Fastness
Tennison
This is the end whereto men toiled
Before thy coachman guessed his fate,--
How thou shouldst leave thy, 'scutcheoned gate
On that new wheel which is the oiled--
To see the England Shakespeare saw
(Oh, Earth, 'tis long since Shallow died!
Yet by yon farrowed sow may hide
Some blue deep minion of the Law)--
To range from Ashby-de-la-Zouch
By Lyonnesse to Locksley Hall,
Or haply, nearer home, appal
Thy father's sister's staid barouche.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Dove
If haply thou, O Desdemona Morn,
Shouldst call along the curving sphere, "Remain,
Dear Night, sweet Moor; nay, leave me not in scorn!"
With soft halloos of heavenly love and pain; --
Shouldst thou, O Spring! a-cower in coverts dark,
'Gainst proud supplanting Summer sing thy plea,
And move the mighty woods through mailed bark
Till mortal heart-break throbbed in every tree; --
Or (grievous `if' that may be `yea' o'er-soon!),
If thou, my Heart, long holden from thy Sweet,
Shouldst knock Death's door with mellow shocks of tune,
Sad inquiry to make -- `When may we meet?'
Nay, if ye three, O Morn! O Spring! O Heart!
Should chant grave unisons of grief and love;
Ye could not mourn with more melodious art
Than daily doth yon dim sequestered dove.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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When I Set Out for Lyonnesse
When I set out for Lyonnesse,
A hundred miles away,
The rime was on the spray,
And starlight lit my lonesomeness
When I set out for Lyonnesse
A hundred miles away.
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
While I should sojourn there
No prophet durst declare,
Nor did the wisest wizard guess
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
While I should sojourn there.
When I came back from Lyonnesse
With magic in my eyes,
All marked with mute surmise
My radiance rare and fathomless,
When I came back from Lyonnesse
With magic in my eyes!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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My Sister, Lost and Found
I had a sister for seventeen years,
She went missing, many tears,
We wondered what she was up to,
We didn't know she was forced to,
By her sick boyfriend,
This abusive boyfriend,
He controlled her every move,
Kept her weak, there's no prove.
When father died, the saddest truth,
When father died, the loss of youth,
Broken spell of the gnome,
Born again, little sister calls home
Father's prayers were heard,
Sad, No father's love, this lost bird,
But mother's love still remain,
To cut through the years of pain,
Her journey on trust has just begun,
My sister, has returned to the sun.
Copyright Philo Yan August 25,2012
Lost
Sweet lark! that, bedded in the tangled grass,
Protractest dewy slumbers, wake, arise!
The brightest moments of the morning pass-
Thou shouldst be up, and carolling in the skies.
Go up! go up! and melt into the blue,
And to heaven's veil on wings of song repair;
But, ere thou dost descend to earth, peep through,
And see if She be there.
Sweet stockdove! cooing in the flushing wood,
On one green bough brooding till morn hath died,
Oh, leave the perch where thou too long hast stood,
And with strong wings flutter the leaves aside!
Fly on, fly on, past feathery copse, nor stay
Till thou hast skimmed o'er all the woodlands fair!
And when thou hast, then speeding back thy way,
Tell me if She be there.
Sweet breeze! that, wearied with the heat of noon,
Upon a bank of daffodils didst die,
Oh, if thou lov'st me, quit thy perfumed swoon,
And, all refreshed, hither and thither hie.
Traverse the glades where browse the dappled deer,
Thrid the deep dells where none but thou mayst dare;
And then, sweet breeze, returning, to my ear
Whisper if She be there.
Sweet rivulet! running far too fast to stay,
Yet hear my plaint, e'en as thou rollest on!
I am alone-alone-both night and day,
For she I love was with me, and is gone.
Oh, shouldst thou find her on the golden beach
Whither thou speedest ocean's joys to share,
Remount thy course, despite what sophists teach,
And tell me She is there.
Not there! Nor there! Not in the far-off sky,
Close-keeping woods, or by the shining sea!
When lark, dove, breeze, and rivulet vainly try
To find my sweet-oh, where then may she be?
Hath she then left me-me she vowed so dear,
And she whose shadow dusks all other charms?
O foolish messengers! Look, look! She's here,
Enfolded in my arms!
poem by Alfred Austin
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Sonnet 11: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest,
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold decay,
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish;
Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more,
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish.
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Go Home Sister Snow
Snowy little girl with your eyes ice blue
Texas took your man and a side a pride too
You blaimed it on the heat
You blaimed it on the land
You shoulda been blaimin'
That no good cheatin' man
But go home sister snow
Go home sister snow
Go home where it drifts
And the wind does blow
Go home sister snow
Go home sister snow
Take your leave of this
Silly old Lone Star show
Well Texas burned you once
It ain't fair but its true
But Texas Loved you once
Even when the bonnets weren't blue
Sister snow we are kindred souls
Tundra land ain't a stranger
To me nor you
Dreaming of the Northern Lights
And those sun dogs too
Makes me think your right
Its probably true
There's somethin' about Texas
That Brings out the wild in you
So go home sister snow
Go home sister snow
Go home where it drifts
And the wind does blow
Go home sister snow
Go home sister snow
Take your leave of this
Silly old Lone Star show
Texas burned you once
It ain't fair but its true
But Texas loved you once
Even when the bonnets weren't blue
Well the Uhaul's packed
Got the kids in the car
Your brother's makin' fun
Of the southern drawl
Hope you make your peace
Hope your heart don't freeze
Leavin' here with the burn
Of that mans scorpion sting
So go home sister snow
Go home sister snow
Take your leave of this
Silly old Lone Star Show
poem by Atty Davis
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Hush Little Sister
Hush, little sister
Please don't cry
I wish I could be there
To sing you a lullaby
I can see your arms
Bloodied and bruised
That's strange, little sister
Mine were like that too
I know you scream
When Daddy's there
Hush, little sister
I know you're scared
I can see the way
He's hurting you
I'm sorry, little sister
He did that to me too
I know that people
Ignore what's going on at home
That makes me angry, little sister
You shouldn't have to be alone
Hey, little sister
You want to know why I'm not there?
It's a sad story, little sister
But people should care
You see, little sister
One day Daddy got high
You were asleep in your crib
So you didn't hear my cry
He screamed at me
And smashed my head against the door
While you slept, little sister
I died on the floor
You know, little sister
I don't think that I would have died
If someone had only bothered
To listen to my cries
But hush, little sister
Daddy's coming home
Quick, get into bed
You don't want him to find you alone
I'm sorry little sister
He's in a bad mood
Run while you can
Uh oh little sister
He's lifting his belt
Scream while you can, little sister
Call for help
Hush little sister
You don't need to cry
No one can hurt you
poem by by unknown author
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To The Prophetic Soul
What are these bustlers at the gate
Of now or yesterday,
These playthings in the hand of Fate,
That pass, and point no way;
These clinging bubbles whose mock fires
For ever dance and gleam,
Vain foam that gathers and expires
Upon the world's dark stream;
These gropers betwixt right and wrong,
That seek an unknown goal,
Most ignorant, when they seem most strong;
What are they, then, O Soul,
That thou shouldst covet overmuch
A tenderer range of heart,
And yet at every dreamed-of touch
So tremulously start?
Thou with that hatred ever new
Of the world's base control,
That vision of the large and true,
That quickness of the soul;
Nay, for they are not of thy kind,
But in a rarer clay
God dowered thee with an alien mind;
Thou canst not be as they.
Be strong therefore; resume thy load,
And forward stone by stone
Go singing, though the glorious road
Thou travellest alone.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Guido Invites You Thus
‘Lappo I leave behind and Dante too,
Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone!
Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl’ry,
Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise,
All the blind earth knows not th'emprise
Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.
Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams,
Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire;
Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams
Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire !
Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine.'
poem by Ezra Pound
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Hall Of Heads
Here in the hall of heads
You look through the keyhole
This is the hall of heads
One step through the doorway
Roll out that special head
This is our favorite one
Please dont try to leave
Dont leave the hall of heads
Hide underneath the porch
Hide down behind the furnace
You cant get away
You cant really hide
Once you hear the call
The song of the hall of heads
You cant run away
Your feet wont help you run
You cant run away
Out of the hall of heads
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Lines
I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last of my sister Anne:
I hoped, that with the brave and strong,
My portioned task might lie;
To toil amid the busy throng,
With purpose pure and high.
But God has fixed another part,
And He has fixed it well;
I said so with my bleeding heart,
When first the anguish fell.
Thou, God, hast taken our delight,
Our treasured hope away:
Thou bid'st us now weep through the night
And sorrow through the day.
These weary hours will not be lost,
These days of misery,
These nights of darkness, anguish-tost,
Can I but turn to Thee.
With secret labour to sustain
In humble patience every blow;
To gather fortitude from pain,
And hope and holiness from woe.
Thus let me serve Thee from my heart,
Whate'er may be my written fate:
Whether thus early to depart,
Or yet a while to wait.
If Thou shouldst bring me back to life,
More humbled I should be;
More wise — more strengthened for the strife —
More apt to lean on Thee.
Should death be standing at the gate,
Thus should I keep my vow:
But, Lord! whatever be my fate,
Oh, let me serve Thee now!
These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside — forever.
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hush Little Sister
Hush, little sister
Please don't cry
I wish I could be there
To sing you a lullaby
I can see your arms
Bloodied and bruised
That's strange, little sister
Mine were like that too
I know you scream
When Daddy's there
Hush, little sister
I know you're scared
I can see the way
He's hurting you
I'm sorry, little sister
He did that to me too
I know that people
Ignore what's going on at home
That makes me angry, little sister
You shouldn't have to be alone
Hey, little sister
You want to know why I'm not there?
It's a sad story, little sister
But people should care
You see, little sister
One day Daddy got high
You were asleep in your crib
So you didn't hear my cry
He screamed at me
And smashed my head against the door
While you slept, little sister
I died on the floor
You know, little sister
I don't think that I would have died
If someone had only bothered
To listen to my cries
But hush, little sister
Daddy's coming home
Quick, get into bed
You don't want him to find you alone
I'm sorry little sister
He's in a bad mood
Run while you can
Uh oh little sister
He's lifting his belt
Scream while you can, little sister
Call for help
Hush little sister
You don't need to cry
No one can hurt you
You're in my arms tonight.
poem by Brie Carter
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Hush, Little Sister
Hush, little sister
Please don't cry
I wish I could be there
To sing you a lullaby
I can see your arms
Bloodied and bruised
That's strange, little sister
Mine were like that too
I know you scream
When Daddy's there
Hush, little sister
I know you're scared
I can see the way
He's hurting you
I'm sorry, little sister
He did that to me too
I know that people
Ignore what's going on at home
That makes me angry, little sister
You shouldn't have to be alone
Hey, little sister
You want to know why I'm not there?
It's a sad story, little sister
But people should care
You see, little sister
One day Daddy got high
You were asleep in your crib
So you didn't hear my cry
He screamed at me
And smashed my head against the door
While you slept, little sister
I died on the floor
You know, little sister
I don't think that I would have died
If someone had only bothered
To listen to my cries
But hush, little sister
Daddy's coming home
Quick, get into bed
You don't want him to find you alone
I'm sorry little sister
He's in a bad mood
Run while you can
Uh oh little sister
He's lifting his belt
Scream while you can, little sister
Call for help
Hush little sister
You don't need to cry
No one can hurt you
You're in my arms tonight.
poem by Charlotte Marie Peachey
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Fool: Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
line from King Lear, Act I, Scene 5 by William Shakespeare (1606)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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To My Husband on Our Wedding-Day
I leave for thee, beloved one,
The home and friends of youth,
Trusting my hopes, my happiness,
Unto thy love and truth;
I leave for thee my girlhood's joys,
Its sunny, careless mirth,
To bear henceforth my share amid
The many cares of earth.
And yet, no wild regret I give
To all that now I leave,
The golden dreams, the flow'ry wreaths
That I no more may weave;
The future that before me lies
A dark and unknown sea --
Whate'er may be its storms or shoals,
I brave them all with thee!
I will not tell thee now of love
Whose life, ere this, thou'st guessed,
And which, like sacred secret, long
Was treasured in my breast;
Enough that if thy lot be calm,
Or storms should o'er it sweep,
Thou'lt learn that it is woman's love,
Unchanging, pure and deep.
If this life's sunshine gild thy lot,
Bestowing wealth and pride,
Its light enjoying, I shall stand,
Rejoicing, at thy side;
But, oh! if thou should'st prove the griefs
That blight thy fellow-men,
'Twill be my highest, dearest right,
To be, love, with thee then.
And thou, wilt thou not promise me
Thy heart will never change,
That tones and looks, so loving now,
Will ne'er grow stern and strange?
That thou'lt be kind, whatever faults
Or failings may be mine,
And bear with them in patient love,
As I will bear with thine?
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Specula
When He appoints to meet thee, go thou forth—
It matters not
If south or north,
Bleak waste or sunny plot.
Nor think, if haply He thou seek’st be late,
He does thee wrong.
To stile or gate
Lean thou thy head, and long!
It may be that to spy thee He is mounting
Upon a tower,
Or in thy counting
Thou hast mista’en the hour.
But, if He comes not, neither do thou go
Till Vesper chime.
Belike thou then shalt know
He hath been with thee all the time.
poem by Thomas Edward Brown
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Nearer my God to Thee
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Tho' like a wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone,
Yet in my dreams I'll be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
There let the way appear,
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy be given,
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Then with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Or if, on joyful wing
Cleavihg the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
poem by Sarah Flower Adams
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Robert Gould Shaw
Why was it that the thunder voice of Fate
Should call thee, studious, from the classic groves,
Where calm-eyed Pallas with still footsteps roves,
And charge thee seek the turmoil of the State?
What bade thee hear the voice and rise elate,
Leave home and kindred and thy spicy loaves,
To lead th' unlettered and despised droves
To manhood's home and thunder at the gate?
Far better the slow blaze of Learning's light,
The cool and quiet of her dearer fane,
Than this hot terror of a hopeless fight,
This cold endurance of the final pain,-
Since thou and those who with thee died for right
Have died, the Present teaches, but in vain!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Maiden's Sorrow
Seven long years has the desert rain
Dropped on the clods that hide thy face;
Seven long years of sorrow and pain
I have thought of thy burial-place.
Thought of thy fate in the distant west,
Dying with none that loved thee near;
They who flung the earth on thy breast
Turned from the spot williout a tear.
There, I think, on that lonely grave,
Violets spring in the soft May shower;
There, in the summer breezes, wave
Crimson phlox and moccasin flower.
There the turtles alight, and there
Feeds with her fawn the timid doe;
There, when the winter woods are bare,
Walks the wolf on the crackling snow.
Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away;
All my task upon earth is done;
My poor father, old and gray,
Slumbers beneath the churchyard stone.
In the dreams of my lonely bed,
Ever thy form before me seems;
All night long I talk with the dead,
All day long I think of my dreams.
This deep wound that bleeds and aches,
This long pain, a sleepless pain--
When the Father my spirit takes,
I shall feel it no more again.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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London, 1802
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour;
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart;
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
poem by William Wordsworth
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