Dinner in a Quick Lunch Room
Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn,
Blowing clear notes of gold against the stars;
Strange entrees with a jangle of glass bars
Fantastically alive with subtle scorn;
Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters,
Clear, vibrant waters, beautifully austere;
Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear,
A screaming fife, a voice from ancient slaughters!
Over the salad let the woodwinds moan;
Then the green silence of many watercresses;
Dessert, a balalaika, strummed alone;
Coffee, a slow, low singing no passion stresses;
Such are my thoughts as -- clang! crash! bang! -- I brood
And gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!
poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Night, on the Sea-shore
I have fled from all, and none can now
My way, my wanderings see;
The waters widely round me flow—
I feel that I am free!
Oh! who can wish for sunny day,
When they may look on that lovely ray—
On the moon so pure, so clear, and fair,
When no human form is nigh,
When no human voice can startle the air?
All is silence and secrecy.
No sound but the waters, that, murmuring, move—
No light but the shadowless orb above.
But see! the shadows are gathering fast—
The clear bright orb is gone:
Alas! no beauty can ever last,
That e'er I gaze upon!
The waters that sparkled so bright before
Now moan alone the gloomy shore;
And all is dark—as the fate will be
That spreads its cheerless path for me!
poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Fixation
between two islands
of my life
i set upon a swim
this middle portion
of clear calm waters
it is not deep
no storms not even a wave
it is crystal clear
and beneath
a white sandy floor
some fish lick my legs
and tickle my pelvis
some sea grass massage
the soles of my feet
and so i like it here
and i am not going somewhere
or anywhere
the other island
which they call eternal bliss
for a while
can wait
it is between day and night
it is between heaven and earth
it is between life and death
it is what you call
my sinfulness.
in here i am very happy
and that is all enough for me
the sky blue waters are so cool
& the surroundings simply beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blue nails
You went for red not blue
Gutted
Too subtle, too scared or making it clear
It didn't work
I dropped a hint
Screaming at you in perfect silence
for a clear response
But did you hear
I am still not clear
can I try again in semaphore maybe
Paint those beautiful nails blue
If it's me
Nineteen
This is my voice,
Sad, prolonged, fever pitched,
With some intermittent turbulence
In between a concentrated discourse
But
Still in a slow, smooth, sailing like
A canoe on a very clear silent running river
And
Some rapids, and rocks somewhere, may distort,
This voice
Of mine,
Or
At the edge for which a waterfall rages,
This
Voice
Of
Mine,
May sound like a violent fall of a hundred heavy waters,
Not a drip, but a hundred heavy, heavy falling waters,
As though the whole word is falling down
On your
Shoulder,
This is my voice, sad, on a prolonged agony,
But somehow, when tickled may move into
A mystery, not discounting the possibility of
An ecstasy,
A fantasy,
And you, my love, my beautiful reader, may hear this voice
Speaking to you in a hush of silence,
This is my voice; hear it for what it is, that is all that I ask of you,
I am myself speaking. I am real, this voice of mine.
Listen to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I will be speaking to you in my own voice
This is my voice,
Sad, prolonged, fever pitched,
With some intermittent turbulence
In between a concentrated discourse
But
Still in a slow, smooth, sailing like
A canoe on a very clear silent running river
And
Some rapids, and rocks somewhere, may distort,
This voice
Of mine,
Or
At the edge for which a waterfall rages,
This
Voice
Of
Mine,
May sound like a violent fall of a hundred heavy waters,
Not a drip, but a hundred heavy, heavy falling waters,
As though the whole word is falling down
On your
Shoulder,
This is my voice, sad, on a prolonged agony,
But somehow, when tickled may move into
A mystery, not discounting the possibility of
An ecstasy,
A fantasy,
And you, my love, my beautiful reader, may hear this voice
Speaking to you in a hush of silence,
This is my voice; hear it for what it is, that is all that I ask of you,
I am myself speaking. I am real, this voice of mine.
Listen to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This Is My Voice
This is my voice,
Sad, prolonged, fever pitched,
With some intermittent turbulence
In between a concentrated discourse
But
Still in a slow, smooth, sailing like
A canoe on a very clear silent running river
And
Some rapids, and rocks somewhere, may distort,
This voice
Of mine,
Or
At the edge for which a waterfall rages,
This
Voice
Of
Mine,
May sound like a violent fall of a hundred heavy waters,
Not a drip, but a hundred heavy, heavy falling waters,
As though the whole word is falling down
On your
Shoulder,
This is my voice, sad, on a prolonged agony,
But somehow, when tickled may move into
A mystery, not discounting the possibility of
An ecstasy,
A fantasy,
And you, my love, my beautiful reader, may hear this voice
Speaking to you in a hush of silence,
This is my voice; hear it for what it is, that is all that I ask of you,
I am myself speaking. I am real, this voice of mine.
Listen to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bang On The Ear
Lindsay was my first love
she was in my class
I would have loved to take her out
but I was too shy to ask
The fullness of my feeling
was never made clear
but I send her my love
and a bang on the ear
Nora was my girl
when I first was in a group
I can still see her to this day
stirring chicken soup
Now she's living in Australia
working for an auctioneer
But I send her my love
and a bang on the ear
Deborah broke my heart
and I the willing fool
I fell for her one summer
on the road to Liverpool
I thought it was forever
but it was over within the year (oh dear)
But I send her my love
and a bang on the ear
The home I made with Bella
became a house of pain
We weathered it together
bound by a ball and chain
It started up in Fife
It ended up in tears
But I send her my love
and a bang on the ear
Krista was a rover
from Canada she hailed
We crossed swords in San Francisco
We both lived to tell the tale
I don't know now where she is
Oh, but if I had her here
I'd give her my love
and a bang on the ear
So my woman of the hearth fire
harbour of my soul
I watch you lightly sleeping
I sense the dream that does unfold .. like gold
You to me are treasure
You to me are dear
So I'll give you my love
and a bang on the ear
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
And A Bang On The Ear
Lindsay was my first love she was in my class
I would have loved to take her out but I was too shy to ask
The fullness of my feeling was never made clear
But I send her my love with a bang on the ear
Nora was my girl when I first was in a group
I can still see her to this day, stirring chicken soup
Now shes living in australia working for an auctioneer
But I send her my love with a bang on the ear
Deborah broke my heart and I the willing fool
I fell for her one summer on the road to liverpool
I thought it was forever but it was over in a year (oh dear)
But I give her my love with a bang on the ear
The home I made with bella became a house of pain
We weathered it together bound by a ball and chain
Is started up in fife, and ended up in tears (oh dear)
But I send her my love with a bang on the ear
Krista was a rover from canada she hailed
We crossed swords in san francisco we both lived to tell the tale
I dont know now where she is oh but if I had her here
Id give her my love with a bang on the ear
So my woman of the hearthfire, harbour of my soul
I watch you lightly sleeping and sense the dream that does unfold (like gold)
You to me are treasure, you to me are dear
So Ill give you my love with a bang on the ear
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Minor Poet
I am a shell. From me you shall not hear
The splendid tramplings of insistent drums,
The orbed gold of the viol's voice that comes,
Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear.
Yet, if you hold me close against the ear,
A dim, far whisper rises clamorously,
The thunderous beat and passion of the sea,
The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere.
Others with subtle hands may pluck the strings,
Making even Love in music audible,
And earth one glory. I am but a shell
That moves, not of itself, and moving sings;
Leaving a fragrance, faint as wine new-shed,
A tremulous murmur from great days long dead.
poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Green Planet
Green Planet
By Lori Triggs
Copyrighted July 17 2008
At one time our planet was colorful as lush with plants even flowers
And towering trees beautiful I can see,
The planet was filled with animals even birds more species that was plentiful
While the mammals and fish filled the oceans even waters majestic,
The oceans with lakes even rivers as the waters where aqua or
Torques blue lovely green was a fantasy.
Now our planet is filled with tons trash on the streets even
At the garbage dumps filled to the top to no end,
The planet not colorful or lush with plants even flowers
And towering trees it becoming a waste land of dirt and mud,
Even homes plus businesses filled with humans to see
The animals even birds is getting scarce means no food or wildlife,
While the mammals and fish are finding up dead in the waters
Or land means no food or sea life.
The oceans with lakes even rivers as the waters are brown,
Or nasty green will be unsafe to drink this is not a fantasy.
We should help the planet even ourselves by recycling
bottles, paper, cardboard, cans even glass in recycling centers,
Make green homes by using reused materials granite, tiles, wood,
Bottles, paper, cardboard, cans even glass solar tubes, & solar energy
Plus solar water, everything energy officiant,
The cars we use should be hydrogen, solar, electric or hybrid
So go green not brown if we keep what we are doing we are all dead!
poem by Lori Triggs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Symphony Of The Elements
The orchestra of wind blowing
Through lush green trees
Builds from a whisper
To a forte with ease.
Lightning casts a blinding light
In white dangerous rhythm
Thunder, drums quietly, Then Boom
In crescendo to the anthem.
Maestro of land, sky and sea
Many sounds and sights
Living, breathing symphonies
Singing lullabies at nights.
And then to amaze us all
Playing symphonies again
Applause ripples through the valley
And showers us with rain.
The rise and fall of the notes
A rush of lightning rhapsody
The concerto finally comes to rest
In such peaceful harmony.
poem by Hazel Connelly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Days Vengeance
Birthdays celebration have
gone with the wind, we now
celebrate death, my peers
now pay rate at the cemetery.
Our heartless leaders smile
at us, as hunger take us for a
ride.At banquet they call us
fools and drink to our pains.
Soon we will storm the street
with our head up runing through
them, pulling walls down. Bang
bang let the glass splash, they
rush we rush, yell we yell no
no retreat no surrender, let death
come and we will dance to it. that
moment we will be known as our days
vengeance.
poem by Enyinwa Okechukwu Enyinwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet 01
ALL beautiful things bring sadness, nor alone
Music, whereof that wisest poet spake;
Because in us keen longings they awake
After the good for which we pine and groan,
From which exil’d we make continual moan,
Till once again we may our spirits slake
At those clear streams, which man did first forsake,
When he would dig for fountains of his own.
All beauty makes us sad, yet not in vain:
For who would be ungracious to refuse,
Or not to use, this sadness without pain,
Whether it flows upon us from the hues
Of sunset, from the time of stars and dews,
From the clear sky, or waters pure of stain?
poem by Richard Chenevix Trench
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Trois
when we make love
tonight
between our bodies
and minds
as we kiss and
hug and moan
and groan
i shall not tell you
that between us is
a memory of her
and so when i start
to close my eyes
and feel the rapid beating
of my heart
i shall hear a rush of the
waters
i shall feel the gushing of
the river
inside my mind
and there she stands
still waiting for me
and there i shall hear
the sweetest song
of love from her
and then i explode
like the sun
on this big bang
to create the meteors
and the stars
i live in the universe
of my own imagination
in there there shall be
the three of us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Transparent Waters
Begin thoughts scrub the surface,
Remove rust, wash the sable spots
Of eyes, of heart and of dark mind;
But the diabolic coat a layer upon a layer,
Impede lights, make us blind,
Though we claim to be the men of wisdom,
Yet we move in the canyon of obscurity.
Standing upon the top of an alien hill,
I beheld a lush green gorge,
Merging with serpentine bends,
Down below into the countless mounds.
All humps rose with moderate heights;
Below to the left on the turn first,
A tall tree with comb like leaves,
And extending branches enchanted my soul.
Upward to the right behind the top,
An ocean of the subtle transparent waters,
With no crease, no ridges or dancing waves,
Extended, stretched beyond the sight,
Like a huge colourless glass affixed,
In the wooden frame lying prostrate.
Looking down through transparent waters,
On the other side I beheld beneath the sky blue,
And walked upon praying, with the body ethereal,
O! God,
“Impede access of Man to those e spheres,
Lest like world they should pollute them too.”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fisherman
THE waters rush'd, the waters rose,
A fisherman sat by,
While on his line in calm repose
He cast his patient eye.
And as he sat, and hearken'd there,
The flood was cleft in twain,
And, lo! a dripping mermaid fair
Sprang from the troubled main.
She sang to him, and spake the while:
"Why lurest thou my brood,
With human wit and human guile
From out their native flood?
Oh, couldst thou know how gladly dart
The fish across the sea,
Thou wouldst descend, e'en as thou art,
And truly happy be!
"Do not the sun and moon with grace
Their forms in ocean lave?
Shines not with twofold charms their face,
When rising from the wave?
The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not,--
The moist yet radiant blue,--
Not thine own form,--to tempt thy lot
'Midst this eternal dew?"
The waters rush'd, the waters rose,
Wetting his naked feet;
As if his true love's words were those,
His heart with longing beat.
She sang to him, to him spake she,
His doom was fix'd, I ween;
Half drew she him, and half sank he,
And ne'er again was seen.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Firemen's Ball
SECTION ONE
"Give the engines room,
Give the engines room."
Louder, faster
The little band-master
Whips up the fluting,
Hurries up the tooting.
He thinks that he stands,
[*] The reins in his hands,
In the fire-chief's place
In the night alarm chase.
The cymbals whang,
The kettledrums bang: —
"Clear the street,
Clear the street,
Clear the street — Boom, boom.
In the evening gloom,
In the evening gloom,
Give the engines room,
Give the engines room.
Lest souls be trapped
In a terrible tomb."
The sparks and the pine-brands
Whirl on high
From the black and reeking alleys
To the wide red sky.
Hear the hot glass crashing,
Hear the stone steps hissing.
Coal black streams
Down the gutters pour.
There are cries for help
From a far fifth floor.
For a longer ladder
Hear the fire-chief call.
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
"'Tis the
NIGHT
Of doom,"
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
"NIGHT
Of doom,"
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
Faster, faster
The red flames come.
"Hum grum," say the engines,
"Hum grum grum."
"Buzz, buzz,"
Says the crowd.
"See, see,"
Calls the crowd.
And the high walls fall:—
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball
"'Tis the
NIGHT
Of doom,"
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
NIGHT
Of doom,
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
Whangaranga, whangaranga,
Whang, whang, whang,
Clang, clang, clangaranga,
Clang, clang, clang.
Clang—a—ranga—
Clang—a—ranga—
Clang,
Clang,
Clang.
Listen—to—the—music—
Of the firemen's ball—
SECTION TWO
"Many's the heart that's breaking
If we could read them all
After the ball is over."
(An old song.)
Scornfully, gaily
The bandmaster sways,
Changing the strain
That the wild band plays.
With a red and royal intoxication,
A tangle of sounds
And a syncopation,
Sweeping and bending
From side to side,
Master of dreams,
With a peacock pride.
A lord of the delicate flowers of delight
He drives compunction
Back through the night.
Dreams he's a soldier
Plumed and spurred,
And valiant lads
Arise at his word,
Flaying the sober
Thoughts he hates,
Driving them back
From the dream-town gates.
How can the languorous
Dancers know
The red dreams come
When the good dreams go?
'"Tis the
NIGHT
Of love,"
Call the silver joy-bells,
"NIGHT
Of love,"
Call the silver joy-bells.
"Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
Sing low, now, violins,
Sing, sing low,
Blow gently, wood-wind,
Mellow and slow.
Like midnight poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
Their eyes flash power,
Their lips are dumb.
Faster and faster
Their pulses come,
Though softer now
The drum-beats fall.
Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
'Tis the firemen's ball,
'Tis the firemen's ball.
"I am slain,"
Cries true-love
There in the shadow.
"And I die,"
Cries true-love,
There laid low.
"When the fire-dreams come,
The wise dreams go."
BUT HIS CRY IS DROWNED
BY THE PROUD BAND-MASTER.
And now great gongs whang,
Sharper, faster,
And kettledrums rattle
And hide the shame
With a swish and a swirk
In dead love's name.
Red and crimson
And scarlet and rose
Magical poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
The scarlet stays
When the rose-flush goes,
And love lies low
In a marble tomb.
"'Tis the
NIGHT
Of doom,"
Call the ding-dong doom-bells.
"NIGHT
Of Doom,"
Call the ding-dong doom-bells.
Hark how the piccolos still make cheer.
'Tis a moonlight night in the spring of the year."
CLANGARANGA, CLANGARANGA,
CLANG . . . CLANG . . . CLANG.
CLANG . . . A . . . RANGA . . .
CLANG . . . A . . . RANGA . . .
CLANG . . . CLANG . . . CLANG . . .
LISTEN . . . TO . . . THE . . . MUSIC . . .
OF . . . THE . . . FIREMEN'S BALL . . .
LISTEN . . . TO . . . THE . . . MUSIC . . .
OF . . . THE . . . FIREMEN'S . . . BALL . . .
SECTION THREE
In Which, contrary to Artistic Custom, the moral of the piece is placed before the reader.
(From the first Khandaka of the Mahavagga: "There Buddha thus addressed his disciples: 'Everything, O mendicants, is burning. With what fire is it burning? I declare unto you it is burning with the fire of passion, with the fire of anger, with the fire of ignorance. It is burning with the anxieties of birth, decay and death, grief, lamentation, suffering and despair. . . . A disciple, . . . becoming weary of all that, divests himself of passion. By absence of passion, he is made free.'")
I once knew a teacher,
Who turned from desire,
Who said to the young men
"Wine is a fire."
Who said to the merchants:—
"Gold is a flame
That sears and tortures
If you play at the game."
I once knew a teacher
Who turned from desire
Who said to the soldiers,
"Hate is a fire."
Who said to the statesmen:—
"Power is a flame
That flays and blisters
If you play at the game."
I once knew a teacher
Who turned from desire,
Who said to the lordly,
"Pride is a fire."
Who thus warned the revellers:—
"Life is a flame.
Be cold as the dew
Would you win at the game
With hearts like the stars,
With hearts like the stars."
SO BEWARE,
SO BEWARE,
SO BEWARE OF THE FIRE.
Clear the streets,
BOOM, BOOM,
Clear the streets,
BOOM, BOOM,
GIVE THE ENGINES ROOM,
GIVE THE ENGINES ROOM,
LEST SOULS BE TRAPPED
IN A TERRIBLE TOMB.
SAYS THE SWIFT WHITE HORSE
TO THE SWIFT BLACK HORSE:—
"THERE GOES THE ALARM,
THERE GOES THE ALARM.
THEY ARE HITCHED, THEY ARE OFF,
THEY ARE GONE IN A FLASH,
AND THEY STRAIN AT THE DRIVER'S IRON ARM."
CLANG . . . A . . . RANGA, . . . CLANG.. A . . . RANGA. . . .
CLANG . . . CLANG . . . CLANG. . . .
CLANG . . . A . . . RANGA. . . . CLANG . . . A . . . RANGA. . . .
CLANG . . . CLANG . . . CLANG. . . .
CLANG . . . A . . . RANGA. . . . CLANG . . . A . . . RANGA. . . .
CLANG . . . CLANG . . . CLANG . . . .
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Exile’s Letter
(To Yüan)
Remember how Tung built us a place to drink in
At Lo-yang south of the T’ien-ching bridge?
White jade and gold bought songs and laughter.
We drank forgetting Court and princes.
Those amongst us, wisest and bravest
On all this side of rivers and oceans,
Hearts high as clouds, and you and I together,
Cared nothing at crossing lakes and mountains
Only to share our thoughts and feelings.
Then I went out south-east to cut the laurel,
You north of Lo River still lost in dreams.
No joy in being parted. Soon back again in mountains,
Tracking the thirty-six twists and turns of valley,
By the streams bright with a thousand flowers,
By endless waters,
Hearing pine-trees sighing,
Till we met the Hang-tung Governor
On a gold and silver saddle,
And Hu the True-Taoist drew us with his pipe playing,
Making unearthly music out of the high tower,
Strange sounds of the mating phoenix.
The Governor’s sleeves kept time to the music,
So that he rose, drunk, and danced a little,
Brought his brocade coat, covered my body.
I fell asleep, head resting in his lap.
By day our hearts rose to the nine heavens.
At evening we scattered like blown stars or rain,
I to my far mountain over hills and waters,
You to your own house by the bridge of Wei.
That winter I made your father’s North City,
Loved you for the way you did me honour,
Sharing your wealth, thinking nothing of it.
Wine there - in cups of amber,
Food there - on plates of jade.
I ate and drank, no thoughts of returning.
We went out to the west. The river parts there,
Round the ancient shrine of a Prince of Chou.
Boats on the waters to drums and piping.
Waves made of dragon scales. Jade-green rushes.
We drank and drank, lived the passing moments,
Forgetting how they go like blossoms or snowfall.
Flushed with wine, warm in glow of sunset,
The hundred-foot deep pool mirroring bright faces,
Dancing-girls delicate as willows in the moonlight,
Notes lost in the silken sleeves’ fluttering.
A white breeze blew their song to the sky,
Winding through the air, twisting in the cloud-lanes.
Never again. Never again such joy.
I went west but got no promotion.
White-headed back to eastern hills.
Met once more south of Wei’s bridge.
Parted again north of Tso’s terrace.
And if you ask my feelings at parting,
They were inside me like Spring flowers falling.
No way to say what’s in the heart. Never.
I call in the boy. Have him kneel here, tie this,
To send my feelings through a thousand miles.
Up To My Ears In Tears
(alan jackson/don sampson)
You told me you dont love me when you walked out the door
I stood there feelin lonely, then the tears began to pour
What else could I do, Id never felt like that before
So I cried an ol blue river I the middle of the floor
Now Im up to my ears in tears
Im cryin night and day since you went away
The things you used to say, honey, I no longer hear
That waters cold and clear, Im drownin for you dear
Up to my ears in tears
Well I found some old love letters you wrote me years ago
But the words all ran together when the tears began to flow
Cause you left that water runnin, now its got nowhere to go
If I cant wash away your memory guess Ill just go under slow
Now Im up to my ears in tears
Im cryin night and day since you went away
The things you used to say, honey, I no longer hear
That waters cold and clear, Im drownin for you dear
Up to my ears in tears
The waters cold and clear
Im drowning for you, dear
Up to my ears in tears
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Cadences
I
(MINOR)
THE ANCIENT memories buried lie,
And the olden fancies pass;
The old sweet flower-thoughts wither and fly,
And die as the April cowslips die,
That scatter the bloomy grass.
All dead, my dear! And the flowers are dead,
And the happy blossoming spring;
The winter comes with its iron tread,
The fields with the dying sun are red,
And the birds have ceas’d to sing.
I trace the steps on the wasted strand
Of the vanish’d springtime’s feet:
Wither’d and dead is our Fairyland,
For Love and Death go hand in hand
Go hand in hand, my sweet!
II
(MAJOR)
OH, what shall be the burden of our rhyme,
And what shall be our ditty when the blossom’s on the lime?
Our lips have fed on winter and on weariness too long:
We will hail the royal summer with a golden-footed song!
O lady of my summer and my spring,
We shall hear the blackbird whistle and the brown sweet throstle sing,
And the low clear noise of waters running softly by our feet,
When the sights and sounds of summer in the green clear fields are sweet.
We shall see the roses blowing in the green,
The pink-lipp’d roses kissing in the golden summer sheen;
We shall see the fields flower thick with stars and bells of summer gold,
And the poppies burn out red and sweet across the corn-crown’d wold.
The time shall be for pleasure, not for pain;
There shall come no ghost of grieving for the past betwixt us twain;
But in the time of roses our lives shall grow together,
And our love be as the love of gods in the blue Olympic weather.
poem by John Howard Payne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!