Sonnet (Suggested By Some Of The Proceedings Of The Society For Psychical Research )
Not with vain tears, when we're beyond the sun,
We'll beat on the substantial doors, nor tread
Those dusty high-roads of the aimless dead
Plaintive for Earth; but rather turn and run
Down some close-covered by-way of the air,
Some low sweet alley between wind and wind,
Stoop under faint gleams, thread the shadows, find
Some whispering ghost-forgotten nook, and there
Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say
What this tumultuous body now denies;
And feel, who have laid our groping hands away;
And see, no longer blinded by our eyes.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sonnet (Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research)
Not with vain tears, when we're beyond the sun,
We'll beat on the substantial doors, nor tread
Those dusty high-roads of the aimless dead
Plaintive for Earth; but rather turn and run
Down some close-covered by-way of the air,
Some low sweet alley between wind and wind,
Stoop under faint gleams, thread the shadows, find
Some whispering ghost-forgotten nook, and there
Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say
What this tumultuous body now denies;
And feel, who have laid our groping hands away;
And see, no longer blinded by our eyes.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet
(Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research)
Not with vain tears, when we’re beyond the sun,
We’ll beat on the substantial doors, nor tread
Those dusty high-roads of the aimless dead
Plaintive for Earth; but rather turn and run
Down some close-covered by-way of the air,
Some low sweet alley between wind and wind,
Stoop under faint gleams, thread the shadows, find
Some whispering ghost-forgotten nook, and there
Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say
What this tumultuous body now denies;
And feel, who have laid our groping hands away;
And see, no longer blinded by our eyes.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wind
The wind is whispering in my ear
But all I hear is him telling me that he loves me.
Even though he's no longer with me.
The wind is running his fingers down my hair.
Just like he.
The wind pushes me to where we met.
The wind reminds me how much I miss and love him night and day
The wind keeps whispering in my ear
But all I want to see and hear is him
poem by Makayla Straight
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A Leap Of Faith
at the very moment when he gave up God
he closes his eyes
he leaps from the top of the cliff
feeling the wind and the hands of the clouds
he stretches his arms
his hands groping for nothing
his feet no longer trembling
he feels the ground
he crushes with an impact
that he had never known
there is only darkness
and then a faint light and then he feels
the arms of God finally embracing him
he opens his eyes and there he sees God
the eyes of true compassion
love eternal
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After Arguing Against The Contention That Art Must Come From Discontent
Whispering to each handhold, “I'll be back,”
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind—
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward. . . .
I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark—
“Made it again!” Oh how I love this climb!
—the whispering to stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
“Made it again! Made it again!”
poem by William Stafford
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Since I Laid Eyes On You
(Ellen Shipley/Billy Steinberg/Sandy Stewart)
Why did I show my hand
Now you know your wish
Is my command
I never longed for things I didn't have
But that's no longer true
Since I laid eyes on you
I know I'm not the same
I don't need a fortune
Don't care about fame
But my soul is a burning flame
Can't sleep the whole night through
Since I laid eyes on you
I want your sweet caress
I dream of your tenderness
Oh I never, ever felt like this
I swear
Look what you've done for me
Oh boy, it's poetry
When I see the wind in your hair
The tears well up inside
Oh, what will turn the tide
And I've been waiting for you to decide
That you love me too
Since I laid eyes on you
What else could I do
Since I laid eyes on you
You, you, you, you
On you
Oh, yeah
Since I laid eyes
On you, you, you
song performed by by Faith Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Souls
I
A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
II
Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:
It is only their call that comes on the breeze;
Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:
It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;
Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:
It is only the touch of their hands that grope -
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.
III
And where should a man bring his sweet to woo
But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?
Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,
The empty hands that their fellows miss,
Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,
Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
IV
And now that they rise and walk in the cold,
Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.
Let them see us and hear us, and say: 'Ah, thus
In the prime of the year it went with us!'
Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,
Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.
V
Till they say, as they hear us - poor dead, poor dead! -
'Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed -
Just a thrill of the old remembered pains
To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,
Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,
As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart -
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.'
VI
And where should the living feel alive
But here in this wan white humming hive,
As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,
And one by one they creep back to the fold?
And where should a man hold his mate and say:
'One more, one more, ere we go their way'?
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the living can learn by the churchyard light.
VII
And how should we break faith who have seen
Those dead lips plight with the mist between,
And how forget, who have seen how soon
They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?
How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too,
Who must do so soon as those others do?
For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,
And behold, with the light the dead are away. . . .
poem by Edith Wharton
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De Ægypto
I even I, am he who knoweth the roads
Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.
I have beheld the Lady of Life,
I, even I, who fly with the swallows.
Green and gray is her raiment,
Trailing along the wind.
I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads
Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.
Manus animam pinxit,
My pen is in my hand
To write the acceptable word. . . .
My mouth to chant the pure singing!
Who hath the mouth to receive it,
The song of the Lotus of Kumi?
I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads
Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.
I am flame that riseth in the sun,
I, even I, who fly with the swallows.
The moon is upon my forehead,
The winds are under my lips.
The moon is a great pearl in the waters of sapphire,
Cool to my fingers the flowing waters.
I, even I, am he who knoweth the roads
Through the sky, and the wind thereof is my body.
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wise Man
I sat before the wise man
In the autumn of my youth
And I told him all
The things I had to know
He said you have the future
If you need to find the truth
And in his eyes
I saw that it was so
So I came right out
And asked him
The meaning of life
And as he smiled
I saw a twinkle in his eye
He said with all his years
Theres still so much
He has to learn
And once again
I saw that it was so
Keep on living, loving
Waiting your turn
Its the only way to
Ease your concern
If you want to find
Your dream, be sure
You dont wake up too soon
Or youll find it easier
Shooting for the moon
Wise man, wise man
Which way shall I run
Theres so many roads
So many ways to turn
I am like a blind man
Lost in the sun
I wanna be like you
And be a wise man too
But Im looking for
An easy way to learn
And be a wise man too
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soul Crying Out
Listen to the rhythm
Listen to the beat
It has a cold wind blowing
Up through the street
Soul crying out
People crying out
In through the valleys
In through the streets
Feel the whole world moving
Underneath our feet
Somethings going on
I said what is going wrong
I feel them coming
So close behind
Sister says, were next in line
The man he says, thats ok
And the government says youre gonna pay, pay, pay
And you pay
Still you pay
Its just a soul crying out
Its just the people crying out
Its the land crying out
And I can hear you crying out
And I say, I dont know
Maybe I dont care
What I know is
I gotta get out of here
And Im going
Going any day
Some sweet day
Some sweet day
I gotta find a way
I can hear the lovers, whisper in the street
See a crowd has gathered underneath the heat
I hear what they say
But I dont believe what they say
I see the woman, with tears in her eyes
I hear the baby, calling in the night
Something on the bed, was it something she said
Hell this is not right
What goes on through the night
I hear her coming, all in my mind
Sweet common love, so hard to find
Someone said, man thats sa
And the people walk by, cos theyre so blind
And you pay
Still you pay
Its just a soul crying out
Just the people crying out
Its the earth crying out
And I can hear you crying out
And I can feel you crying out
And I say, I dont know
Maybe I dont care
All I know is, I gotta get out of here
And Im going, going any way
Do you know, some place to go
Im getting out of here
Where will I find some peace of mind
Im getting out of here
I come walking to you
I come singing to you
Some sweet day
Im gonna walk away
Im gonna walk away
Its just the soul crying out
Its just the land crying out
Its just the children crying out
All the babies crying out
Any way, some sweet day
Im gonna walk away
Turn away
Its just the soul crying out
Its just the land crying out
I wanna hear
I want you here
Some sweet day
Just a soul crying out
Of a land crying out anyway
When you say
Some sweet day...
Words and music : simple minds reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dreamer Of Dreams
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 01: The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 04: 07: The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces,
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins. . . . '
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister mass, we ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, with word upon murmured word,
We flow, we descend, we turn. . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves on among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good night! good night! good night! we go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky.
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light. They have shaken a burden of hours. . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Midnight Walk
Dusty,
Dust roads,
Chimney dark
Smoke,
Slivers of moonlight,
Shadows of hip
Hop toads,
And plop,
Plopping
Fish-ringed
Water ponds.
Flashes of light,
Shudders of
Thunder-Pounded
Sky,
Gusts of
Wind-blown wind,
Wolf-dog’s howl,
Screech-cat’s cry,
Heartbeat’s beat,
And rain
Rained street.
poem by Terry L. Young
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fly with the wind
I want to be a bird
so beautiful and free
I want to fly like the wind
I want to be a swan
so graceful and pure
I want to fly like the wind
I want to be a hawk
with eyes that see the soul
I want to fly like the wind
I want to be an owl
wise queen of the night
I want to fly like the wind
I want to be a dove
bringing good luck to many
I want to fly like the wind
I want to be a parrot
with colors and wit
I want to fly like the wind
I want to be a nightingale
with the sweetest of voices
i want to fly like the wind
I want to be a raven
Darker than a starless night
I want to fly like the wind
I want to be me
and if I'm accepted
I will fly with the wind
poem by Alexianna Brandhagen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Voices Inherit The Wind
The lingering shadows of those
who are gone from our grasp
bring comfort to those
who had to say behind.
Their voices inherit the wind
on cold and lonely nights.
Their voices can be heard
telling us everything is all right
when the shadows of loneliness
fall across our sight.
Our weeping call to come back
is answered in the wind
and the shaking branches
touched by a breeze.
Candles were lit to show us the way
when the clouds of darkness surround
and the voices inheriting the wind compound.
We walk with eyes blinded
into an eternal light
to be consumed within.
No one knows our boundaries
when angels take flight
and we only go when we are ready
to face the eternal night.
Those we left have no fear
we maybe gone, but we are still here.
Our voices inherit the wind on dark blustery nights.
We are those fleeting shadows
you catch from the corner of your eye.
We seek not to alarm you,
just to guide you along,
we are your past nudging you
into the future where you belong.
28 March 2010
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Edge Of The Wilderness
Puellae.
Whence comest thou, and whither goest thou?
Abide! abide! longer the shadows grow;
What hopest thou the dark to thee will show?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
Why should I name the land across the sea
Wherein I first took hold on misery?
Why should I name the land that flees from me?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
What wilt thou do within the desert place
Whereto thou turnest now thy careful face?
Stay but a while to tell us of thy case.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
What, nigh the journey’s end shall I abide,
When in the waste mine own love wanders wide,
When from all men for me she still doth hide?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
Nay, nay; but rather she forgetteth thee,
To sit upon the shore of some warm sea,
Or in green gardens where sweet fountains be.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
Will ye then keep me from the wilderness,
Where I at least, alone with my distress,
The quiet land of changing dreams may bless?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
Forget the false forgetter and be wise,
And ’mid these clinging hands and loving eyes,
Dream, not in vain, thou knowest paradise.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
Ah! with your sweet eyes shorten not the day,
Nor let your gentle hands my journey stay!
Perchance love is not wholly cast away.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
Pluck love away as thou wouldst pluck a thorn
From out thy flesh; for why shouldst thou be born
To bear a life so wasted and forlorn?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
Yea, why then was I born, since hope is pain,
And life a lingering death, and faith but vain,
And love the loss of all I seemed to gain?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
Dost thou believe that this shall ever be,
That in our land no face thou e’er shalt see,
No voice thou e’er shalt hear to gladden thee?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
No longer do I know of good or bad,
I have forgotten that I once was glad;
I do but chase a dream that I have had.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
Stay! take one image for thy dreamful night;
Come, look at her, who in the world’s despite
Weeps for delaying love and lost delight.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
Mock me not till to-morrow. Mock the dead,
They will not heed it, or turn round the head,
To note who faithless are, and who are wed.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
We mock thee not. Hast thou not heard of those
Whose faithful love the loved heart holds so close,
That death must wait till one word lets it loose?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
I hear you not: the wind from off the waste
Sighs like a song that bids me make good haste
The wave of sweet forgetfulness to taste.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
Come back! like such a singer is the wind,
As to a sad tune sings fair words and kind,
That he with happy tears all eyes may blind!
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
Amans.
Did I not hear her sweet voice cry from far,
That o’er the lonely waste fair fields there are,
Fair days that know not any change or care?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
Puellae.
Oh, no! not far thou heardest her, but nigh;
Nigh, ’twixt the waste’s edge and the darkling sky.
Turn back again, too soon it is to die.
Abide! a little while be happy here.
Amans.
How with the lapse of lone years could I strive,
And can I die now that thou biddest live?
What joy this space ’twixt birth and death can give.
Can we depart, who are so happy here?
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Tell The Wind
Springtime walks down the land
And hearts begin to understand
You are my love - you say we're gonna win
You know there's nothing to say -
Your love has gone with the wind
Don't tell the wind - when you find
That you are losing your love
Don't tell the wind - when you feel
That your love is in vain
Don't tell the wind - when you know
I'm gonna love you forever
Don't tell the wind - don't make it smile...
Voices appear whispering low
Don't wanna be here - I don't wanna go
You were my love - we're never gonna win
There's nothing left to say -
We're drifting in the wind
(Drifting in the wind - longing for some rest)
song performed by by Zeno
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Man's Morrice
There came a crowder to the Mermaid Inn,
One dark May night,
Fiddling a tune that quelled our motley din,
With quaint delight,
It haunts me yet, as old lost airs will do,
A phantom strain:
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._
In that old wood, where ghosts of lovers walk,
At fall of day,
Gleaning such fragments of their ancient talk
As poor ghosts may,
From leaves that brushed their faces, wet with dew,
Or tears, or rain,...
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._
Have we not seen them--pale forgotten shades
That do return,
Groping for those dim paths, those fragrant glades,
Those nooks of fern,
Only to find that, of the may they knew,
No wraiths remain;
_Yet they still look, as I should look for you,
And look in vain._
They see those happier ghosts that waned away--
Whither, who knows?--
Ghosts that come back with music and the may,
And Spring's first rose,
Lover and lass, to sing the old burden through,
Stave and refrain:
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._
So, after death, if in that starless deep,
I lose your eyes,
I'll haunt familiar places. I'll not keep
Tryst in the skies.
I'll haunt the whispering elms that found us true,
The old grass-grown lane.
_Look for me there, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._
There, as of old, under the dreaming moon,
A phantom throng
Floats through the fern, to a ghostly morrice tune,
A thin sweet song,
Hands link with hands, eyes drown in eyes anew,
Lips meet again....
_Look for me, once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._
poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Whispering Wind
like the whispering wind you sent to me
like the hopeless time you gave to me
i watched your dreams all slip away
i watched your dreams all slip away
there's a hopeless place inside my heart
when i look inside i see where we are
like the whispering wind in the top of the trees
i will watch the sky come following me
like the rain on my windows late every night
like the hope i have for us every time
it's like the whispering wind in the top of the trees
i see it sway as you come for me
there's a whispering wind i feel it inside
like a place i can feel but never will see
let a whisper come touch you come touch every thing
i stand in the way of the things i can be
let the whispering wind come lift us away
let it push us apart if we wish to stay
you're my sweetness my baby my love for all time
like the whispering wind it makes you all mine
like the whispering wind you stand here with me
like the whispering wind you stand here with me
i see your dreams all slip away
slip away
slip away
slip away
song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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