Slender your feet as a white birds throat,
High moon, shy moon, drifting your boat
Into the murk of the world awhile,
Slim moon, dim moon, adding a smile.
Tender your eyes as a maiden’s kiss,
Fine moon, wine moon, no one knows this,
Under the spell of your witchery,
Dream moon, cream moon, first he kissed me.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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White in the Moon the Long Road Lies
White in the moon the long road lies,
The moon stands blank above;
White in the moon the long road lies
That leads me from my love.
Still hangs the hedge without a gust,
Still, still the shadows stay:
My feet upon the moonlit dust
Pursue the ceaseless way.
The world is round, so travellers tell,
And straight though reach the track,
Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well,
The way will guide one back.
But ere the circle homeward hies
Far, far must it remove:
White in the moon the long road lies
That leads me from my love.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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O Moon
O moon, large golden summer moon,
Hanging between the linden trees,
Which in the intermittent breeze
Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June!
O night-air, scented through and through
With honey-coloured flower of lime,
Sweet now as in that other time
When all my heart was sweet as you!
The sorcery of this breathing bloom
Works like enchantment in my brain,
Till, shuddering back to life again,
My dead self rises from its tomb.
And, lovely with the love of yore,
Its white ghost haunts the moon-white ways;
But, when it meets me face to face,
Flies trembling to the grave once more.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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I Charge You
I charge you, O winds of the West, O winds with the wings of the dove,
That ye blow o'er the brows of my Love, breathing low that I sicken for love.
I charge you, O dews of the Dawn, O tears of the star of the morn,
That ye fall at the feet of my love with the sound of one weeping forlorn.
I charge you, O birds of the Air, O birds flying home to your nest,
That ye sing in his ears of the joy that for ever has fled from my breast.
I charge you, O flowers of the Earth, O frailest of things, and most fair,
That ye droop in his path as the life in me shrivels consumed by despair.
O Moon, when he lifts up his face, when he seeth the waning of thee,
A memory of her who lies wan on the limits of life let it be.
Many tears cannot quench, nor my sighs extinguish, the flames of love's fire,
Which lifteth my heart like a wave, and smites it, and breaks its desire.
I rise like one in a dream when I see the red sun flaring low,
That drags me back shuddering from sleep each morning to life with its woe.
I go like one in a dream, unbidden my feet know the way
To that garden where love stood in blossom with the red and white hawthorn of May.
The song of the throstle is hushed, and the fountain is dry to its core,
The moon cometh up as of old; she seeks, but she finds him no more.
The pale-faced, pitiful moon shines down on the grass where I weep,
My face to the earth, and my breast in an anguish ne'er soothed into sleep.
The moon returns, and the spring, birds warble, trees burst into leaf,
But Love once gone, goes for ever, and all that endures is the grief.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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The Return
The grass was gray with the moonlit dew,
The stones were white as I came through;
I came down the path by the thirteen yews,
Through the blocks of shade that the moonlight hews.
And when I came to the high lych-gate
I waited awhile where the corpses wait;
Then I came down the road where the moonlight lay
Like the fallen ghost of the light of day.
The bats shrieked high in their zigzag flight,
The owls' spread wings were quiet and white,
The wind and the poplar gave sigh for sigh,
And all about were the rustling shy
Little live creatures that love the night -
Little wild creatures timid and free.
I passed, and they were not afraid of me.
It was over the meadow and down the lane
The way to come to my house again:
Through the wood where the lovers talk,
And the ghosts, they say, get leave to walk.
I wore the clothes that we all must wear,
And no one saw me walking there,
No one saw my pale feet pass
By my garden path to my garden grass.
My garden was hung with the veil of spring -
Plum-tree and pear-tree blossoming;
It lay in the moon's cold sheet of light
In garlands and silence, wondrous and white
As a dead bride decked for her burying.
Then I saw the face of my house
Held close in the arms of the blossomed boughs:
I leaned my face to the window bright
To feel if the heart of my house beat right.
The firelight hung it with fitful gold;
It was warm as the house of the dead is cold.
I saw the settles, the candles tall,
The black-faced presses against the wall,
Polished beechwood and shining brass,
The gleam of china, the glitter of glass,
All the little things that were home to me -
Everything as it used to be.
Then I said, 'The fire of life still burns,
And I have returned whence none returns:
I will warm my hands where the fire is lit,
I will warm my heart in the heart of it!'
So I called aloud to the one within:
'Open, open, and let me in!
Let me in to the fire and the light -
It is very cold out here in the night!'
There was never a stir or an answering breath -
Only a silence as deep as death.
Then I beat on the window, and called, and cried.
No one heard me, and none replied.
The golden silence lay warm and deep,
And I wept as the dead, forgotten, weep;
And there was no one to hear or see -
To comfort me, to have pity on me.
But deep in the silence something stirred -
Something that had not seen or heard -
And two drew near to the window-pane,
Kissed in the moonlight and kissed again,
And looked, through my face, to the moon-shroud, spread
Over the garlanded garden bed;
And--'How ghostly the moonlight is!' she said.
Back through the garden, the wood, the lane,
I came to mine own place again.
I wore the garments we all must wear,
And no one saw me walking there.
No one heard my thin feet pass
Through the white of the stones and the gray of the grass,
Along the path where the moonlight hews
Slabs of shadow for thirteen yews.
In the hollow where drifted dreams lie deep
It is good to sleep: it was good to sleep:
But my bed has grown cold with the drip of the dew,
And I cannot sleep as I used to do.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Heading For The Moon
Dont close your eyes
Or I might drift away
Under the night
My image bends its shape
Ill be written on the wind
Like in every sailoers dreams
Heading for the moon
I reach out (echoes)
My pulse begins to race (echoes)
The crashing sounds
Of fears Ive never faced
Let them echo off these waves
With thoughts as brave as they once were
Heading for the moon
And, look
How we write
Over the white
Shadows may chase from behind
But just put them out of your mind, oh
Heading for the moon
Dont close your eyes
Or I might drift away
Under the night
Of never ending shapes
Ill be wishing off the blue
Ill still wanna send my stars
Heading for the moon
And, look
How we write
Over the white
Shadows may chase from behind
But just put them out of your mind, oh
Heading for the moon
Ha ha
Heading for the moon
So dont close your eyes
Heading for the moon
Over the white
Your shadows may chase from behind
You might just put them out of your mind
Heading for the moon
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Song
THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!
There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Playing Golf at Midnight
Playing golf in the moonlight,
at midnight, at night, when light
cannot be trusted, when sight
deceives, it can’t be right.
He drives the sphere with the craters
like the moon, white like the moon,
orbiting like the moon; soon
it will collide with grass or sand, and
the black night will swallow the white
moon and the driving sphere
and no one will know where
went the white and where went the black
and why.
And after the ball has divorced its tee
and after the moon laughs
and retires behind the roofs
of the neighborhood houses,
the silence of the green
and the heartbreaking loveliness
of the green emerge and converge
and here in the suburban
wilderness, the only home he has,
he sees for the first time
how clouds absorb
and disperse
the light of the moon.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
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The Impossible Dream
I dream the impossible dream
I dream of snow that falls in
June,
I dream of pink and white tinsel
Hanging from the sky
With white and blue carnation
falling like rain
I dream of the turtle dove singing
Me your medley of song
I dream of the night’s with sunshine
Shooting stars of cupid arrows
Sail
I dream of love when December is
Really a summer’s day
I dream of a love back in the summer
Of 71..
When the night’s were young and love
Blossom of roses..
I dreamed of times when everything
Was fine
When I was young and you were my
Shining star.
To dream the impossible dream when
When sky was yellow
And rain was blue
The snow fell in June
When days of December was gray
With long white icicles
Glisten as sparkling diamond hanging
From branches..
poem by Carolyn Sears
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A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M.
They have watered the street,
It shines in the glare of lamps,
Cold, white lamps,
And lies
Like a slow-moving river,
Barred with silver and black.
Cabs go down it,
One,
And then another,
Between them I hear the shuffling of feet.
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks.
The city is squalid and sinister,
With the silver-barred street in the midst,
Slow-moving,
A river leading nowhere.
Opposite my window,
The moon cuts,
Clear and round,
Through the plum-coloured night.
She cannot light the city:
It is too bright.
It has white lamps,
And glitters coldly.
I stand in the window and watch the
moon.
She is thin and lustreless,
But I love her.
I know the moon,
And this is an alien city.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Hey Now (Girls Just Wanna Have Fun)
Don't close your eyes or I might drift away
Under the night my image bends it's shape
I'll be written on the wind like you never set a street
Heading for the moon
I reach out (echoes) My pulse begins to race (echoes)
The crashing sounds are fears I never faced
Let them echo off these waves without us, brave as they once were
Heading for the moon
Oh look how we ride over the white
And shadows they chase from behind
But just put them out of your mind
Oh heading for the moon
Don't close your eyes or I might drift away
Under the night of never ending shapes
I'll be wishing of the blue
I'll still wanna send my stars
Heading for the moon
Oh look how we ride over the white
Shadows they chase from behind
But just put them out of your mind
Oh heading for the moon oh heading for the moon
Over the white
And shadows they chase from behind
But just put them out of your mind
Heading for the moon
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mirror Of Diana
Popular Name for Lake Nemi.
SHE floats into the quiet skies,
Where, in the circle of hills,
Her immemorial mirror fills
With light, as of a Virgin's eyes
When, love a-tremble in their blue,
They glow twin violets dipped in dew.
Mild as a metaphor of Sleep,
Immaculately maiden-white,
The Queen Moon of ancestral night
Beholds her image in the deep:
As if a-gaze she beams above
Lake Nemi's magic glass of love.
White rose, white lily of the vale,
Perfume the even breath of night;
In many a burst of sweet delight
The love throb of the nightingale
Swells through lush flowering woods and fills
The circle of the listening hills.
White rose, white lily of the skies,
The Moon-flower blossoms in the lake;
The nightingale for her fair sake
With hopeless love's impassioned cries
Seems fain to sing till song must kill
Himself with one tumultuous trill.
And all the songs and all the scents,
The light of glowworms and the fires
Of fire-flies in the cypress spires;
And all the wild wind instruments
Of pine and ilex as the breeze
Sweeps out their mystic harmonies;--
All are but Messengers of May
To that white orb of maiden fire
Who fills the moth with mad desire
To die enamoured in her ray,
And turns each dewdrop in the grass
Into a fairy looking-glass.
O Beauty, far and far above
The night moth and the nightingale!
Far, far above life's narrow pale,
O Unattainable! O Love!
Even as the nightingale we cry
For some Ideal set on high.
Haunting the deep reflective mind,
You may surprise its perfect Sphere
Glassed like the Moon within her mere,
Who at a puff of alien wind
Melts in innumerable rings,
Elusive in the flux of things.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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When Angels Kiss...
The dark clouds turned into a brighter white,
And the moon it shone with a brighter light.
The flowers of life stand tall once again,
From this world is vanquished all of lifes pain...
An angel stared at me with eyes of love,
Looking down upon me from high above.
I'm mesmerised by those emerald eyes,
I look deep inside to where love lies...
My love approached, eyes down to the ground,
My heart it pumped with a roaring sound.
My smiling heart said what no one could say,
I breathed in every essence of this beautiful day...
And when my Angel uttered, 'I love you, '
Dark black skies turned into sapphire blue.
The bleak grey clouds turned into white,
And the moon it shone a brighter light...
Winters snow it melted and flowed,
The night passed and the sun it glowed.
All of this the world just could not miss,
For it happens only when angels kiss...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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O Beauty of Night...
As the golden sun goes to rest,
And the sky drape into black blanket,
Now take your turn
O beauty of Night – Moon.
Variety of moods makes me wonder,
Sometimes you look like circular disc,
At times spongy ball of cotton
O beauty of Night – Moon.
Eyes long to catch the glimpse,
Hands reach to hold you,
Lips hum song for you,
O beauty of Night – Moon.
Play not hide & seek,
Cover not behind the dark cloud
Unveil your beauty for me to gaze
O beauty of Night – Moon.
Cool gentle breeze blowing in silent night
Urge my heart to
Bathe in the white beam
O beauty of Night - Moon.
Reflection of my love I see in you
Fall down from the starry sky
To hold you in my arms
O beauty of Night – Moon.
poem by Geeta Nair
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Why love the moon?
Why love the moon?
Because she is fair?
Because she seems so debonair?
The moon you love lives away so far,
She left you long ago for the stars;
For which in her insecurities she has prevailed,
As she hides behind her silver veil.
Why love the moon?
Because she shines?
Because you think her beauty divine?
The face she shows is but a play,
There’s another side she never displays;
A side so dark you cannot see,
It’s there she hides her agonies.
Why love the moon?
Because she is there?
Because you think you have her care?
Every month she shows her entire face,
You stare at her beauty and sit in her grace;
But as the days pass she turns to the Sun,
The person who has her eternal love.
The Sun however rejects her again,
So she turns back to you to comfort her pain;
And again you accept her, again and again,
It is your heart she holds,
it has been slain.
So why love the moon,
The Superficial moon,
The Cruel, the Uncaring and Inconsistent moon,
The moon who Scorns you!
The moon who Left you!
The moon who CHEATS WHEN SHE'S BEHIND YOU!
...because you love her.
poem by Warren Chan
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Jenny Wore Black
Jenny wore black
Jenny wore white - white!
And jenny was real
But almost not quite
And jenny was here
She was almost inside
And jenny was real
But jenny was frightened by the way
We looked at her
And jenny could see
She was only a child
Jenny concealed all but her smile
And when she smiled we said hey hey!
Youll never see clear with tears in your face hey!
Youll never see clearly anyway
I said I loved you blindly, and I do
Were only two strangers in ways
We shall say
Jenny wore black
Jenny wore white, white!
And jenny was real but almost not quite (la la la la la la)
And jenny was here she was almost on time
And jenny was real
But jenny was frightened by the way
We looked at her
And jenny could see within us for a while
Jenny revealed all but her smile
And when she smiled we said hey hey!
Youll never see clear with tears in your face hey!
Youll never see clearly anyway
I said I loved you blindly, and I do
Were only two strangers in ways
We should say
You always caught my eyes where
The dreams peter in
And I cant remember
Wherever Ive been
Theres still holes for my eyes
Where the dreams peter through
All I can remember
Is when I was with you
We say hey hey!
Youll never see clear with tears in your face hey!
Youll never see clearly anyway
I said I loved you blindly, and I do
Were only two strangers in ways
We shall say
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is the cloud to the sun?
For what is the cloud to the sun,
It is nothing. The wind has always
Driven it away and the sun does not
Care. For want of love and care, the
Cloud plays with the fields and the
River and the sea. Impregnated it
Has conceived, and gives
Birth to the rain. The fields and the
Sea and the rivers feasted. The fields
Grow the grass and the flowers.
The sea and the rivers have
Seeded its waters with more fish.
The cloud does not like it. It has
Always dreamt of the sun but the
Wind has always blown it away.
At night the cloud talks to the moon.
And seeing the likeness of its light
To the sun that it loves, the cloud
Makes love with the shining moon.
It has given birth to the stars.
The following morning, the cloud
Is exhausted. It floats with the
Chastisements of the wind. There
Is no more direction. It still dreams
Of the sun. It dies and becomes
Taken as part of the wind. The
Cloud has become a white, clear
Sky. It is nothing. It is what you
See, when love is unrequited.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gibbous over Wood
The moon is not yet grown -
It is at the doorstep of maturity.
But still its light comes down
Through the broadleaf wood.
Here and there, a leaf is silver,
Chosen favorite of the moon,
While the other trees shiver
In the dark with envy.
The moon is not yet grown –
It is brilliant in its youth.
It is to the sun a mirror
And to the sky a mouth.
There is a light about a tree
A white wedding-gown,
Shall the moon wed the tree
Before it is yet grown?
The moon is not yet grown –
It is confident, though,
And shines with great spirit,
Piercing the wood through.
There is a path across the river,
Wrought in silver stone.
The moon mocks the walker
Who takes the path and drowns.
poem by Sophia White
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