Our Saviour And The Samaritan Woman At The Well
Close beside the crystal waters of Jacob’s far-famed well,
Whose dewy coolness gratefully upon the parched air fell,
Reflecting back the bright hot heavens within its waveless breast,
Jesus, foot-sore and weary, had sat Him down to rest.
Alone was He—His followers had gone to Sichar near,
Whose roofs and spires rose sharply against the heavens clear,
For food which Nature craveth, whate’er each hope or care,
And which, though Lord of Nature, He disdained not to share.
While thus He calmly waited, came a woman to the well,
With water vase poised gracefully, and step that lightly fell,
One of Samaria’s daughters, most fair, alas! but frail,
Her dark locks bound with flowers instead of modest, shelt’ring veil.
No thought of scornful anger within His bosom burned,
Nor, with abhorrent gesture, His face from her He turned;
But as His gaze of purity dwelt on her, searching, meek,
Her bright eyes fell, and blushes hot burned on her brow and cheek.
He told her with a gentleness, by God-like pity nursed,
Of wond’rous living fountains at which to slake her thirst;
That those whose lips, thrice blessed, should a draught from them obtain,
Despite earth’s toils and troubles, would ne’er know thirst again.
He spoke, too, of the frailties which her womanhood had marred,
That priceless crown which, she, alas! had sadly failed to guard,
No word of bold denial did that woman dare to plan—
She felt that He who spoke with her was more than mortal man.
And when the twelve disciples returned, their errand done,
They wondered at His converse with that lost and erring one,
But still they asked no question, while she, with thoughtful mien,
Returned to tell her friends at home of all that she had seen.
Not only for that daughter of Samaria’s hot clime—
Child of an ancient people, of a by-gone faith and time—
Was meant the exhortation that from His lips then fell,
But for His Christian children, for us, to-day, as well.
For us, still pure and sparkling, those living waters flow
Of which He told Samaria’s child long centuries ago:
Forgetting thoughts of earthly pride, and hopes of worldly gain,
Seek we but once of them to drink—we’ll never thirst again.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Water
water for water is water, thirst made me dried
eyes tears flow water, leaves skin broken
need water, cure my pain smooth my rough
surface makes it clean
pure and perfect water made so bright, all the
day expose heat dried my sweat, in my face
and lips tears seen in the eyes
all day long I seat in my brow, waiting the sun
down to lead me low, hunger and thirst open
my throat, water spelled drops like a dew
wash my warm body as you can see, the limps
legs and the hands would be easy, where ever
in my body, the water comes refreshing to me
slowly, slowly, fell the cool water beneath
my delicate skin, in my buttock where you have
to stay, hold on, I sit you in my dream, my living
water makes me the same
oh! water, please always watered me in each
new day and fell the real me
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Juana
The night-wind shook the tapestry round an ancient palace-room,
And torches, as it rose and fell, waved thro' the gorgeous gloom,
And o'er a shadowy regal couch threw fitful gleams and red,
Where a woman with long raven hair sat watching by the dead.
Pale shone the features of the dead, yet glorious still to see,
Like a hunter or a chief struck down while his heart and step were free;
No shroud he wore, no robe of death, but there majestic lay,
Proudly and sadly glittering in royalty's array.
But she that with the dark hair watch'd by the cold slumberer's side,
On her wan cheek no beauty dwelt, and in her garb no pride;
Only her full impassion'd eyes as o'er that clay she bent,
A wildness and a tenderness in strange resplendence blent.
And as the swift thoughts cross'd her soul, like shadows of a cloud,
Amidst the silent room of death, the dreamer spoke aloud;
She spoke to him who could not hear, and cried, 'Thou yet wilt wake,
And learn my watchings and my tears, belov'd one! for thy sake.
'They told me this was death, but well I knew it could not be;
Fairest and stateliest of the earth! who spoke of death for thee?
They would have wrapp'd the funeral shroud thy gallant form around,
But I forbade–and there thou art, a monarch, robed and crown'd!
'With all thy bright locks gleaming still, their coronal beneath,
And thy brow so proudly beautiful–who said that this was death?
Silence hath been upon thy lips, and stillness round thee long,
But the hopeful spirit in my breast is all undimm'd and strong.
'I know thou hast not loved me yet; I am not fair like thee,
The very glance of whose clear eye threw round a light of glee!
A frail and drooping form is mine–a cold unsmiling cheek,–
Oh! I have but a woman's heart, wherewith thy heart to seek.
'But when thou wak'st, my prince, my lord! and hear'st how I have kept
A lonely vigil by thy side, and o'er thee pray'd and wept;
How in one long, deep dream of thee my nights and days have past,
Surely that humble, patient love must win back love at last!
'And thou wilt smile–my own, my own, shall be the sunny smile,
Which brightly fell, and joyously, on all but me erewhile!
No more in vain affection's thirst my weary soul shall pine–
Oh! years of hope deferr'd were paid by one fond glance of thine!
'Thou'lt meet me with that radiant look when thou com'st from the chase,
For me, for me, in festal halls it shall kindle o'er thy face!
Thou'lt reck no more tho' beauty's gift mine aspect may not bless;
In thy kind eyes this deep, deep love, shall give me loveliness.
'But wake! my heart within me burns, yet once more to rejoice
In the sound to which it ever leap'd, the music of thy voice:
Awake! I sit in solitude, that thy first look and tone,
And the gladness of thine opening eyes, may all be mine alone.'
In the still chambers of the dust, thus pour'd forth day by day,
The passion of that loving dream from a troubled soul found way,
Until the shadows of the grave had swept o'er every grace,
Left midst the awfulness of death on the princely form and face.
And slowly broke the fearful truth upon the watcher's breast,
And they bore away the royal dead with requiems to his rest,
With banners and with knightly plumes all waving in the wind,–
But a woman's broken heart was left in its lone despair behind.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Good Friday
The Crucifixion- Jesus Spoke Seven Times
The day was Friday and time: Nine O’clock:
To Golgotha, the ‘Place of Skull’, they came;
And on the cross, they wrote His glorious name:
I N R I: in Latin, Greek, Hebrew-
‘Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews’
And Jesus spoke for the very first time:
‘Father, forgive them for they do not know
What they are doing.” Lk 23: 34
They tore His garments and auctioned them Mt 27: 25
They mocked at Jesus, and spat on his face; Mt 27: 39
The thieves spoke angrily to him but one
Believed that Jesus was truly a king.
And Jesus spoke for the second time thus:
“Truly, I say to you, today,
You will be with me in Paradise.” Lk 23: 43
When Jesus spoke the third time, He told His mother,
“Woman, this is your son.”
And to the disciple, He said,
‘This is your mother.” Jn 19: 26-27
The robbers two, were crucified with Him;
One to His left and other, to His right;
At noon-time, darkness fell: the land turned dim;
Till three O’clock, there was not much of light;
When Jesus spoke for the fourth time aloud:
‘Eli, Eli, lema sabackthani! ’ which meant:
‘My God, My God, Why have You forsaken me? ’
When Jesus spoke for the fifth time, He said,
“I thirst, ” Jn 19: 30 and they offered a sponge with vinegar!
And the sixth time when Jesus spoke:
‘It is finished; and ‘it is accomplished’ Jn 19: 28
And when He spoke for the seventh time
It was the last and Jesus cried aloud:
“Father, into your hands, I commend my spirit” Lk23: 46
A soldier pierced the side of Jesus when,
Blood and water gushed forth from the wound!
The curtain of the Temple was torn apart
And there came upon the land, an earthquake. Mt 27: 51-54
Jesus was taken off the cross and buried. Mk 15: 46
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-21-2008
poem by John Celes
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Several weathers in spring
Several weathers in spring
~
a spring morning began
clouds broke for the sun
and returned to claim the sky
rain fell into a shower of hail
and the wind blew it all dry
the sun returned for a spell
and quickly went away
people spoke of sleet and snow
where it fell elsewhere
I had heard or was told
in the room, behind the window
nothing seemed to change
the temperature was modest
and the air still and dry
it was only the picture changing
dependent on the weather
before the light slowly left
and we returned to the night
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'Greater than Jacob
Jacob with the Lord could not remotely compare
and none like my Lord Jesus can be found anywhere.
For the water that flows from our Emmanuel
is far better than the water from Jacobs well.
'Come and drink of me, ' Jesus said so clear and plain
'And you'll never ever experience thirst again.'
For it is Living Water that in Jesus dwells
which you cannot get from any of Jacobs wells.
This sinner came to drink from that life giving well
drank the Living Water from Emmanuel
and as he drank in deep from the sin cleansing flow
forgiveness and everlasting life he began know.
Jesus my Lord and God is far beyond compare
and His glory with another He will not share.
That is why the people on earth heard Him declare
that One much greater than Jacob was standing there.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
Ring Of Fire
Love is a burning thing,
It makes a firey ring,
Bound by wild desire,
I fell in a ring of fire,
I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher,
I burned, burned, burned,
A ring of fire, a ring of fire,
The taste of love is sweet,
And hearts like ours meet,
I fell for you just like a child,
And oh, the fire went wild,
I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher,
And burned, burned, burned,
A ring of fire, a ring of fire,
I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher,
And burned, burned, burned,
A ring of fire,
A ring of fire,
The taste of love is sweet,
And hearts like ours meet,
I fell for you just like a child,
And oh, the fire went wild,
I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher,
And burned, burned, burned,
A ring of fire. (repeat, fade)
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ring Of Fire (demo)
Love is a burning thing,
It makes a firey ring,
Bound by wild desire,
I fell in a ring of fire,
I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher,
I burned, burned, burned,
A ring of fire, a ring of fire,
The taste of love is sweet,
And hearts like ours meet,
I fell for you just like a child,
And oh, the fire went wild,
I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher,
And burned, burned, burned,
A ring of fire, a ring of fire,
I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher,
And burned, burned, burned,
A ring of fire,
A ring of fire,
The taste of love is sweet,
And hearts like ours meet,
I fell for you just like a child,
And oh, the fire went wild,
I fell into a burning ring of fire,
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher,
And burned, burned, burned,
A ring of fire. (repeat, fade)
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Water Fountain
I drank glasses of water,
I drank water from office coolers.
Many people drank from water fountains.
I thought my thirst I could slake,
If I drank water from a cool lake.
Then I would would drink cold water,
From gushing waterfalls.
But much to my surprise,
I thirsted for all of Earth's water.
I couldn't fathom my inner self,
About slaking my thirst insatiable.
I couldn't come to grips about,
The deep waters of my life.
Was it my body? Or was it my soul?
Then I very quickly learned,
That this thirst for water that was burning in me,
Was my unending thirst for love
That everybody yearns for.
And everybody needs.
In quantities of glasses, coolers, waterfalls,
Lakes, oceans and seas.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Day Of Days
When midnight came, my dream drew near,
A desert landscape formed
And there within that daylight clear,
My body quickly warmed...
A throat-fuelled thirst began to grow
As I walked on hot sand
And I knew then, not far to go,
For nothing new was planned...
In my confusion, tears emerged
Within my drying eyes,
As if somehow they must be purged
To cut me down to size,
To humble me in my distress,
Before my final end,
So I felt no more need to guess,
But merely comprehend...
So this was it... the day of days...
Just one more hill to climb
And then the parting of the ways,
The end of Earth-bound time...
A final tear slipped down my cheek...
To nestle on my lips,
As if a way back in to seek,
As on my tongue it slips...
Yet life was done... I breathed no more...
Most prophecies fulfilled...
All tears were wept, now God's own law
Meant even thoughts were stilled...
But then my spirit left its shell...
No hunger pains or thirst,
All body weight that stood now fell,
As if life's bubble burst...
Unfettered by my blood and bones,
I floated in the air,
To taste God's freedom which one owns
When one casts off each care...
My spirit gliding up above,
I asked God where to go...
Then I heard Jesus speak with love,
That only Christians know...
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ten Lepers
’Neath the olives of Samaria, in far-famed Galilee,
Where dark green vines are mirrored in a placid silver sea,
’Mid scenes of tranquil beauty, glowing sun-sets, rosy dawn,
The Master and disciples to the city journeyed on.
And, as they neared a valley where a sheltered hamlet lay,
A strange, portentous wailing made them pause upon their way—
Voices fraught with anguish, telling of aching heart and brow,
Which kept moaning: “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us now!”
Softly raised the gentle Saviour His eyes like midnight star,
And His mournful gaze soon rested on ten lepers, who, afar,
Stood motionless and suppliant, in sackcloth rudely clothed,
Poor Pariahs! by their nearest, their dearest, shunned and loathed.
Not unto Him prayed vainly those sore afflicted ten,
No! He yearned too fondly over the erring sons of men,
Even sharing in their sorrows, though He joined not in their feasts,—
So He kindly told the Lepers: “Show yourselves unto the priests.”
When, miracle of mercy! as they turned them to obey,
And towards the Holy Temple quickly took their hopeful way,
Lo! the hideous scales fell off them, health’s fountains were unsealed,
Their skin grew soft as infant’s—their leprosy was healed.
O man! so oft an ingrate, to thy thankless nature true,
Thyself see in those Lepers, who did as thou dost do;
Nine went their way rejoicing, healed in body—glad in soul—
Nor once thought of returning thanks to Him who made them whole.
One only, a Samaritan, a stranger to God’s word,
Felt his joyous, panting bosom, with gratitude deep stirred,
And without delay he hastened, in the dust, at Jesus’ feet,
To cast himself in worship, in thanksgiving, warm and meet.
Slowly questioned him the Saviour, with majesty divine:—
“Ten were cleansed from their leprosy—where are the other nine?
Is there none but this one stranger—unlearned in Gods ways,
His name and mighty power, to give word of thanks or praise?”
The sunbeams’ quivering glories softly touched that God-like head,
The olives blooming round Him sweet shade and fragrance shed,
While o’er His sacred features a tender sadness stole:
“Rise, go thy way,” He murmured, “thy faith hath made thee whole!”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Living Water
For all men who hunger and thirst, let Jesus, in your life be first,
He will from a fountain higher, come fill our heart’s every desire.
The Lord will cause living water, to flow from within you forever,
When you truly come to know, Jesus Christ, eternal waters flow.
Through the Holy Spirit my friend, His living water will never end.
In everyone who Christ redeems, from inside flow living streams,
When you thirst for righteousness, Christ will fill your emptiness.
Not with a trickle or just a drop, but with streams that won’t stop.
All who thirst, Christ has willed, from His fountain shall be filled.
Filled through The Spirit above, sent to men through God’s love.
The well which feeds the spring, is regulated by the Eternal King,
And the well will never run dry, for its source is The Lord on High.
Rivers of water shall fill the life, of all who come to Jesus Christ.
They’ll hunger and thirst no more, when they know Christ as Lord.
God fills all our remaining days, with ever flowing joy and praise.
Being His example to all around, as the Love of Christ abounds,
A love from Christ that has its start, in every truly believing heart.
It comes only as you believe, and the Spirit of Truth you receive,
This living water He gives you, Christ wants to give to others too,
Using the living water of your life, to draw others to Jesus Christ.
Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 17)
Then Jesus took Peter, James, John,
And led them up a high mountain;
He was transfigured before them,
His face illumined like the sun;
His clothes became white like bright light!
Behold, then Moses, Elijah,
Appeared to converse with Jesus.
Then Peter told Jesus up there:
‘’Tis good that we are here, O Lord.
If you so wish, we’ll make tents three,
One for Moses, Elijah, you! ’
While Peter was still speaking thus,
A bright cloud cast its shadow there;
A voice from within cloud then said,
‘This is my Son, beloved one,
In whom, I’m pleased, listen to Him! ’
The disciples fell prostrate then,
On having heard the voice fearsome!
But Jesus came and touched them, said:
‘Arise and do not be afraid! ’
And then His disciples now saw,
There was no one, except Jesus.
While descending the mountain, then,
Said Jesus to them, ‘Do not tell
About the vision to someone,
Until the Son of Man be raised
From dead after three days had passed! ’
His disciples then asked Him why
Scribes say must come, Elijah first?
He said, ‘Indeed, Elijah will
Come and restore, all things aright.’
‘He has already come, I say,
And they did not recognize him;
But did to him as they so pleased.
The Son of Man will suff’r like-wise!
The disciples mis-understood,
He spoke of John, the Baptist then.
When they approached a crowd, a man
Knelt down and begged of Him and said,
‘Pity my son, O Lord Jesus,
A lunatic, he suffers much;
He falls into the fire oft,
And falls in water too often.
I brought him to your disciples,
But they could not cure his illness.’
Then, Jesus said, ‘O faithless ones,
Behold, perverse generation:
How long should I be with you all?
How long must I endure your wrongs? ’
‘Just bring him here to me, ’ He said.
When Jesus chided him, there came,
A demon out of him too soon;
The boy was cured at that instant.
When disciples asked Him, ‘Why Lord,
Why couldn’t we drive the demon out? ’
He said, ‘Because of little faith.’
‘Amen, I say to you that if
Your faith although be mustard-sized,
If when you order mountain, ‘Move!
It will move then immediately.
Nothing’s impossible for you.’
In Galilee, then Jesus said,
‘The Son of Man will handed be,
To men and they will kill Him then,
The third day, He’ll arise alive.’
And they were overwhelmed with grief.
When they had come to Capernaum,
The temple-tax collectors came;
They asked Peter, ‘Doesn’t your teacher
Regularly pay temple tax?
They answered, ‘Yes! ’ and entered house;
Then Jesus asked Simon Peter,
‘What is your opinion, tell me? ’
From whom do kings collect toll-tax?
Is it from subjects or aliens? ’
When they replied, ‘From foreigners, ’
Jesus said, ‘Subjects are exempt.’
‘That we may not offend tax-men,
Then Jesus told to go to sea,
And catch the first fish that comes up,
Open its mouth, you’ll find coin,
Worth twice the temple-tax; Pay them
For me and also for you then! ’
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Completion
When I shall meet God’s generous dispensers
Of all the riches in the heavenly store,
Those lesser gods, who act as Recompensers
For loneliness and loss upon this shore,
Methinks abashed, and somewhat hesitating,
My soul its wish and longing will declare,
Lest they reply: ‘Here are no bounties waiting:
We gave on earth, your portion and your share.’
Then shall I answer: ‘Yea, I do remember
The many blessings to my life allowed;
My June was always longer than December,
My sun was always stronger than my cloud,
My joy was ever deeper than my sorrow,
My gain was ever greater than my loss,
My yesterday seemed less than my to-morrow,
The crown looked always larger than the cross.
‘I have known love in all its radiant splendour,
It shone upon my pathway to the end.
I trod no road that did not bloom with tender
And fragrant blossoms, planted by some friend.
And those material things we call successes,
In modest measure, crowned my earthly lot.
Yet there was one sweet happiness that blesses
The life of woman, which to me came not.
‘I knew the hope of motherhood; a season
I felt a fluttering heart beat ‘neath my own;
A little cry- then silence. For that reason
I dare, to you, my only wish make known.
The babe who grew to angelhood in heaven,
I never watched unfold from child to man.
And so I ask, that unto me be given
That motherhood, which was God’s eternal plan.
‘All womanhood He meant to share its glories;
He meant us all to nurse our babes to rest.
To croon them songs, to tell them sleepy stories,
Else why the wonder of a woman’s breast?
‘He must provide for all earth’s cheated mothers
In His vast heavens of shining sphere on sphere,
And with my son, there must be many others –
My spirit children who will claim me here.
‘Fair creatures by my loving thoughts created –
Too finely fashioned for a mortal birth –
Between the borders of two wounds they waited
Until they saw my spirit leave the earth.
In God’s great nursery they must be waiting
To welcome me with many an infant wile.
Now let me go and satisfy this longing
To mother children for a little while.’
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Must Be Born Again
Lord Jesus spoke to righteous men,
He spoke to sinners, too...
Sometimes He spoke beyond their ken,
They wondered what to do...
Sometimes He spoke in parables
That children understood,
Sometimes He spoke with miracles
And most men thought Him good...
Lord Jesus spoke of holy rules
That very few obeyed,
Sometimes He spoke and called them fools,
Yet all of us have strayed...
Yet there were times when Jesus smiled,
At those who sought some proof,
As if each one could be God's child
Responding to God's truth...
He said we must be born again,
Good deeds themselves don't save...
God's Holy Spirit comes and then
Each knows what God forgave...
At Pentecost, revival came
And thousands were baptised!
For they believed in Jesus' Name,
Proclaiming Him as Christ!
The Church was born and now it lives
Its living sacrifice,
To preach God's Word, that He forgives
And grants us Paradise...
Eternity! Streets paved with gold!
Not if, dear friends, but when?
The greatest story ever told:
You must be born again!
(July 2011)
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shepherdess Of The Arno
’Tis no wild and wond’rous legend, but a simple pious tale
Of a gentle shepherd maiden, dwelling in Italian vale,
Near where Arno’s glittering waters like the sunbeams flash and play
As they mirror back the vineyards through which they take their way.
She was in the rosy dawning of girlhood fair and bright,
And, like morning’s smiles and blushes, was she lovely to the sight;
Soft cheeks like sea-shells tinted and radiant hazel eyes;
But on changing earthly lover were not lavished smiles or sighs.
Still, that gentle heart was swelling with a love unbounded, true,
Such as worldly breast, earth harden’d, passion-wearied, never knew;
And each day she sought the chapel of Our Lady in the dell,
There to seek an hour’s communing with the Friend she loved so well.
Often, too, she brought a garland of wild flowers, fragrant, fair,
Which she culled whilst onward leading her flock with patient care;
The diamond dew-drops clinging to every petal sweet,—
For the mystic Rose of Heaven was it not a tribute meet?
The white statue of the Virgin boasted neither crown nor gem;
On its head she placed her chaplet instead of diadem,
Murm’ring, “O, my gentle Mother, would that it were in my power
To give Thee pearl or diamond instead of simple flower!”
But for earth she was too winsome, that fair child of faith and love,
One of those whom God culls early for His gardens bright above;
And the hand of sickness touched her till she faded day by day,
And to Our Lady’s chapel she came no more to pray.
One evening, in the valley, after journeying many a mile,
Two pious men in holy garb lay down to rest a while,
And in sleep to both a vision of most wond’rous beauty came,
Such as only visit souls which burn with heav’nly love’s pure flame.
Amid clouds of golden brightness they saw to earth float down
A band of fair young virgins, wearing each a glittering crown;
And surpassing them in beauty, as the day outshines the night,
Was high Heaven’s regal Mistress—Our Lady, fair and bright.
Then the pious brothers knew at once that she was on her way
To see a dying maiden, and her love through life repay;
And when, from slumber waking, they told their vision true,
They said: “Let us go visit this child of Mary, too!”
High instinct lent by Heaven guided on their feet aright,
And in silence grave they journeyed till a cottage came in sight;
’Neath its humble porch they entered, with bow’d and reverent head,
And found themselves in presence of the peaceful, holy dead.
Oh! most fair the sight! No maiden with bridal wreath on brow
Ever looked one half so lovely as the one they gazed on now;
As a lily, fair and spotless, bright and pure each feature shone,
Bearing impress of that Heaven to which Mary’s child had gone.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life's Hebe
IN the early morning-shine
Of a certain day divine,
I beheld a Maiden stand
With a pitcher in her hand;
Whence she poured into a cup
Until it was half filled up
Nectar that was golden light
In the cup of crystal bright.
And the first who took the cup
With pure water filled it up;
As he drank then, it was more
Ruddy golden than before:
And he leapt and danced and sang
As to Bacchic cymbals’ clang.
But the next who took the cup
With the red wine filled it up;
What he drank then was in hue
Of a heavy sombre blue:
First he reeled and then he crept,
Then lay faint but never slept.
And the next who took the cup
With the white milk filled it up;
What he drank at first seemed blood,
Then turned thick and brown as mud:
And he moved away as slow
As a weary ox may go.
But the next who took the cup
With sweet honey filled it up;
Nathless that which he did drink
Was thin fluid black as ink:
As he went he stumbled, soon,
And lay still in deathlike swoon.
She the while without a word
Unto all the cup preferred;
Blandly smiled and sweetly laughed
As each mingled his own draught.
And the next who took the cup
To the sunshine held it up,
Gave it back and did not taste;
It was empty when replaced:
First he bowed a reverent bow,
Then he kissed her on the brow.
But the next who took the cup
Without mixture drank it up;
When she took it back from him
It was full unto the brim:
He with a right bold embrace
Kissed her sweet lips face to face.
Then she sang with blithest cheer:
Who has thirst, come here, come here!
Nectar that is golden light
In the cup of crystal bright,
Nectar that is sunny fire
Warm as warmest heart’s desire:
Pitcher never lacketh more,
Arm is never tired to pour:
Honey, water, milk, or wine
Mingle with the draught divine,
Drink it pure, or drink it not;
Each is free to choose his lot:
Am I old? or am I cold?
Only two have kissed me bold!
She was young and fair and gay
As that young and glorious day.
poem by James Thomson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Spanish Chapel
I made a mountain-brook my guide
Thro' a wild Spanish glen,
And wandered, on its grassy side,
Far from the homes of men.
It lured me with a singing tone,
And many a sunny glance,
To a green spot of beauty lone,
A haunt for old romance.
A dim and deeply-bosom'd grove
Of many an aged tree,
Such as the shadowy violets love,
The fawn and forest-bee.
The darkness of the chestnut bough
There on the waters lay,
The bright stream reverently below,
Check'd its exulting play;
And bore a music all subdued,
And led a silvery sheen,
On thro' the breathing solitude
Of that rich leafy scene.
For something viewlessly around
Of solemn influence dwelt,
In the soft gloom and whispery sound,
Not to be told, but felt;
While sending forth a quiet gleam
Across the wood's repose,
And o'er the twilight of the stream,
A lowly chapel rose.
A pathway to that still retreat
Thro' many a myrtle wound,
And there a sight–how strangely sweet!
My steps in wonder bound.
For on a brilliant bed of flowers,
Even at the threshold made,
As if to sleep thro' sultry hours,
A young fair child was laid.
To sleep?–oh! ne'er on childhood's eye,
And silken lashes press'd,
Did the warm living slumber lie,
With such a weight of rest!
Yet still a tender crimson glow
Its cheek's pure marble dyed–
'Twas but the light's faint streaming flow
Thro' roses heap'd beside.
I stoop'd–the smooth round arm was chill,
The soft lip's breath was fled,
And the bright ringlets hung so still–
The lovely child was dead!
'Alas!' I cried, 'fair faded thing!
Thou hast wrung bitter tears,
And thou hast left a wo, to cling
Round yearning hearts for years!'
But then a voice came sweet and low–
I turn'd, and near me sate
A woman with a mourner's brow,
Pale, yet not desolate.
And in her still, clear, matron face,
All solemnly serene,
A shadow'd image I could trace
Of that young slumberer's mien.
'Stranger! thou pitiest me,' she said,
With lips that faintly smil'd,
'As here I watch beside my dead,
My fair and precious child.
'But know, the time-worn heart may be
By pangs in this world riven,
Keener than theirs who yield, like me,
An angel thus to Heaven!'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wolf
That was a time for falling,
I knew you well.
There was no time for calling,
Me when you fell.
This is a time to take cover ,
In a wishing well.
Summer was blowing all over me when you fell,
Sailors can take all the breathing
Out of the sail,
I took a trip when you needed me.
When you fell,
Waters were driving me
To a deep place
I close my eyes to see,
Your sweet face,
A coke inside me,
I slept in hell.
Angels can be so deceiving
When they love you well,
Did you think you would be leaving me?
These are some lavender flowers
In a broken shell
They comfort me ever since the day when you fell.
When you fell,
Waters were dancing me
In a dark place,
I close my eyes to see
Your determined face,
My secret inside me
I slept in hell.
This is a time for believing
In fairy tales,
One in which you are brought back to me.
Wolf, I cried wolf.
Wolf, I cried wolf.
Wolf, I cried wolf.
song performed by by Veruca Salt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scarring up my Knees
As I sit here by your bedside son I trace the scars on my knees.
My scarred knees is like a GPS to your soul.
You see the very first scar I got for you is the day I found out your mom was going have you.
I fell to my knees and I thank God for blessing me with a child.
The next scar came when you were born.
I fell to my knees with tears in my eyes thanking God for not just blessing me with a child but a son.
The day you took your first step, I got on my knees and asked the Lord as you step to please walk with you.
And son when that stray bullet hit even as you lied there in your blood I fell to my knees and prayed to God saying; “Lord I don’t want him to leave me now but if you his heavenly father is calling him home let him know his earthly father loved every moment we shared.”
Now God did not call you home that day and you still here with me so until you open your eyes I’ll be scarring up my knees.
A Girl’s Day Dream And Its Fulfilment
“Child of my love, why wearest thou
That pensive look and thoughtful brow?
Can’st gaze abroad on this world so fair
And yet thy glance be fraught with care?
Roses still bloom in glowing dyes,
Sunshine still fills our summer skies,
Earth is still lovely, nature glad—
Why dost thou look so lone and sad?”
“Ah! mother it once sufficed thy child
To cherish a bird or flow’ret wild;
To see the moonbeams the waters kiss,
Was enough to fill her heart with bliss;
Or o’er the bright woodland stream to bow,
But these things may not suffice her now.”
“Perhaps ’tis music thou seekest, child?
Then list the notes of the song birds wild,
The gentle voice of the mountain breeze,
Whispering among the dark pine trees,
The surge sublime of the sounding main,
Or thy own loved lute’s soft silvery strain.”
“Mother, there’s music sweeter I know
Than bird’s soft note or than ocean’s flow,
Vague to me yet as sounds of a dream,
Yet dearer, brighter than sunshine’s gleam;
Such is the music I fain would hear,
All other sounds but tire mine ear!”
“Ah! thou seekest then a loving heart,
That in all thy griefs will bear a part,
That shelter will give in doubt and fear,
Come to me, loved one, thou’lt find it here!”
“Sweet mother, I almost fear to speak,
And remorseful blushes dye my cheek,
For though thou’st watched me from childhood’s hour,
As thou would’st have done a precious flower,
Though I love thee still as I did of yore,
Yet this weak heart seeketh something more:
A bliss as yet to my life unknown,
A heart whose throbs will be all mine own,
The tender tones of a cherished voice,
Of him who shall be my heart’s first choice;
And who at my feet alone shall bow,
This, this is the dream that haunts me now.”
“Alas, poor child, has it come to this?
Then bid farewell to thy childhood’s bliss,
To thy girlhood’s bright unfettered hours,
Thy sunny revels ’mid birds and flowers;
Of the golden zone yield up each strand
To cling to a hope, unstable as sand,
And forget the joys thy youth hath wove
In the stormy doubts of human love,
The feverish hopes and wearing pain
That form the links of Love’s bright chain!”
Alas! the mother spoke in vain!
The girl’s dream was soon fulfilled,
Her hopes by no dark cloud were chilled;
A lover ardent, noble too,
With flashing eyes of jetty hue,
With voice like music, sweet and soft,
Such as her dreams had pictured oft,
Now at her feet, a suppliant bowed,
And love eternal, changeless vowed.
Listening, then, with glowing cheek,
And rapture which no words might speak,
She thought, with bright and joyous smile,
They erred who thus could love revile,
Or say it had many a dark alloy,—
Had it not proved a dream of joy?
But, alas for her! she learned too soon
That love is fleeting as rose of June,
That her eyes might shine with olden light,
And yet be found no longer bright;
That she might devoted, faithful prove,
Yet her lover grow weary of her love.
Many an hour of silent tears,
Of heart-sick doubts, of humbling fears,
Of angry regrets, were hers, before
Her heart would say, “He loves no more.”
Weary of life and its thorny ways,
She sought the friend of her early days:
“Mother, I bring thee a breaking heart,
In sorrows deep it hath borne a part;
Speak to me tenderly as of yore,
Let thy kiss rest on my brow once more;
To the joys of my girlhood back I flee,
To live alone for them and for thee!”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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