Hesperides
If thy soul, Herrick, dwelt with me,
This is what my songs would be:
Hints of our sea-breezes, blent
With odors from the Orient;
Indian vessels deep with spice;
Star-showers from the Norland ice;
Wine-red jewels that seem to hold
Fire, but only burn with cold;
Antique goblets, strangely wrought,
Filled with the wine of happy thought,
Bridal measure, vain regrets,
Laburnum buds and violets;
Hopeful as the break of day;
Clear as crystal; new as May;
Musical as brooks that run
O'er yellow shallows in the sun;
Soft as the satin fringe that shades
The eyelids of thy Devon maids;
Brief as thy lyrics, Herrick, are,
And polished as the bosom of a star.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Related quotes
Little Tear-Vase
Other vessels hold wine, other vessels hold oil
inside the hollowed-out vault circumscribed by their clay.
I, as smaller measure, and as the slimmest of all,
humbly hollow myself so that just a few tears can fill me.
Wine becomes richer, oil becomes clear, in its vessel.
What happens with tears?-They made me blind in my
glass,
made me heavy and made my curve iridescent,
made me brittle, and left me empty at last.
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Upon Himself
Thou shalt not all die; for while Love's fire shines
Upon his altar, men shall read thy lines;
And learn'd musicians shall, to honour Herrick's
Fame, and his name, both set and sing his lyrics.
To his book's end this last line he'd have placed:--
Jocund his Muse was, but his Life was chaste.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Harbor Dawn
There's a hush and stillness calm and deep,
For the waves have wooed all the winds to sleep
In the shadow of headlands bold and steep;
But some gracious spirit has taken the cup
Of the crystal sky and filled it up
With rosy wine, and in it afar
Has dissolved the pearl of the morning star.
The girdling hills with the night-mist cold
In purple raiment are hooded and stoled
And smit on the brows with fire and gold;
And in the distance the wide, white sea
Is a thing of glamor and wizardry,
With its wild heart lulled to a passing rest,
And the sunrise cradled upon its breast.
With the first red sunlight on mast and spar
A ship is sailing beyond the bar,
Bound to a land that is fair and far;
And those who wait and those who go
Are brave and hopeful, for well they know
Fortune and favor the ship shall win
That crosses the bar when the dawn comes in.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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To The Water-nymphs Drinking At Thefountain
Reach with your whiter hands to me
Some crystal of the spring;
And I about the cup shall see
Fresh lilies flourishing.
Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this--
To th' glass your lips incline;
And I shall see by that one kiss
The water turn'd to wine.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Be Sure To Eat At The Feast
She sat down to feast
at Life's Table
polishing stars
for the summer night;
drinking flower-petal nectar
from hollow vessels
made of moon-beams
and candle light.
She made angel cake
from pixie dust,
angel breath
and laughter steams
warmed in sun-ovens
splayed across the sky
for the Star-Children to eat.
Her main course
was Laughter Pie
served in crystal
goblets
from Jupiter-Sky
and Saturn-Rings.
The whole canape of night-sky
was moved in doors that night
affixing stars
to the draperies
providing soft light.
The planets
dressed themselves up
in purples, blues and greens
a genuflection to the Eternities.
There was orchid wine
rose-bud souffle
Softened Twilight
twinkling, poured and mixed
with warm hearts, heightened spirits
and deep souls that night.
The music of the Heart Song
beat strong;
The message was clear:
Life is beautiful;
enjoy it while
you're here.
There won't be
any
Leftovers
left over.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Under The Laburnum Tree
(A simple tale)
Under the Laburnum tree
She saw his gentle face
Under the Laburnum tree
She knew their first embrace
Under the Laburnum tree
She gave to him her love
Under the Laburnum tree
Beneath the stars above
Under the Laburnum tree
He left her there to cry
Under the Laburnum tree
That`s where she chose to die
(Under the Laburnum tree
Were scattered all its seeds
Under the Laburnum tree
Amongst the growing weeds)
Under the Laburnum tree
The moon was shining bright
Under the Laburnum tree
Her silv`ry soul took flight
Under the Laburnum tree
At last she was set free
Under the Laburnum tree
She found eternity
poem by Valerie Dohren
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By Faith With Thanksgiving
LOVE is no bird that nests and flies,
No rose that buds and blooms and dies,
No star that shines and disappears,
No fire whose ashes strew the years:
Love is the god who lights the star,
Makes music of the lark's desire,
Love tells the rose what perfumes are,
And lights and feeds the deathless fire.
Love is no joy that dies apace
With the delight of dear embrace--
Love is no feast of wine and bread,
Red-vintaged and gold-harvested:
Love is the god whose touch divine
On hands that clung and lips that kissed,
Has turned life's common bread and wine
Into the Holy Eucharist.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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An Epitaph Upon A Child
Virgins promised when I died,
That they would each primrose-tide
Duly, morn and evening, come,
And with flowers dress my tomb.
--Having promised, pay your debts
Maids, and here strew violets.
poem by Robert Herrick
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I See Stars
I saw a star in Venice
I saw a star tonight
I saw a star falling then regain its flight.
I saw a star in Rio
I saw a star in you
I saw a star twinkling in different shades of blue.
I saw a star in Heaven
I saw a star in Hell
But never did I see a star twinkling on my world.
I've seen a star fading
I've seen it cross the sky
I've seen so many different stars trying not to die
I've seen them come together
I've watched them grow apart
I have seen so many stars in a lovers heart.
I've seen the stars exploding
I've seen the quiet and calm
I've heard them whisper secrets in a world full of harm
I saw a star twinkling in different shades of blue
But never in all my life have i seen a star like you...
poem by Coen Carter
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Village Song
HONEY, child, honey, child, whither are you going?
Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes blowing?
Would you leave the mother who on golden grain has fed you?
Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth to wed you?
Mother mine, to the wild forest I am going,
Where upon the champa boughs the champa buds are blowing;
To the köil-haunted river-isles where lotus lilies glisten,
The voices of the fairy folk are calling me: O listen!
Honey, child, honey, child, the world is full of pleasure,
Of bridal-songs and cradle-songs and sandal-scented leisure.
Your bridal robes are in the loom, silver and saffron glowing,
Your bridal cakes are on the hearth: O whither are you going?
The bridal-songs and cradle-songs have cadences of sorrow,
The laughter of the sun to-day, the wind of death to-morrow.
Far sweeter sound the forest-notes where forest-streams are falling;
O mother mine, I cannot stay, the fairy-folk are calling.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Fly Not Yet
Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour,
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night,
And maids who love the moon.
'Twas but to bless these hours of shade
That beauty and the moon were made;
'Tis then their soft attractions glowing
Set the tides and goblets flowing.
Oh! stay, -- Oh! stay, --
Joy so seldom weaves a chain
Like this to-night, that oh, 'tis pain
To break its links so soon.
Fly not yet, the fount that play'd
In times of old through Ammon's shade,
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet still, like souls of mirth, began
To burn when night was near.
And thus, should woman's heart and looks
At noon be cold as winter brooks,
Nor kindle till the night, returning,
Brings their genial hour for burning.
Oh! stay, -- Oh! stay, --
When did morning ever break,
And find such beaming eyes awake
As those that sparkle here?
poem by Thomas Moore
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Whispers
Lamp in the kitchen shines
Hallways away from fear
Dressed in green Victorian time
She lights the bedroom
She brings a red candle
Myth streams from the light
Elder mountains where joy lives
Eyes of the forest soul
Arms of Joan of Ark
Mossy trees with boughs of valentines
Logs burn by our own desire
Manifold collusions
She revels in dusky silk
Stained glass fingernails of satin red
Wine glasses filled with empires
Pillows of violet frosted meadows
Winds drift like eagles soaring
Words with timbre of stately cedar
Clocks tick and chime
Veranda with antique spirit
I am the prisoner of desire
Fate is a free will accepting love
Moon shines through the curtain lace
Cherish every word she speaks
Feel every soft ripple of the river
Bookcase of rosewood legends
Carpets of golden fire
Lamps of crystal lovers
On the table a family portrait
Rites of passage
Her lips move like a calm sea
Passion is a whisper
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Honey And Wine
My daddy used to tell me
When I was under his wing
If you want to live a good life
Just remember one thing
Though the world that we live in
Can be so unkind
If you love a good woman
It's all honey and wine
Less I could do
I thought my daddy was wrong
Girl, I was so lonely
And then you came along
You get and said hold me
You get the kissin' was fine
Now I ready for the tastin'
Was the honey and wine
It's all honey and wine now
It's all honey and wine
If you love a good woman, yeah
It's all honey and wine
break
It's all honey and wine now
It's all honey and wine
If you love a good woman, yeah
It's all honey and wine
It's all honey and wine now
It's all honey and wine
It's all honey and wine
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monster Minded
The wine of astonishment
is house wine at my house.
The whiskey of it is a sauce
we savor. The cocaine
of thy judgment also
is rock crystal, blow
to blow the mitral valve.
Truly is the heroin
of thine excellency said
to be deep brown, shit
pure enough to stop the heart.
poem by Brooks Haxton
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Wine (Love Poem)
Wine is for laughing
Wine is for talking all night
Wine is for living life out loud
Wine is for making us beautiful
Wine is for all-night conversations
Wine is for getting together again
Wine is for ‘never again’ tomorrow
Wine is for sleeping like a baby
Wine is for telling the truth
Wine is food for love
Wine is friendship
Wine is fresh
Wine
Can
Be
The
One
Perfe ct
Companion
At the end of a long day
poem by Ian Beckett
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Upon Tears
Tears, though they're here below the sinner's brine,
Above, they are the Angels' spiced wine.
poem by Robert Herrick
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To Robin Red-breast
Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me;
And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter,
Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister!
For epitaph, in foliage, next write this:
HERE, HERE THE TOMB OF ROBIN HERRICK IS!
poem by Robert Herrick
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Red, Red Gold
Red, red gold, a kingdom's ransom, child,
To weave thy yellow hair she bade them spin.
At early dawn the gossamer spiders toiled,
And wove the sunrise in.
She took the treasures of the deep blue noon,
She took the clear eyes of the morning star,
The pale--faced lilies of a seven--days moon,
The dust of Phoebus' car.
She painted thee with dewdrops from the flowers,
Stained with their petals, hyacinth and rose,
And violets all wet with April showers
And snowdrops from the snows.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Boulder To Birmingham
I dont want to hear a love song
I got on this airplane just to fly
I know theres life below me
And all that you can show me is the prairie and the sky
I dont want to hear a sad story filled with hearbreak and desire
The last time I felt like this
I was in the wilderness and the canyon was on fire
And I stood on the mountain in the night
And I watched it burn, I watched it burn, I watched it burn
Chorus:
I would rock my soul in the bosom of abraham
I would hold my life in a saving grace
I would walk all the way from boulder to birmingham
If I thought I could see, see your face
Well you really got me this time
And the hardest part is knowing I survive
And Ive come to listen to the sounds of trucks
As they moved out on highway 95
And pretending its the ocean coming to wash me clear
To wash me clear if you know what I mean
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Upon Love
A crystal vial Cupid brought,
Which had a juice in it:
Of which who drank, he said, no thought
Of Love he should admit.
I, greedy of the prize, did drink,
And emptied soon the glass;
Which burnt me so, that I do think
The fire of hell it was.
Give me my earthen cups again,
The crystal I contemn,
Which, though enchased with pearls, contain
A deadly draught in them.
And thou, O Cupid! come not to
My threshold,--since I see,
For all I have, or else can do,
Thou still wilt cozen me.
poem by Robert Herrick
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