Stars
Alone in the night
On a dark hill
With pines around me
Spicy and still,
And a heaven full of stars
Over my head,
White and topaz
And misty red;
Myriads with beating
Hearts of fire
That aeons
Cannot vex or tire;
Up the dome of heaven
Like a great hill,
I watch them marching
Stately and still,
And I know that I
Am honored to be
Witness
Of so much majesty.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Stairway To The Stars
INTRO
There's a silver trail of moonlight leading upward to the sky
And the night is like a velvet lullaby
There's a heaven of blue
And we'll go there, just you and I
Let's build a stairway to the stars
And climb that stairway to the stars
With love beside us to fill the night with a song
We'll hear the sound of violins
Out yonder where the blue begins
The moon will guide us as we go drifting along
CHORUS:
Can't we sail away on a lazy daisy petal
Over the rim of the hill?
Can't we sail away on a little dream
And settle high on the crest of a thrill?
Let's build a stairway to the stars
A lovely stairway to the stars
It would be heaven to climb to heaven with you
Let's build a stairway to the stars
A lovely stairway to the stars
It would be heaven to climb to heaven with you
song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Desires and Disillusions
heaven, grant me my wish
i want a sky, so clear and bright
with stars like pearls in the oceans of galaxies
and a crescent moon that will smile at me
heaven, please make it real
i want that starry night to suddenly turn so dark
and from nowhere i would see a spark
a star will fall and will glitter at my sight
heaven, that star will fulfill my childish wish
and i will wish that she'll be with me tonight
together we will watch the rain of fire
with shooting stars in that starless romantic sky
heaven, grant me my wish
i want a star to send her my message
i want a star so that she won't forget
she will remember forever that flash of my love
heaven, that is my wish
a shooting star for my miss..
poem by Mhawi Rosero
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Walking Through Fields Of Fire
I walk through fields of fire
With coals of fire beneath my feet
I sail through stormy waters
Guided by the mercy seat
The brimstones shortly coming
You must flee now from the wrath
For fire falls down from heaven
Yet I am guided by His staff
The narrow path through valleys dark
Leads onward to the hill
And all around the mountains fall
But our Lord says ' be still.'
Come higher now ascend the hill
My God atop He stands
And looks to see the pure in heart
To see those with clean hands
Who is this King lift up your head
And sing with all your might
The King of Glory is His name
His light defeats the night
He is God's Son, the Holy One
He puts and end to death and sin
Fall to your knees, lift up your hands
And the King of Glory shall come in!
poem by Frank McEleny
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Queen in My Homeland
her majesty
is coming she is smiling
white bride is dancing
drink from the vine of heaven
bloody kneels she have
ocean eyes that swallow the seven sea's
evil dark hair like black devil nights of hill
the world is dancing on her voice
every body listen to the opera of queen
her majesty the only star in our sky
she is the only queen
the lovely maiden
but the evil hunter is around
they coming from the west
evil rippers is around
they coming from south
evil liars is around
they coming from east
watch them coming closely to hunt you
to lie to you ripping you
but i am the your loyal warrior
will face them
defending your crown you my lovely princes
poem by Aryabod Siharyvani
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Up On The Hill
We come from a long line of lenders
Who get rich just exploiting you spenders
But now we just manage our blenders
Up, up, up on the hill
It helps to be charming and funny
Have cute names like binky and bunny
But the main things still oodles of money
Up, up, up on the hill
Up on the hill we are the big cheeses
Up on the hill we own the cool breezes
Top of the heap is where we know we belong
Up on the hill above the confusion
Up on the hill we live our illusions
Up, up, up on the hill
Marmalade mansions beneath cloudless skies
Breathtaking vistas that baffle your eyes
Were passing our days in a rare atmosphere
Sun, sea, and stars, and warm breezes all year
Our blood is decidedly blue-ish
Were leery of anything newish
And or course, darling, nobodys jewish
Up, up, up on the hill
Up on the hill we are the big cheeses
Up on the hill we own the cool breezes
The top of the heap is where we know we belong
Up on the hill above the confusion
Up on the hill we live our illusions
Up, up, up on the hill
Up, up, up on the hill
Way up, up, up on the hill
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lavender Hill
I want to walk eternity,
In through the land of make believe.
And watch the clouds roll over me,
And let the sun shine down on me.
The only place that I wanna be,
Lavender hill for me.
Wish I could live on sugar and milk,
Then I could live on lavender hill.
Then I could raise my head to the sky,
And let the sun saturate me with love.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill,
Everybody loves lavender hill.
Even the bird that sits in the tree,
Seems to sing sweet melodies.
Even the breeze is whispering,
Lavender hill for me.
While people eat their biscuits with tea,
They dream of daffodils that sway in the breeze.
And every sunday afternoon,
Tidy ladies shine their shoes.
And every little lady dreams,
Lavender memories.
Lavender hill for me.
Lavender hill for me.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Burial of the Reverend Gilfillan
On the Gilfillan burial day,
In the Hill o' Balgay,
It was a most solemn sight to see,
Not fewer than thirty thousand people assembled in Dundee,
All watching the funeral procession of Gilfillan that day,
That death had suddenly taken away,
And was going to be buried in the Hill o' Balgay.
There were about three thousand people in the procession alone,
And many were shedding tears, and several did moan,
And their bosoms heaved with pain,
Because they knew they would never look upon his like again.
There could not be fewer than fifty carriages in the procession that day,
And gentlemen in some of them that had come from far away,
And in whispers some of them did say,
As the hearse bore the precious corpse away,
Along the Nethergate that day.
I'm sure he will be greatly missed by the poor,
For he never turned them empty-handed away from his door;
And to assist them in distress it didn't give him pain,
And I'm sure the poor will never look upon his like again.'
On the Gilfillan burial day, in the Hill o' Balgay,
There was a body of policemen marshalled in grand array
And marched in front of the procession all the way;
Also the relatives and friends of the deceas'd,
Whom I hope from all sorrows has been releas'd,
and whose soul I hope to heaven has fled away,
To sing with saints above for ever and aye.
The provost, magistrates, and town council were in the procession that day;
Also Mrs Gilfillan, who cried and sobbed all the way
For her kind husband, that was always affable and gay,
Which she will remember until her dying day.
When the procession arrived in the Hill o' Balgay,
The people were almost as hush as death, and many of them did say --
As long as we live we'll remember the day
That the great Gilfillan was buried in the Hill o'Balgay.
When the body of the great Gilfillan was lowered into the grave,
'Twas then the people's hearts with sorrow did heave;
And with tearful eyes and bated breath,
Mrs Gilfillan lamented her loving husband's death.
Then she dropped a ringlet of immortelles into his grave,
Then took one last fond look, and in sorrow did leave;
And all the people left with sad hearts that day,
And that ended the Gilfillan burial in the Hill o' Balgay.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Rose Of Peace
IF Michael, leader of God's host
When Heaven and Hell are met,
Looked down on you from Heaven's door-post
He would his deeds forget.
Brooding no more upon God's wars
In his divine homestead,
He would go weave out of the stars
A chaplet for your head.
And all folk seeing him bow down,
And white stars tell your praise,
Would come at last to God's great town,
Led on by gentle ways;
And God would bid His warfare cease,
Saying all things were well;
And softly make a rosy peace,
A peace of Heaven with Hell.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Sonnet- You Can't Have Opposites
When vices, virtues are but parallel lines,
The former moves backward, latter forward;
No one can take the mixture of such wines;
No one can be both fish and also bird.
There isn't a hybrid of vices, virtues;
There isn't a place where both of them can meet;
Just one and only one, a man must choose;
You can't have Heaven's joy and Hell's great heat!
The virtuous way is like climbing a hill;
The road to vice is like slipping from one;
While God rewards Heaven as former's bill,
The latter, yields hell's eternal fire-den!
One can't be both a good and bad a man;
You try to have Heaven and hell, how can?
poem by John Celes
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I Was At Hastings Gardens And I Saw
I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
High, high above and stretching through the stars
The giant Night crawling inexorably
The sea ebbed and flowed all quietly
While giant Night crawled inexorably
Across the marbled blue of heaven’s dome.
I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
Nigh, nigh around, around me turn and churn
A mist full-hovering around and like a net
Incorporating all it met: grey like a phantom
Stood the Night
Like a grey thief in phantom’s garbs full dressed.
I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
A sickle huge scar heaven’s face
And spreading horror like a scimitar
Amidst the nebulae amidst the stars
And of a sudden me thought that I heard
A cry pervasive high across the skies
Lo cometh Night make way, make way
I looked in motion saw the sickle huge
Like clouds spreading over heaven’s whole
Is it the Night? Is it The Night?
Is Night a moving sickle in heaven’s face?
No reply to me came; and from the ravelin
Two old oaks whispering in the night I heard.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Lines written in the Belief that the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead was called Ambarvalia
Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
And all the world's a song;
'She's far,' it sings me, 'but fair,' it rings me,
'Quiet,' it laughs, 'and strong!'
Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,
Spite of your chosen part,
I do remember; and I go
With laughter in my heart.
So above the little folk that know not,
Out of the white hill-town,
High up I clamber; and I remember;
And watch the day go down.
Gold is my heart, and the world's golden,
And one peak tipped with light;
And the air lies still about the hill
With the first fear of night;
Till mystery down the soundless valley
Thunders, and dark is here;
And the wind blows, and the light goes,
And the night is full of fear,
And I know, one night, on some far height,
In the tongue I never knew,
I yet shall hear the tidings clear
From them that were friends of you.
They'll call the news from hill to hill,
Dark and uncomforted,
Earth and sky and the winds; and I
Shall know that you are dead.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread;
For the kin of you will surely do
Their duty by the dead.
Their little dull greasy eyes will water;
They'll paw you, and gulp afresh.
They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep
Like flies on the cold flesh.
They will put pence on your grey eyes,
Bind up your fallen chin,
And lay you straight, the fools that loved you
Because they were your kin.
They will praise all the bad about you,
And hush the good away,
And wonder how they'll do without you,
And then they'll go away.
But quieter than one sleeping,
And stranger than of old,
You will not stir for weeping,
You will not mind the cold;
But through the night the lips will laugh not,
The hands will be in place,
And at length the hair be lying still
About the quiet face.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
And dim and decorous mirth,
With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury
The lordliest lass of earth.
The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving
Behind lone-riding you,
The heart so high, the heart so living,
Heart that they never knew.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread,
Nor with smug breath tell lies of death
To the unanswering dead.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
The folk who loved you not
Will bury you, and go wondering
Back home. And you will rot.
But laughing and half-way up to heaven,
With wind and hill and star,
I yet shall keep, before I sleep,
Your Ambarvalia.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet- You Can't Have Opposites
When vice and virtues are but parallel lines,
The former moves backward, latter forward;
No one can take the mixture of such wines;
No one can be both fish and also bird.
There ain't a hybrid of vice and virtues;
There ain't a place where both of them can meet;
Just one and only one, a man must choose;
You can't have Heaven's joy and Hell's great heat.
The virtuous way is like climbing a hill;
The road to vice is like slipping from one;
While God rewards Heaven as former's bill,
The latter, yields hell's eternal fire-den!
One can't be both a good and bad a man;
You try to have Heaven and hell, how can?
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The River and the Hill
And they shook their sweetness out in their sleep
On the brink of that beautiful stream,
But it wandered along with a wearisome song
Like a lover that walks in a dream:
So the roses blew
When the winds went through,
In the moonlight so white and still;
But the river it beat
All night at the feet
Of a cold and flinty hill -
Of a hard and senseless hill!
I said, "We have often showered our loves
Upon something as dry as the dust;
And the faith that is crost, and the hearts that are lost -
Oh! how can we wittingly trust?
Like the stream which flows,
And wails as it goes.
Through the moonlight so white and still,
To beat and to beat
All night at the feet
Of a cold and flinty hill -
Of a hard and senseless hill?
"River, I stay where the sweet roses blow,
And drink of their pleasant perfumes!
Oh, why do you moan, in this wide world alone,
When so much affection here blooms?
The winds wax faint,
And the moon like a saint
Glides over the woodlands so white and still!
But you beat and you beat
All night at the feet
Of that cold and flinty hill -
Of that hard and senseless hill!"
poem by Henry Kendall
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What turned the Germans Back
WHAT turned the German myriads back
From Paris whither they had won?
The sword dropped from their hold grown slack;
Children of Attila the Hun,
Like Attila, went backward driven
By a young shepherdess of Heaven.
A shepherdess is Genevieve,
And though her flock should wander light,
This shepherdess is quick to save
The black, the speckled and the white.
She takes her golden crook and goes
And deals destruction to its foes.
She who turned Attila back, so slim,
A shepherdess that keeps the flock,
Waited as once she did for him,
Slight as a reed or her own crook;
'Turn back in God's Name!' They went back.
The tide is stemmed for her sweet sake.
White Genevieve upon her hill
Prays, and the German hosts retreat.
She plucks the Robes of Heaven still
That Heaven give victory for defeat;
And keeps her motley flock in sight,
The black, the speckled and the white.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Heaven Sent
Your eyes are like deep wells of desire
Once in your arms Im on fire
You were sent girl so perfectly true
Changing my life
Now Im a survivor
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Late at night when the evening fire has died
Theres a look in your eye
Seductive images fly
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
One day youll see what angels can see
Dressed in black if she comes back
I think Ill lose my mind
Tuesday she works
In the library uptown
Some useful knowledge
Can always be found
Dont burn the library
Till youve read all the books
Sometimes in life
You get a second look
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Heaven sent
Heaven sent
Heaven sent
Heaven sent
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dark Hill
On dark hill, in moonlight
A lone stranger struggles through the night
With hopes dashed and dreams torn asunder
Though dark flowers he slowly wanders
And looks around trying to find
A little space and piece of mind.
But the dark hill is unforgiving
And no escape or hope its giving
The dark flowers turn and scream
To remind him that its just a dream
Lost inside a world of pain
One day hoping to be whole again
The darkness is always in your own mind
Never ending and making you blind
The dark hill takes and leaves nothing behind
Nothing but the emptiness of your own desire.
So on the dark hill the man continues
All alone on his weary journey
To find the peace he so deserves
poem by Monkee Thompson
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The Cottage
Here in turn succeed and rule
Carter, smith, and village fool,
Then again the place is known
As tavern, shop, and Sunday-school;
Now somehow it’s come to me
To light the fire and hold the key,
Here in Heaven to reign alone.
All the walls are white with lime,
Big blue periwinkles climb
And kiss the crumbling window-sill;
Snug inside I sit and rhyme,
Planning, poem, book, or fable,
At my darling beech-wood table
Fresh with bluebells from the hill.
Through the window I can see
Rooks above the cherry-tree,
Sparrows in the violet bed,
Bramble-bush and bumble-bee,
And old red bracken smoulders still
Among boulders on the hill,
Far too bright to seem quite dead.
But old Death, who can’t forget,
Waits his time and watches yet,
Waits and watches by the door.
Look, he’s got a great new net,
And when my fighting starts afresh
Stouter cord and smaller mesh
Won’t be cheated as before.
Nor can kindliness of Spring,
Flowers that smile nor birds that sing,
Bumble-bee nor butterfly,
Nor grassy hill nor anything
Of magic keep me safe to rhyme
In this Heaven beyond my time.
No! for Death is waiting by.
poem by Robert Graves
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Care For One Another..
Look at the hearts only,
Beating inside punctually,
as the stars majestically,
One above other vertically,
Hearts are beating vibrantly.
One above the other in high rise,
hearts toil with no surprise,
as the galaxies and constellations,
Hearts are beating horizontally,
Few hearts in big space,
Many hearts in small place,
as the diamonds twinkle in space,
Hearts are found in the ocean,
Hearts are there in the mountains,
Hearts are loitering in the jungles,
Hearts are beating in places,
as the planted gems above us,
Daring hearts are weak,
Weaker hearts are strong,
Most hearts are healthy,
Run and work in safety,
A few suffer and are sickly,
Clogged with fat and heavy,
Rich and poor man's hearts,
Educated and uneducated hearts,
Good and evil hearts,
Agnostic and spiritual hearts,
Healthy and sick hearts,
Beat everywhere to show,
That we care for one another,
and we love one another,
as we look at the stars,
the stars look at our hearts.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Appeal of the Choctaw
We cannot leave our fathers’ land!
We cannot leave our fathers’ graves!
The long-loved hills that round us stand—
Our valleys, with their pleasant waves.
Oh, bid us not to trace afar,
The pathway of the evening star;
We cannot find, where'er we roam,
A spot which bears, like this, the name of home!
What though the western forest rise,
More tall, more darkly close, than these;
And calm the stately wild deer lies,
In slumber ‘neath the stately trees;—
Though hill and vale are passing fair,
And all seems bright and lovely there,
We cannot love the beauteous spot,
To us the great Manitto gave it not!
What care we for those prairies wide?
Our fathers never hunted there;—
Those cavern echoes ne'er, in pride,
Flung back their wild halloo of war.
Those wooded glens, and shaded streams,
Came never to our children's dreams;
Nor have we, in our young hearts’ glee,
Loved, like familiar friends, each rock and tree.
But here, amid the tempest's rush,
Our spirit fathers’ voices thrill!
They come at midnight's moonlit hush,
Or when the eve-star lights the hill.
The thoughts of other times are spread
O'er every gray crag's misty head;—
And how then can we lightly leave
The scenes to which our hearts so fondly cleave?
Then have we not in worship bow'd,
Before your God, the humbled head?
And tamed our spirits, fierce and proud,
To till our hunting grounds for bread?
And now, that in our bosom's cell,
A white man's calmer soul would dwell,
You seek to grasp our planted soil,
And drive us hence, in distant lands to toil!
Oh, white men! ye have fair smooth brows,
And lips whose words we well might trust,
But treachery mingles in your vows,
Your chain of friendship is but dust!
Ye come with falsehood in your hearts,
Ye frame your laws with wily arts,
And bid us ‘neath their shades to dwell
, That we may wither by their blighting spell!
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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You.
You are the summer days, the jasmine of my mind
The orchestra that plays when hearts at first entwine.
The stars across the sky, the twinkle of your eye, are lit by the same fire
A song from the same choir that turned the moonlight blue.
The sun after the rain, the breeze as angels passed
The scent of love's refrain
High seas tied to a mast.
The danger and the thrill upon the highest hill
-We clung so tight in love
And wonderous night above
Heaven's embers, our spangled view
My soul remembers, one touch from you.
poem by Kevin East
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