Sonnet 91: Stella While Now
Stella, while now by honor's cruel might,
I am from you, light of my life, mis-led,
And that fair you, my Sun, thus overspread
With absence' veil, I live in sorrow's night;
If this dark place yet show like candle light
Some beauty's piece, as amber-color'd head,
Milk hands, rose cheeks, or lips more sweet, more red,
Or seeing jet's black but in blackness bright.
They please, I do confess; they please mine eyes,
But why? Because of you they models be,
Models such be wood globes of glist'ring skies.
Dear, therefore be not jealous over me,
If you hear that they seem my heart to move.
Not them, oh no, but you in them I love.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet 7: When Nature
When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes,
In color black why wrapp'd she beams so bright?
Would she in beamy black, like painter wise,
Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light?
Or did she else that sober hue devise,
In object best to knit and strength our sight,
Lest if no veil those brave gleams did disguise,
They sun-like should more dazzle than delight?
Or would she her miraculous power show,
That whereas black seems Beauty's contrary,
She even if black doth make all beauties flow?
Both so and thus, she minding Love shoud be
Placed ever there, gave him this mourning weed,
To honor all their deaths, who for her bleed.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet VII: When Nature
When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes,
In color black why wrapp'd she beams so bright?
Would she in beamy black, like painter wise,
Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light?
Or did she else that sober hue devise,
In object best to knit and strength our sight,
Lest if no veil those brave gleams did disguise,
They sun-like should more dazzle than delight?
Or would she her miraculous power show,
That whereas black seems Beauty's contrary,
She even if black doth make all beauties flow?
Both so and thus, she minding Love shoud be
Placed ever there, gave him this mourning weed,
To honor all their deaths, who for her bleed.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet 76: She Comes, And Straight Therewith
She comes, and straight therewith her shining twins do move
Their rays to me, who in her tedious absence lay
Benighted in cold woe; but now appears my day,
The only light of joy, the only warmth of love.
She comes with light and warmth, which like Aurora prove
Of gentle force, so that mine eyes dare gladly play
With such a rosy morn, whose beams most freshly gay
Scorch not, but only do dark chilling sprites remove.
But lo, while I do speak, it groweth noon with me,
Her flamy glist'ring lights increase with time and place;
My heart cries, Ah, it burns; mine eyes now dazzl'd be:
No wind, no shade can cool, what help then in my case,
But with short breath, long looks, staid feet and walking head,
Pray that my sun go down with meeker beams to bed.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Feast Of The Assumption
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead:
Thy Feast has fled;
My eyes are wet with tears unshed;
I bow my head;
Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway
I bend my knee,
And, like a homesick child, I pray,
Mary, to thee.
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And, all the day -- since white-robed priest
In farthest East,
In dawn's first ray -- began the Feast,
I -- I the least --
Thy least, and last, and lowest child,
I called on thee!
Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild;
Didst think of me?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! and no! The angels bright,
With wings as white
As a dream of snow in love and light,
Flashed on thy sight;
They shone like stars around thee, Queen!
I knelt afar --
A shadow only dims the scene
Where shines a star!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, beyond the sky,
Sweet, pure, and high,
The angel's song swept sounding by
Triumphantly;
And when such music filled thy ear,
Rose round thy throne,
How could I hope that thou wouldst hear
My far, faint moan?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, where altars stand,
Or poor or grand,
A countless throng from every land,
With lifted hand,
Winged hymns to thee from sorrow's vale
In glad acclaim;
How couldst thou hear my lone lips wail
Thy sweet, pure name?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! and no! Thou didst not hear
Nor bend thy ear,
To prayer of woe as mine so drear;
For hearts more dear
Hid me from hearing and from sight
This bright Feast-day;
Wilt hear me, Mother, if in its night
I kneel and pray?
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set, the day is dead;
Thy Feast hath fled;
My eyes are wet with the tears I shed;
I bow my head;
Angels and altars hailed thee, Queen,
All day; ah! be
To-night what thou hast ever been --
A mother to me!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Thy queenly crown in angels' sight
Is fair and bright;
Ah! lay it down; for, oh! to-night
Its jeweled light
Shines not as the tender love-light shines,
O Mary! mild,
In the mother's eyes, whose pure heart pines
For poor, lost child!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Sceptre in hand, thou dost hold sway
Fore'er and aye
In angel-land; but, fair Queen! pray
Lay it away.
Let thy sceptre wave in the realms above
Where angels are;
But, Mother! fold in thine arms of love
Thy child afar!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
Mary, I call! Wilt hear the prayer
My poor lips dare?
Yea! be to all a Queen most fair,
Crown, sceptre, bear!
But look on me with a mother's eyes
From heaven's bliss;
And waft to me from the starry skies
A mother's kiss!
Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead;
Her Feast has fled;
Can she forget the sweet blood shed,
The last words said
That evening -- 'Woman! behold thy Son!
Oh! priceless right,
Of all His children! The last, least one,
Is heard to-night.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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Sonnet 52: A Strife Is Grown
A strife is grown between Virtue and Love,
While each pretends that Stella must be his:
Her eyes, her lips, her all, saith Love, do this
Since they do wear his badge, most firmly prove.
But Virtue thus that title doth disprove:
That Stella (oh dear name) that Stella is
That virtuous soul, sure heir of heav'nly bliss,
Not this fair outside, which our hearts doth move;
And therefore, though her beauty and her grace
Be Love's indeed, in Stella's self he may
By no pretense claim any manner place.
Well, Love, since this demur our suit will stay,
Let Virtue have that Stella's self; yet thus
That Virtue but that body grant to us.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Bridal Eve
GOOD-NIGHT, my Heart, my Heart, good-night--
Oh, good and dear and fair,
With lips of life and eyes of light
And roses in your hair.
To-morrow brings the other crown,
The orange blossoms, Sweet,
And then the rose will be cast down
With lilies at your feet.
But in your soul a garden stands
Where fair the white rose blows--
God, teach my foolish clumsy hands
The way to tend my rose.
That in the white-rose garden still
The lily may bloom fair
God help my heart and soul and will
To keep the lily there.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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400 ~ Bloom
Just begins to bud,
a rose,
holding hopes and fears
behind
black-red, velvet-soft petals.
Startled by a bright, new world,
it opens,
revealing petals of humility.
Blushing, growing,
opening as it becomes
accustomed
to beauty in light.
Proud color spreads wide across,
full bloom,
not as dark as at first,
glowing
from light that has filled it.
This rose can never die.
As love,
It can lose color, wilt, fade,
but in the mind,
the rose
will forever be in bright, full bloom.
This rose stands a symbol,
to time.
What has occurred to arrive at
now?
All the bloomings have led to one bright bloom,
this rose.
As someone has made me bloom,
she is
beauty and
light. Changing
my colors, releasing
my fears,
I owe her much, love
will never die, like
the glowing bloom of this,
a rose.
poem by Stan Pelfrey
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Not Like Any Other Color
This is no joke
This is no egg-yoke
Black is not like any other color
Black has its unique beauty
Its own charm and splendor
It is the color of the reality
It is the absence of the sun
It is the exile of the moon
Black is the last color
That we will see before crossing the border.
Black can be positive
Or negative
Depending on someone’s perception
Interest or observation
Because of ignorance
And lack of experience
Many neophytes unfortunately use that color
As a scapegoat, as a traitor
Who can stab in the groin or in the back
Charcoal is black, coffee is black.
At times, it may not be apparent
Black is beautiful and different
It is the color of the night
It is the absence of light
It is the last color
That we will see before crossing the border
Where no color exists afterwards
Where there are no sounds, no words
No opinions, no aroma and no prejudice
There live absolute serenity and peace.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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My Love Outshines The Summer Sun (Sonnet Corona)
(after William Shakespeare)
I
My love outshines the summer sun,
even stars in their remote twinkling light
and her eyes are more beautiful, each one
than the stars glimmering at night
Her cheeks is dimpled cute
her hair is an auburn crown,
her cheeks is rosy beyond repute
her hair is sun-shot twisting in a way of their own.
Her lips are more soft and warm
and her spirit is more mild
than a ray of light falling on my arm
or at times more free and wild
than birds where they fly,
my love is like the radiant sapphire sky.
II
My love is like the radiant sapphire sky
like the breeze rustling through trees
so lovely on my eye,
eager to please.
My love is like the summer sun,
like the blue hued sea
always warm and full of fun,
touching me gently
even when the darkness calls
and when time goes to its finality
like a star her light still falls,
my love stays true to me
in every thing her face I see
so gentle, sweet and free.
III
So gentle, sweet and free
my love lives her life
but I long for her to be near to me
in a world without any strive.
Like a lily prospering alone in the marsh
blooming pure and serene,
my darling lives unknown to a world harsh
out of control, away from the limelight scene
and in that rural place
her beauty is untouched by makeup,
filled with a sweet grace
and even in the morning when she wakes up
the sun is in her hair,
my darling is really fair.
IV
My darling is really fair
there are stars in her eyes,
she’s the most beautiful flower found anywhere,
her eyes are much more pure than the bluest skies.
When she smiles at me,
smiling tenderly,
I in her smile blessings see
as if love is there in all of its glory.
Still more so the bliss
that is caught in her kiss
that comes from the divine
which she is making mine
and sometimes the beauty makes her cry,
when the day flutters by.
V
When the day flutters by
with the sun setting red
you will find my love and I
where stars come out from bed,
then like a butterfly
the sun kisses the night,
touches the dark low and high
before it goes by with its last light
and she unloosens my tie
while we watch the full yellow moon,
while the fire in her eyes lie
sparkling, much brighter than the sunny afternoon,
but with a passing bat flying low she catches a fright,
while the stars are shining bright.
VII
While the stars are shining bright
like jewels in the sky’s crown
on a winter night
it has tranquillity, a beauty of its own,
her eyes are radiant,
as if aflame
lovely and brilliant
and of some she know the name
and something indiscernibly small
creeps into the very soul, into the heart
and of it that is all,
a smouldering, something with which we cannot part:
to me she remains the only one in joy and fun,
my love outshines the summer sun.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Eyes Remained Wide Open
I wondered
What made
The dark black night
Shine
With so much light
I heard a sound
Moved my eyes
All around
To find her standing
Her body
Draped in a black veil
Her moon like face
Emitting dazzling light
That made the dark night
Bright
Her mesmerizing beauty
Left me gaping
My eyes
Remained wide open
Could not believe
Beauty
Can be so captivating
11-01-2012
34-34-01-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Light A Candle
Some roads we take,
are long and dusty,
others are dark and gloomy.
It is then we need a little light
to show us the way.
Light a candle,
when the dark shadows descend,
let its light guide you
to a brighter day.
Light a candle
to see your way through,
when the world
starts closing it on you.
Lets its light be the beacon
to lead you away from distress.
Light a candle,
keep it burning bright,
and let it guide you day and night.
16 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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A Night In June
Lady! in this night of June
Fair like thee and holy,
Art thou gazing at the moon
That is rising slowly?
I am gazing on her now:
Something tells me, so art thou.
Night hath been when thou and I
Side by side were sitting,
Watching o'er the moonlit sky
Fleecy cloudlets flitting.
Close our hands were linkèd then;
When will they be linked again?
What to me the starlight still,
Or the moonbeams' splendour,
If I do not feel the thrill
Of thy fingers slender?
Summer nights in vain are clear,
If thy footstep be not near.
Roses slumbering in their sheaths
O'er my threshold clamber,
And the honeysuckle wreathes
Its translucent amber
Round the gables of my home:
How is it thou dost not come?
If thou camest, rose on rose
From its sleep would waken;
From each flower and leaf that blows
Spices would be shaken;
Floating down from star and tree,
Dreamy perfumes welcome thee.
I would lead thee where the leaves
In the moon-rays glisten;
And, where shadows fall in sheaves,
We would lean and listen
For the song of that sweet bird
That in April nights is heard.
And when weary lids would close,
And thy head was drooping,
Then, like dew that steeps the rose,
O'er thy languor stooping,
I would, till I woke a sigh,
Kiss thy sweet lips silently.
I would give thee all I own,
All thou hast would borrow;
I from thee would keep alone
Fear and doubt and sorrow.
All of tender that is mine,
Should most tenderly be thine.
Moonlight! into other skies,
I beseech thee wander.
Cruel, thus to mock mine eyes,
Idle, thus to squander
Love's own light on this dark spot;-
For my lady cometh not!
poem by Alfred Austin
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The Gentleman's Tear
At the candle light
And the dark around
He is sitting there alone
There is another light
Glowing bright from his heart
So pure and bright
Just I wished if I knew
Why he was sitting there alone.
Oh, how a cute gentleman!
At the magic nihgt
Under the candle light
What he was thinking about
That good hearted gentleman!
What a Deep! Deep! thoughts
Just If It could be seen
At the dark of the night!
What was thinking about
While he was touching the candle light
O, my God what was going on
How can be this true
At the darkness night
Under the candle light
Two drops of tears slipped from those charming eyes
I saw his face
The tears were rolling down
What could be the reason to make those eyes cry?
At the darkness nihgt
Under the candle light
Just I wanted if my wish would become true
Just I wished if I could be his light.
And wipe away the gloom
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Midsummer Night, Not Dark, Not Light
Midsummer night, not dark, not light,
Dusk all the scented air,
I'll e'en go forth to one I love,
And learn how he doth fare.
O the ring, the ring, my dear, for me,
The ring was a world too fine,
I wish it had sunk in a forty-fathom sea,
Or ever thou mad'st it mine.
Soft falls the dew, stars tremble through,
Where lone he sits apart,
Would I might steal his grief away
To hide in mine own heart.
Would, would 'twere shut in yon blossom fair,
The sorrow that bows thy head,
Then—I would gather it, to thee unaware,
And break my heart in thy stead.
That charm?flower, far from thy bower,
I'd bear the long hours through,
Thou should'st forget, and my sad breast
The sorrows twain should rue.
O sad flower, O sad, sad ring to me.
The ring was a world too fine;
And would it had sunk in a forty-fathom sea,
Ere the morn that made it mine.
poem by Jean Ingelow
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My Dream
I dreamed a dream last night-I wonder what it mean't-In my dream I was old and grau-With back and shoulders bent-It seemed I was in an awful place-All was was dark and drear-I was alone, my friends were gone-The ones I loved so dear-My heart was heavily burdened-But still I could not cry-None would hear me if I did-It seemed that I might die-Suddenly out of the darkness-The dreadful black of night-My eyes did not decieve me-I knew I saw a light-It shone so bright it hurt my eyes-But that I did not mind-My heart felt light and happy-I was not left behind.
poem by Joy Thacker
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Moonlight
The high Midnight was garlanding her head
With many a shining star in shining skies,
And, of her grace, a slumber on mine eyes,
And, after sorrow, quietness was shed.
Far in dim fields cicadas jargonéd
A thin shrill clamour of complaints and cries;
And all the woods were pallid, in strange wise,
With pallor of the sad moon overspread.
Then came my lady to that lonely place,
And, from her palfrey stooping, did embrace
And hang upon my neck, and kissed me over;
Wherefore the day is far less dear than night,
And sweeter is the shadow than the light,
Since night has made me such a happy lover.
poem by Jacques Tahureau
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I am a rose
What color am I? Am I red, pink, white, oh wait I am black...
Black is the color of many dark secret places and or ideas, which we may never want to enter...
So why do I feel like I am a black rose? Do I have secrets hidden so deep that no one can even sense them?
I wish I were a red and or a white rose. Those two colors can mean many of things but what you find the most is that of marriage...
Red is the color of love and white is the color in which we use mostly for a wedding. I want my darkness to turn to light. With my color of a rose may the light bring out a marriage...
I am a rose of many colors which one are you? ? ?
poem by Kristen Palmitier
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Nature that Washed Her Hands in Milk
Nature, that washed her hands in milk,
And had forgot to dry them,
Instead of earth took snow and silk,
At love's request to try them,
If she a mistress could compose
To please love's fancy out of those.
Her eyes he would should be of light,
A violet breath, and lips of jelly;
Her hair not black, nor overbright,
And of the softest down her belly;
As for her inside he'd have it
Only of wantonness and wit.
At love's entreaty such a one
Nature made, but with her beauty
She hath framed a heart of stone;
So as Love, by ill destiny,
Must die for her whom nature gave him
Because her darling would not save him.
But time, which nature doth despise
And rudely gives her love the lie,
Makes hope a fool, and sorrow wise,
His hands do neither wash nor dry;
But being made of steel and rust,
Turns snow and silk and milk to dust.
The light, the belly, lips, and breath,
He dims, discolors, and destroys;
With those he feeds but fills not death,
Which sometimes were the food of joys.
Yea, time doth dull each lively wit,
And dries all wantonness with it.
Oh, cruel time, which takes in trust
Our youth, or joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Walk this Night
Dark clouds will move
Light rays will come
Dark night will end
Bright day will start
But walk this night
Walk seeing its stars
Seeing its bright light
Seeing its white shine
It’s the beauty of night
So seen only in night
Walk seeing its moon
Seeing its moon light
Seeing its bright shine
It’s also beauty of night
So shines only in night
So walk this night
Walk seeing its light
And awake in light
Walk seeing its beauty
And awake in beauty
So walk this night
To wake in shine
If not the next day
It will be other day
For now walk this night
So move, said my heart
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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An Answered Prayer
I prayed a lover's prayer and prayers sent me
A beautiful lady of art and life in perfect harmony.
Her eyes of Burmese jade, her lips of amorous African ruby
Her skin of Chinese silk, her heart a refined piece of jewelry
As rare as rare, and as sweet as sweet
This lady is beauty whole and beauty complete.
Her slim delicate tenderness lies between beauty and love
And in mine heart her beauty is be love
By mine senses, my soul, my spirit, my will
Made light by her soul, as light and colorful of a peacock's quill
I do but for a moment touch her loin
And our eyes, my prayers, do finally adjoin
Love has sent me a scion of pleasure
In one moment of love's eternity
Did I possess a Goddess and I did see love's tremendous treasure
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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