Horace: Book II. Ode 9
Clouds do not always veil the skies,
Nor showers immerse the verdant plain;
Nor do the billows always rise,
Or storms afflict the ruffled main.
Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shores
Do the chain'd waters always freeze;
Not always furious Boreas roars,
Or bends with violent force the trees.
But you are ever drown'd in tears,
For Mystes dead you ever mourn;
No setting Sol can ease your cares,
But find you sad at his return.
The wise experienced Grecian sage
Mourn'd not Antilochus so long;
Nor did King Priam's hoary age
So much lament his slaughter'd son.
Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs,
Augustus' number'd trophies sing,
To whom all nations tribute bring.
Niphates rolls an humbler wave,
At length th' undaunted Scythian yields,
Content to live the Roman slave,
And scarce forsakes his native fields.
poem by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Part of the Dialogue Between Hector and Andromache
She ceas'd; then godlike Hector answer'd kind -
(His various plumage sporting in the wind)
'That post and all the rest shall be my care;
But shall I then forsake the unfinish'd war?
How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name!
And one base action sully all my fame,
Acquired by wounds, and battles bravely fought!
Oh! how my soul abhors so mean a thought.
Long have I learnt to slight this feeble breath,
And view with cheerful eyes approaching death.
The inexorable sisters have decreed
That Priam's house and Priam's self shall bleed:
The day shall come, in which proud Troy shall yield,
And spread its smoking ruins o'er the field.
Yet Hecuba's, nor Priam's hoary age,
Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty rage;
Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly wound,
Can in my bosom half that grief create,
As the sad thought of your impending fate:
When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose,
Mimic your years, and ridicule your woes:
Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat,
And, fainting, scarce support the liquid weight:
Then shall some Argive loud insulting cry,
'Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy!'
Tears, at my name, shall drown those beauteous eyes,
And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs!
Before that day, by some brave hero's hand,
May I lie slain, and spurn the bloody sand!'
poem by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Holy Sonnet 3
O! might those sighs and tears return again
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vain.
In mine Idolatry what showers of rain
Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent?
That sufferance was my sin, I now repent;
'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain.
Th' hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joys, for relief
Of coming ills. To poor me is allow'd
No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
Th' effect and cause, the punishment and sin.
poem by John Donne from Holy Sonnets
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Can you see God
Do you see God inside the rain,
Or when the sun shines on your face,
When birds are singing songs of praise,
Or only if you start to pray
Do you see God through skies that pour,
Does his presence leave you wanting more,
And when you're chained down to the floor,
Does God respond to desperate roars,
Do you see God when water falls,
When the fights so big and you're so small,
Or feel him when you start to stall,
And time times ten reject his call,
Do you see God through darkened clouds,
When waves so big you might just drown,
Does God exist when up is down,
When prayers seem to have no sound,
Do you see God through blurry skies,
Or violent winds and hurried lives,
And every time you start to lie,
Do you feel Gods piercing burning eyes,
Do you see God inside the storm,
When death has struck and heart is torn,
Do angels sing when you're re-born,
When you are lost do angels mourn,
Do you see God inside the rain,
When rain and pain are one and same,
When there are no more happy days,
Do you see God inside the pain
poem by Nathan Streango
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blue Skies Bring Tears
Unleash the armageddon
So all the children go to heaven
I sit by quiet still
With their pictures on my eyes
You'll draw the guns your given
Write down the words as written
And never disturb the presense
Of resurrection touch
And it's about time
It's about drawing near
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Descend the darkened stairway
Make hate with plastic playmates
And fire out remaining traces
Of your self esteem
Mainline the deepest secrets
Lick clean the dirty fingers
I am a stranger to you
As you are to yourself
And it's about time
It's about fear
Blue skies bring tears
Don't you want me (don't want you)
Cause I await cityside
We'll watch the seas start to die
Blue skies bring tears
Take me inside your body
Blue skies bring tears
Cover me with your soul
Blue skies bring tears
To the darkest reasons
Blue skies bring tears
Is where I wish to go
Blue skies bring tears
You are the sweetest flower
Blue skies bring tears
That I have ever devoured
Blue skies bring tears
I ask for nothing given
Blue skies bring tears
For nothing in return
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from Machina: The Machines Of God
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Cry for Haitians
My heart goes out to the Haitians
Having lost touch with the stillness of your land
Yet have you been made to travel still
Clinging your teeth to the back of trees
Your tears travel long
And sink somewhere beneath the sea shores
We all, together feel these tears
We all, together sing your fears
To that woman, we altogether sing
Lullabies to your puzzled seeds
Because we all see the gleaming morning sun
Setting your sweat, pain and toil to the dumps
A salute to that man with a heart to care
Your garment and bread you freely shared
One day we shall all sit at meat to drink
And sip from heaven’s stream in peace
This yoke, too; shall pass
Your fears shall sink to abyss’ stand
Oh Haitians, weep no more
Oh Haitians, mourn no more
poem by Gilbert Alasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Farewel To America to Mrs. S. W.
I.
ADIEU, New-England's smiling meads,
Adieu, the flow'ry plain:
I leave thine op'ning charms, O spring,
And tempt the roaring main.
II.
In vain for me the flow'rets rise,
And boast their gaudy pride,
While here beneath the northern skies
I mourn for health deny'd.
III.
Celestial maid of rosy hue,
O let me feel thy reign!
I languish till thy face I view,
Thy vanish'd joys regain.
IV.
Susanna mourns, nor can I bear
To see the crystal show'r,
Or mark the tender falling tear
At sad departure's hour;
V.
Not unregarding can I see
Her soul with grief opprest:
But let no sighs, no groans for me,
Steal from her pensive breast.
VI.
In vain the feather'd warblers sing,
In vain the garden blooms,
And on the bosom of the spring
Breathes out her sweet perfumes.
VII.
While for Britannia's distant shore
We sweep the liquid plain,
And with astonish'd eyes explore
The wide-extended main.
VIII.
Lo! Health appears! celestial dame!
Complacent and serene,
With Hebe's mantle o'er her Frame,
With soul-delighting mein.
IX.
To mark the vale where London lies
With misty vapours crown'd,
Which cloud Aurora's thousand dyes,
And veil her charms around.
X.
Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow?
So slow thy rising ray?
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day!
XI.
For thee, Britannia, I resign
New-England's smiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the prospect yields!
XII.
But thou! Temptation hence away,
With all thy fatal train,
Nor once seduce my soul away,
By thine enchanting strain.
XIII.
Thrice happy they, whose heav'nly shield
Secures their souls from harms,
And fell Temptation on the field
Of all its pow'r disarms!
poem by Phillis Wheatley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Testament
The decomposing wall I see
That encompasses the long dead
Lies interspersed among the trees
Whose living, fingered roots are fed
with nourishment of sublimed faith.
I pause a moment…
Panning the surroundings I see
Row after row of unknown dead
Whose tombstones depict family trees
Whose living relatives are fed
The same promises of blind faith.
Why must I lament?
The brown withered leaves that I see
Wind-blown atop the buried dead
Should I mourn provenance: the trees?
Why then the promise that is fed:
Life after death by keeping faith.
A fool is content.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On reading Dryden's Virgil
Now cease these tears, lay gentle Vigil by,
Let recent sorrows dim the pausing eye:
Shall Æneas for lost Creusa mourn,
And tears be wanting on Abella's urn?
Like him I lost my fair one in my flight
From cruel foes---and in the dead of night.
Shall he lament the fall of Illion's tow'rs,
And we not mourn the sudden ruin of our's?
See York on fire---while borne by winds each flame
Projects its glowing sheet o'er half the main:
Th' affrighted savage, yelling with amaze,
From Allegany sees the rolling blaze.
Far from these scenes of horror, in the shade
I saw my aged parent safe convey'd;
Then sadly follow'd to the friendly land,
With my surviving infant by the hand.
No cumb'rous houshold gods had I indeed
To load my shoulders, and my flight impede;
The hero's idols sav'd by him remain;
My gods took care of me---not I of them!
The Trojan saw Anchises breathe his last,
When all domestic dangers he had pass'd:
So my lov'd parent, after she had fled,
Lamented, perish'd on a stranger's bed.
---He held his way o'er the Cerulian Main,
But I return'd to hostile fields again.
poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Castle Gordon
Streams that glide in orient plains,
Never bound by Winter’s chains;
Glowing here on golden sands,
There immix’d with foulest stains
From Tyranny’s empurpled hands;
These, their richly gleaming waves,
I leave to tyrants and their slaves;
Give me the stream that sweetly laves
The banks by Castle Gordon.
Spicy forests, ever gray,
Shading from the burning ray
Hapless wretches sold to toil;
Or the ruthless native’s way,
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil:
Woods that ever verdant wave,
I leave the tyrant and the slave;
Give me the groves that lofty brave
The storms by Castle Gordon.
Wildly here, without control,
Nature reigns and rules the whole;
In that sober pensive mood,
Dearest to the feeling soul,
She plants the forest, pours the flood:
Life’s poor day I’ll musing rave
And find at night a sheltering cave,
Where waters flow and wild woods wave,
By bonie Castle Gordon.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Solitude Of Loss
Behold thy sister - on a journey so long
behold she leaves to return no more
behold thy sister - thy only companion
remember your times for there'll never be more
wipe your tears 'cos leave she must
no matter the wail she ne'er return
begin to mourn - for your sister is dead
oh this lad shall wail but the deed is done
silence and seethe have crept in to stay
oh the emptiness of loss and sorrow to bear
to carry the load all - all alone
and pigments of grief his face to smear
his life alone - a thing to learn
his morn of mourn shall be of darkness
the pain of loss shall be his own
and his nights shall be of torment and coldness
oh! the grieving psyche of him
death has failed to complete his work
the spiritual bond is not severed
his life to mourn forever locked
poem by Mbanaso Samuel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On The Same Occasion
(The Final Submission Of The Tyrolese)
YE Storms, resound the praises of your King!
And ye mild Seasons--in a sunny clime,
Midway on some high hill, while father Time
Looks on delighted--meet in festal ring,
And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!
Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers,
Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers,
And the dire flapping of his hoary wing!
Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass;
With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain;
Whisper it to the billows of the main,
And to the aerial zephyrs as they pass,
That old decrepit Winter--'He' hath slain
That Host, which rendered all your bounties vain!
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blues For The Widow Of The Victim Of A Racist Attck
Mourn, and mourn hard
Your tears shall fall wasted and uncollected
On this damp slab of concrete
Mourn though young widow
Weep because your husband is dead
Cry because the crowd has left and you're alone
And ganged up against by the priests and the
Celebrity pastors who piously tell you
To forgive and forget
Sob because you're surrounded by the officials
Whom the wise state has instructed to order you
To accept reconciliation without justice
Cry the river of your tears because
Your dear departed husband is dead
And your lovely children will know what it's like
To miss the soothing voice of their father
So brutally snatched away from them
And dragged behind a speeding vehicle and fed
To the lions for the sick amusement
Of a deranged and kaffir hating racist
Mourn for yourself mama
Now you'll face the world alone
With the dubious title of a single parent
Hanging on your fragile and emaciated neck
Mourn and cry and weep for the widows
Of the victims of genocide
Mourn and cry and weep for the sisters
Who are cornered and raped by their xenophobic neighbors
Mourn and cry and weep for the victims of the hurricane of
The internecine strife of ethnic cleansing and tribal warfare
Mourn and cry and weep for they
Who die unlamented in the flower of their youth
poem by Ngaka Motaung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet XVI: Happy In Sleep
Happy in sleep, waking content to languish,
Embracing clouds by night; in daytime, mourn;
All things I loath save her and mine own anguish,
Pleas'd in my hurt inured to live forlorn.
Nought do I crave but love, death, or my Lady,
Hoarse with crying mercy, mercy yet my merit;
So man vows and prayers e'er made I,
That now at length t'yield, mere pity were it.
But still the Hydra of my cares renewing,
Revives new sorrows of her fresh disdaining;
Still must I go the summer winds pursuing,
Finding no end nor period of my paining.
Wail all my life, my griefs do touch so nearly,
And thus I live, because I love her dearly.
poem by Samuel Daniel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When You Are Gone
When you are gone I will live on
I will live on
When you are gone
I will not mourn or forget
How love was born
Much stronger still
Though you are gone
You still live on
In birds in clouds
In simple flowers
In bones and flesh
That carry you
Each day, each hour
And this is your power
Though you are gone
Much stronger now
You still live on
In words that echo in the air
In scent of showers
Fallen leaves
In all of these
And feeling sense
You presence, felt in present tense
I will not mourn
Nor wil I grieve
For you live on
Inside of me
yvette m smith sept 08
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song Of Yoomy
Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:
The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea,
That rolls o'er his corse with a hush,
His warriors bend over their spears,
His sisters gaze upward and mourn.
Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead!
The sun has gone down in a shower;
Buried in clouds the face of the moon;
Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies,
And stand in the eyes of the flowers;
And streams of tears are the trickling brooks,
Coursing adown the mountains.--
Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:
The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.
Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that
sobs,--
Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro.
poem by Herman Melville
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Her Hidden Treasure
Her flame was only for the women –
Not for us unlucky men;
A weakness lay for feminine way:
To feel an even fairer skin
In silky slide.
Her lips were for the satin love that
Only flows from rising breast;
The creamy tan was not for man
To pull towards a chiselled chest
In weathered hide.
Her hidden treasure down below
Would shy away from macho length
And only rouse upon the blouse
Undone by other sapphic strength –
In time, inside!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We mourn the death of the forest universal
The town outside my window moans.
We mourn not for the death of Industry
Nor for the ghost of the English gentle men
We lament for the stars that have been hidden from gazers.
We lament for dead rats trapped electronic cages.
Have we learnt nothing through the ages?
We mourn the death of the forest universal
We mourn the death of culture as media vultures
Prey upon the minds of the young.
Outside the rain takes its toll upon the pavement
Washing away the reminents of Autumns presence.
He awaits in hibernatuin, a soul ready for consideration.
I dreamt last night of a gleaming crown, An Angel
Came forth to say. ‘Embrace the child don’t shoot her down,
Make love throughout the day.
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Comfort Me
Wake me my lady
Dont let me sleep
Open my eyes
To the wonders you keep
Let me look at you
See how you shine
Ill fall in love
Like Ive done every time
Lay me in soft green grass
Down where the river runs
Under the mountain caps
Gold with the setting sun
Walk me along the bay
Beyond the verdant trees
Carry me with your grace
Forever comfort me
You walk on water
Searching the east
The souls of the masses
Pass at your feet
Looking up at you
Tears in their eyes
Fathers of fathers of fathers
Gone by
Walk me down old main streets
Ride me down rusty rails
Fields full of summer wheat
Peppered with rounded bales
Steeples where church bells ring
Lighthouses by the sea
Reach out through gathered storms
Faithfully comfort me
I am your tired
I am your poor in spirit
Yearning to breathe
Breathe, free
Breathe, free
Lay me in soft green grass
Down where the river runs
Under the mountain caps
Gold with the setting sun
Walk me along the bay
Beyond the verdant trees
Carry me with your grace
Forever comfort me
Walk me down old main streets
Ride me down rusty rails
Fields full of summer wheat
Peppered with rounded bales
Steeples where church bells ring
Lighthouses by the sea
Reach out through gathered storms
Faithfully comfort me
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
On The Death Of Dr. Benjamin Franklin
Thus, some tall tree that long hath stood
The glory of its native wood,
By storms destroyed, or length of years,
Demands the tribute of our tears.
The pile, that took long time to raise,
To dust returns by slow decays:
But, when its destined years are o'er,
We must regret the loss the more.
So long accustomed to your aid,
The world laments your exit made;
So long befriended by your art,
Philosopher, 'tis hard to part!--
When monarchs tumble to the ground,
Successors easily are found:
But, matchless FRANKLIN! what a few
Can hope to rival such as YOU,
Who seized from kings their sceptered pride,
And turned the lightning darts aside.
poem by Philip Freneau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Winter - The Fourth Pastoral, or Daphne
Lycidas.
Thyrsis, the music of that murm'ring spring,
Is not so mournful as the strains you sing.
Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below,
So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.
Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,
The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky,
Wile silent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh sing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise!
Thyrsis.
Behold the groves that shine with silver frost,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure lost.
Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain,
That call'd the list'ning Dryads to the plain?
Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along,
And bade his willows learn the moving song.
Lycidas.
So may kind rains their vital moisture yield,
And swell the future harvest of the field.
Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And said; 'Ye shepherds, sing around my grave!
Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn,
And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.'
Thyrsis.
Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring,
Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring;
Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles hide,
And break your vows, as when Adonis died;
And with your golden darts, now useless grown,
Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone:
'Let nature change, let heav'n and earth deplore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and love is now no more!'
'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay,
See gloomy clouds obscure the cheerful day!
Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,
Their faded honours scatter'd on her bier.
See, where on earth the flow'ry glories lie,
With her they flourish'd, and with her they die.
Ah what avail the beauties nature wore?
Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more!
For her the flocks refuse their verdant food,
Nor thirsty heifers seek the gliding flood.
The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan,
In notes more sad than when they sing their own;
In hollow caves sweet Echo silent lies,
Silent, or only to her name replies;
Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore,
Now Daphne's dead, and pleasure is no more!
No grateful dews descend from ev'ning skies,
Nor morning odours from the flow'rs arise;
No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
Nor fragrant herbs their native incense yield.
The balmy Zephyrs, silent since her death,
Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath;
Th' industrious bees neglect their golden store;
Fair Daphne's dead, and sweetness is no more!
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings,
Shall list'ning in mid air suspend their wings;
No more the birds shall imitate her lays,
Or hush'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays;
No more the streams their murmur shall forbear,
A sweeter music than their own to hear,
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and music is no more!
Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze,
And told in sighs to all the trembling trees;
The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the silver flood;
The silver flood, so lately calm, appears
Swell'd with new passion, and o'erflows with tears;
The winds and trees and floods her death deplore,
Daphne, our grief! our glory now no more!
But see! where Daphne wond'ring mounts on high
Above the clouds, above the starry sky!
Eternal beauties grace the shining scene,
Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!
There while you rest in Amaranthine bow'rs,
Or from those meads select unfading flow'rs,
Behold us kindly, who your name implore,
Daphne, our Goddess, and our grief no more!
Lycidas.
How all things listen, while thy Muse complains!
Such silence waits on Philomela's strains,
In some still ev'ning, when the whisp'ring breeze
Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees.
To thee, bright goddess, oft a lamb shall bleed,
If teeming ewes increase my fleecy breed.
While plants their shade, or flow'rs their odours give,
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise shall live!
Thyrsis.
But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews,
Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse;
Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay,
Time conquers all, and we must Time obey.
Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams and groves,
Adieu, ye shepherd's rural lays and loves;
Adieu, my flocks, farewell ye sylvan crew,
Daphne, farewell, and all the world adieu!
poem by Alexander Pope
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!