Sonnet IX. To Priestley
Tho' roused by that dark Visir riot rude
Have driven our Priestly o'er the ocean swell;
Tho' Superstition and her wolfish brood
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell;
Calm in his halls of Brightness he shall dwell;
For lo! Religion at his strong behest
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell,
And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest,
Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy;
And Justice wakes to bid th' Oppressor wail,
Insulting aye the wrongs of patient folly;
And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won,
Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil
To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Related quotes
All the dark, malevolent Passions of the Soul are roused and exerted; its mild and amiable affections are suppressed; and with them, virtuous Principles are laid prostrate.
quote by Charles Inglis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vacant And Alone
They all go into the dark
The sea lifts and falls
The moon goes on
And the vacant go into the vacant
Shelley wrote:
'Poetry lifts the veil
From the hidden beauty of the world
And makes familiar objects be
As if they were not familiar'
So I pick up my pen and write
Sometimes well, sometimes not
But always well intended
And the veil lifts
But then somethin' turns
Sometimes of a sudden
Sometimes gradually
And I go into the dark
Perhaps a song, or a word
Or a memory, or a picture
Or a dream, or a feelin'
Brings you back
And I know you are gone
And you are not comin' back
And I am vacant
And alone
poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro
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Concord
Reconciled by death's mild hand, that giving
Peace gives wisdom, not more strong than mild,
Love beholds them, each without misgiving
Reconciled.
Each on earth alike of earth reviled,
Hated, feared, derided, and forgiving,
Each alike had heaven at heart, and smiled.
Both bright names, clothed round with man's thanksgiving,
Shine, twin stars above the storm-drifts piled,
Dead and deathless, whom we saw not living
Reconciled.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Light and Dark
When it was dark
I wondered
What was light like
White?
And
Your eyes used to smile
Mild and fine
Light and bright
Like you smiled
Fine and mild;
And you wear black
As if you were black -
Light disguised!
poem by Eman Elbadawi
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The List!
i came to age
in the land of Nixon,
and J Edgar Hoover....
when if you even breathed
the truth you made the lists,
the lists that no one saw!
from the America of LBJ,
the slaughter of the Kennedys',
and Martin Luther King....
and open war on the students
at Kent State who dared to stand....
against an unholy war....
civil rights, flag burnings,
draft card burnings....
women's rights, and change....
that we didnt finish....
now our own children stand
up in protest against a way
of life that isnt living....
and again the police
and the riot squads....
will there be lists this time?
unholy.....unholy........unholy
wars.. .....lifestyles.....'justice'!
put me on the list!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Guy In The Dark
The guy In The Dark
Has a Dark face without a name
And a Dark smile to hide the pain
The guy In the Dark
Doesn't know how much longer he can keep trying
Everyday he's slowly dying
The guy in the Dark
Sits all alone
But wants a place to truly call home
The guy in the Dark
Wants nothing more than to be free
….I know this because
……..that guy is me
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Our Saviour’s Boyhood
With what a flood of wondrous thoughts
Each Christian breast must swell
When, wandering back through ages past,
With simple faith they dwell
On quiet Nazareth’s sacred sod,
Where the Child Saviour’s footsteps trod.
Awe-struck we picture to ourselves
That brow serene and fair,
That gentle face, the long rich curls
Of wavy golden hair,
And those deep wondrous, star-like eyes,
Holy and calm as midnight skies.
We see Him in the work-shop shed
With Joseph, wise and good,
Obedient to His guardian’s word,
Docile and meek of mood;
The Mighty Lord of Heaven and Earth
Toiling like one of lowly birth.
Or else, with His young Mother fair—
That sinless, spotless one,
Who watched with fond and reverent care,
Her high and glorious Son,
Knowing a matron’s joy and pride,
And yet a Virgin pure beside.
All marvelled at the strange, shy grace
Of Mary’s gentle Son;
Young mothers envied her the Boy
Who love from all hearts won;
And, gazing on that face so mild,
Prayed low to Heaven for such a child.
Though with the boys of Nazareth
He never joined in mirth,
Yet young and old felt strangely drawn
Towards His modest worth;
E’en though that quiet, wondrous Child,
Had never laughed nor even smiled.
For even then prophetic rose
Before His spirit’s gaze
The cruel Cross, the griefs reserved
For manhood’s coming days,
And, worse than all, the countless host
That, spite His pangs, might yet be lost.
Silent and calm, He held His way
From morn till evening still;
His thoughts intent on working out
His Mighty Father’s will;
While Heaven bent in ecstasy,
O’er the Boy-God of Galilee.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Song Beside A Sippy Cup
In the never truly ever
truly dark dark night, ever
blinds-zipped, slat-cut,
dark-parked light,
you (late) touch my toes
with your broad flat own
horny-nailed cold toes.
Clock-tock, wake-shock.
In the ever truly never
truly long long night, our
little snoring-snarling
wild-child mild-child
starling-darling wakes every
two, three (you-sleep) hours,
in the never truly ever
truly lawn brawn fawn dawn.
poem by Jenny Factor
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By That Lake, Whose Gloomy Shore
By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,
Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep.
"Here, at least," he calmly said,
"Woman ne'er shall find my bed."
Ah! the good Saint little knew
What that wily sex can do.
'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew --
Eyes of most unholy blue!
She had loved him well and long,
Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong.
Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly,
Still he heard her light foot nigh;
East or west, where'er he turn'd,
Still her eyes before him burn'd.
On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now he sleeps at last;
Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.
But nor earth nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be:
Even now, while calm he sleeps,
Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.
Fearless she had track'd his feet
To this rocky wild retreat;
And when morning met his view,
Her mild glances met it too.
Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts!
Sternly from his bed he starts,
And with rude repulsive shock
Hurls her from the beetling rock.
Glendalough, thy gloomy wave
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave!
Soon the Saint (yet ah! too late,)
Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate.
When he said, "Heaven rest her soul!"
Round the Lake light music stole;
And her ghost was seen to glide,
Smiling, o'er the fatal tide.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Innocence
The height of wisdom seems to me
That of a child;
So let my ageing vision be
Serene and mild.
The depth of folly, I aver,
Is to fish deep
In that dark pool of science where
Truth-demons sleep.
Let me not be a bearded sage
Seeing too clear;
In issues of the atom age
Man-doom I fear.
So long as living's outward show
To me is fair,
What lies behind I do not know,
And do not care.
Of woeful fears of future ill
That earth-folk haunt,
Let me, as radiant meadow rill,
Be ignorant.
Aye, though a sorry dunce I be
In learning's school,
Lord, marvellously make of me
Your Happy Fool!
poem by Robert William Service
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A Ballad of Aberdeen (Mild Green Vipers)
The mild green vipers of Aberdeen
Are often heard but seldom seen.
They hiss like a kettle when it boils
And crush small rodents in their coils,
They slither through the summer grasses
Invisible to whoever passes,
Few mortal folk have ever seen
The mild green vipers of Aberdeen,
But many hear their wicked hiss
And shake in terror because of this.
You'll never guess where they have been
Unless you ask the Scottish Queen.
She'll smile and tell you very slowly
In the name of all that is Pure and Holy
That nothing lives that's so obscene
As the mild green vipers of Aberdeen.
Long, long ago, it says in fable
King Arthur's Knights of the old Round Table
Sent them to Scotland as a jest
To put the Haggises to rest.
So now you know from the Scottish Queen
About those vipers mild and green.
Do not presume that you are clever
Or you won't see them - never ever!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Little Nell
GLEAMING through the silent church-yard,
Winter sunlight seemed to shed
Golden shadows like soft blessings
O'er a quiet little bed,
Where a pale face lay unheeding
Tender tears that o'er it fell;
No sorrow now could touch the heart
Of gentle little Nell.
Ah, with what silent patient strength
The frail form lying there
Had borne its heavy load of grief,
Of loneliness and care.
Now, earthly burdens were laid down,
And on the meek young face
There shone a holier loveliness
Than childhood's simple grace.
Beset with sorrow, pain and fear,
Tempted by want and sin,
With none to guide or counsel her
But the brave child-heart within.
Strong in her fearless, faithful love,
Devoted to the last,
Unfaltering through gloom and gleam
The little wanderer passed.
Hand in hand they journeyed on
Through pathways strange and wild,
The gray-haired, feeble, sin-bowed man
Led by the noble child.
So through the world's dark ways she passed,
Till o'er the church-yard sod,
To the quiet spot where they found rest,
Those little feet had trod.
To that last resting-place on earth
Kind voices bid her come,
There her long wanderings found an end,
And weary Nell a home.
A home whose light and joy she was,
Though on her spirit lay
A solemn sense of coming change,
That deepened day by day.
There in the church-yard, tenderly,
Through quiet summer hours,
Above the poor neglected graves
She planted fragrant flowers.
The dim aisles of the ruined church
Echoed the child's light tread,
And flickering sunbeams thro' the leaves
Shone on her as she read.
And here where a holy silence dwelt,
And golden shadows fell,
When Death's mild face had looked on her,
They laid dear happy Nell.
Long had she wandered o'er the earth,
One hand to the old man given,
By the other angels led her on
Up a sunlit path to Heaven.
Oh! 'patient, loving, noble Nell,'
Like light from sunset skies,
The beauty of thy sinless life
Upon the dark world lies.
On thy sad story, gentle child,
Dim eyes will often dwell,
And loving hearts will cherish long
The memory of Nell.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Guinevere
She is a young lady with a caramel complexion;
To others, she shows much warmth and affection.
When faced with danger, she can be very brave,
And, those in peril, she will endeavour to save.
She has jet black hair and dark chocolate eyes;
She is loyal and true and doesn't tell any lies.
She is softly spoken and her manner is mild;
She is not someone who is ever rude or wild.
She is loved by everybody who she knows;
Their fondness for her, ever steadily, grows.
Her soul is gentle - she rarely ever gets mad;
She believes in good and she repels the bad.
That patience is a virtue, people often do say:
Gwen has endless patience that lasts all day.
For what she believes in, she will always fight.
She is sensitive, wise and extremely bright.
Every day, she proves herself caring and kind;
A lovelier young lady, you will never ever find.
A prettier maiden on Earth will never be seen;
The maiden, in question, will one day be Queen.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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On Rude
Just a little rude can ruin someones day,
being rude a little bit,
is like swimming in a vest,
rude is like swimming with no trunks on,
kissing in the dark,
was it him? or was it her?
and eating from a bag ewe left open on the counter
for several days.
The decadance of Society, RUDE,
has finally sickened me,
the only thing to do is pray to GOD
to quicken me.
When the hours pass too quickly,
and the days pass just like hours
the months appear to me like weeks gone bye.
These aer the things eye am searching for.
A Kind Word.
A Smile.
A Happy Kiss.
A While.
Time is a blessing.
Keep Time In Today.
poem by Charles Hice
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She Likes The Dark
She likes the dark
It keeps her sane
She likes the dark
It makes the maddness go away
She likes the dark it keeps her calm
It makes the anger disappear
She likes the dark
It's just like night
when the owls come hoot in fright
for there is a man
they, even fear
who wears a mask
of gostly haunts,
of tied up children
when he's drunk from beer,
of scars that come from the old mans knife
that keeps stabbing into her life,
the pain, he says, its just a game
win or lose you will still play
She likes the dark
It keeps her sane
It makes the maddness go away
She likes the dark
It keeps her calm
It makes the anger dissappear
but what happens
oh tell me when
the light comes on
giving equal advantage
will she sit and play the game
or will she lose her senses?
poem by Ashley Meier
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Be wild and mild
Be wild; others become mild.
Be mild; others become wild.
Rarely works wild to wild
Or mild to mild combination.
06.12.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Why are you Silent, Oh Cold Beauty?
Why are you silent, Oh cold beauty?
Your attire is simplicity...
Your beauty expressive like eyes of a dancer with a divine spirit...
Call I your muteness your wisdom's speech?
Or fear of a frail soul?
Should I make you divine or meek?
Innocent or ingenious?
Glory of a shrine or a dust of its pavement?
What name I give to your silence?
For u shall be beautiful still!
For a poet night is as beautiful as day…
Wisdom or fear...
Divine or meek
Innocence or ingenuity
Shrines dust or shrines glory...
All rise from heart of beauty taking different courser to meet again in the spirit of love...! !
To sail with d current of devotion with no oppression of tides...! !
With no fear of being exiled to unknown dark showers...
With buried skulls and serpents...
Born in dark...
Rose from dark…
Slept in radiance wide awake...
Speak oh beauty...
For beauty is boundless...
For it sleeps in death's arms to awake in eternities embrace...
poem by Lama Abbas
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The Glory Of God
The earth is filled with the glory of God
As the waters cover the sea
He is the one who came and died for you
He is the one who has set you free
His glory covers all of the earth
And the heavens are full of His praise
His brightness is brighter than a thousand suns
So to Him our hands we must raise
He stands and measures all of the earth
And the perpetual hills bow down
The deep cries out and lifts its hands
To the King who now wears a crown
The sun and the moon stand still in their place
All the earth is hushed by your sight
And the heavens retreat and cover their face
For what was dark has now become light
Then I saw a new heaven, and behold a new earth
For all things had now passed away
For the Lord had come down and took His place
And this is what I heard Him say
I am the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End
Living waters flow freely from Me
Every tear I have come, to wipe away
And in my presence, forever, you will be!
poem by Frank McEleny
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Mother ocean
Slide deeply into my bones
and make my fears go away.
i want to be blue, like the ocean.
i want to be strong and beautiful,
made with water and emotions
just like mother ocean.
I loved to be like the ocean
cause my heart has been broken with too many hard blows.
i want to be brave and deep as mother ocean.
The sky is like a spy, always gazing back at you.
but the ocean is like a melody
when breaking on the shore at dawn,
every inch of his freshness wakes up your soul.
poem by André Lopes
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Sonnet:
IT is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, 'with pomp of waters, unwithstood,'
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.--In everything we are sprung
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold
poem by William Wordsworth
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