Still Glides the Gentle Streamlet On
Still glides the gentle streamlet on,
With shifting current new and strange;
The water that was here is gone,
But those green shadows do not change.
Serene, or ruffled by the storm,
On present waves as on the past,
The mirrored grave retains its form,
The self-same trees their semblance cast.
The hue each fleeting globule wears,
That drop bequeaths it to the next,
One picture still the surface bears,
To illustrate the murmured text.
So, love, however time may flow,
Fresh hours pursuing those that flee
One constant image still shall show
My tide of life is true to thee!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Related quotes
3..... the past not to be Framed In Shadows
the dark shadows of the past
bracket the the here and now of the present
and create a blinding mirage into a hazy future
our choice to stand so hopeless,
.......framed in the present
thus, locked into an unwanted future.....?
let us rather allow our light to shine so bright here in the now
in this we overcome the shadows of the past
and let the radiance of the present then mirror a future
possible, at long last, reflective introspection discovering deep inside
so, as shadows retreat fragments of the essence of Being surface
finding remnants of the essence of Being affirmned, still the same
finding values and priorities migrated to new dimensions in space and time
through this then
the fabric and texture of Being...., now wiser, .....more resilient
the resonance of mind harmonious quiter at peace
understanding and having overcome the shadows,
accepting the mirrored future, bearable-, and joy to be alone
soul no longer running the prairies with scavenging wolves, hungry for love
now present a man hand in hand with love.... belonging,
......no longer longing, ........the cracks, ok emitting light
and as waves of sorrow come at times, as it will, joy smooths the crests
poem by Johan Fourie
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Song (Untitled #9)
I would I were the drop of rain
That falls into the dancing rill,
For I should seek the river then,
And roll below the wooded hill,
Until I reached the sea.
And O, to be the river swift
That wrestles with the wilful tide,
And fling the briny weeds aside
That o'er the foamy billows drift,
Until I came to thee!
I would that after weary strife,
And storm beneath the piping wind,
The current of my true fresh life
Might come unmingled, unimbrined,
To where thou floatest free.
Might find thee in some amber clime,
Where sunlight dazzles on the sail,
And dreaming of our plighted vale
Might seal the dream, and bless the time,
With maiden kisses three.
poem by George Meredith
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Constant Time
Time past and the future give way to this present picture,
But can somebody tell me how to recognize that gate that leads to the bed of roses,
We speak about the future like the past is a grain of sand on the shore,
Washed away by the ocean tide,
Giving way to new grains to make a portrait of the present,
These past memories stay deep in our heart like the depths of the ocean,
Though it gets washed back to shore ones in a blue moon,
Reminding us that our past is a standard measurement of our strength,
Time moves so fast making the past to fade away,
this makes us seem so secured about the present,
Forgetting the fact that our present becomes our past that was once a present from nature as a new day,
Some take the future to be a dream and a wish,
But I take my future to be what I see when I stand from the bottom of the mountain to look at the top,
And my past to be the depth of the ocean that can always be washed ashore …
The only thing I can control is my present,
Yes cos my mind controls my hands to give you a flash of what goes on in my head
Like this words i write to you was once my future and will become my past, making my future my past and my past my future..So ironical isn’t it?
Standing here I sure know 1 thing,
I will reach the top by that foot path,
Yes of course it’s not to mean that I wouldn’t fall,
But I have to break myself off my present past and walk with grace to stand where I belong,
There where I am the king of my destiny,
The past is just going to be a page of memories,
And my future will become my present making time constant in my head,
Because I stand on my past which was once my present and my present which was once my future, making time equal and constant
As I flip thru this page of life,
By: ade
poem by Adeniran Oluokun
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Fight Against The Tide
When the doubts you have begin to show
When the winds of change begin to blow your dream away
As the winter cold can touch the bone
And like a crowd, voices in your mind
But as the thunder dies, youre standing on your own
Even in your darkest night
When the shadows hide the guiding light that leads the way alone
And heaven seems to turn its head
Sometimes, to break away the ties
You have to find the strength to carry on
Fight against the tide
To cut the hardest stone
Fight against the tide
The blood begins to flow
Hold on, through the storm could take your life
Be strong and you will survive
You wont give in
Even though the walls around you fall
No dont give in
Still the flames alive
till the end of time
And so you fight against the tide
When the doubts you have begin to show
When the winds of change begin to blow your dream away
When the fire has left your soul
Look straight ahead
In the face of fear
Take on the world and all it has to give
Fight against the tide
To cut the hardest stone
Fight against the tide
The blood begins to flow
Hold on, through the storm could take your life
Be strong and you will survive
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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ODE TO A PiCtUrE
ODE To A PiCtUrE
Flash-
A Picture
One dimensional in size
Captures an
Image
A moment
in
Time-
A Picture
Works a
Miracle
And makes
Time-
Stand still-
Time-
Moves
As quickly as the
Wind
Is blocked
And made
Frozen
Constant
And
Still-
For One to
Admire a moment,
An Image which
Appears in Different
Shades of
Light…
A Picture
Brings back an
Emotion which
Pumps right through
The Heart-
A sensitive
Delicacy –
Often uncontrolled
And driven on its own
Can be ruled
And triggered
By a Flash-
A speck
Of
Light
With shattering
Colors-
Red,
Blue
And
Green…
A Picture
Not to be measured
In Space but more so
In Time
As it
Sits
Still-
Captured
In
An
Instant
Each
Image
Is
Traced
And
Held
Together
With
Shinny
Little
Sentiments…
Composed
As
Each
Expression
Is made
Visible
At the Palm
Of
One’s
Hand
Held-
Constant
Age less
Memories
Flow
Through
And
Begin to
Sing-
Of
What
Was-
Flash-
A Picture-
Whether it be
Darkness
Or
Lightness
Detections of different states of mind are seen
Emotional sensation in every bodily part
Tell truths of what has been-
A picture
Is cherished
And
Passed down the line-
To take part in the Memories
Once
Lived-
poem by Yvette Nario
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Song For 'Tasso
I.
I loved—alas! our life is love;
But when we cease to breathe and move
I do suppose love ceases too.
I thought, but not as now I do,
Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore,
Of all that men had thought before.
And all that Nature shows, and more.
II.
And still I love and still I think,
But strangely, for my heart can drink
The dregs of such despair, and live,
And love;...
And if I think, my thoughts come fast,
I mix the present with the past,
And each seems uglier than the last.
III.
Sometimes I see before me flee 15
A silver spirit’s form, like thee,
O Leonora, and I sit
...still watching it,
Till by the grated casement’s ledge
It fades, with such a sigh, as sedge
Breathes o’er the breezy streamlet’s edge.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Course of Life, Time, And Events and The Process of Change
Time or fate may separate friends, lovers,
But friendship or love that's true will ever
Thenceforth continue to live forever,
True love conquers the odd with its power.
As time passes by, things change with the time,
Every moment, hour, day, month, and year,
All things have their turn to change with the time,
Life, time, and events change with the years.
Everyone, everything, have a time and day,
A time to change, end, begin a new day,
Change is life, the course of life everyday,
All things change, and we change with them all days.
Only the Eternal one is constant,
All things in the universe, inconstant,
But despite it all, love is important,
The world may change, but true love is constant.
poem by Merlin Archivilla
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The Calling Of The Trees
The wind.
The calling of the trees,
Whose leaves flow
Endlessly through the wind,
Calling the sound,
Of water,
Like waves
Of the beach.
Beyond.
The row of trees
Standing in line
Along the shore,
Through them
Pass to where
Green grey water
Meets the sand,
In constant push
Through the shorebirds legs.
Crows call, geese horn
And the wind
Flows steady, strong and sure.
The wind smelling of salt and green.
(7.18.7 The View)
poem by Heather Z. Hanna
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The River of Memories
The flow of fresh water
Down the mountain
Like sprinkles from a fountain
Makes clouds of tiny drops
Spreading like shawl
Over the blades of crops
Cools the air in warm
Fevered brain gets calm
Form fork of rivers
The surface of its water
Reflection of our dream
Reminds me of race
Of childhood mimic fleets
Threw them
Ran with them
Cheering shouting, clapping
Swim fast.
Till it reached a whirl
Made them wet
Engulfed them
And were gone
And the one
Fought the waves hard. Won.
Our childhood innocent memories
Swim on the surface
Laughs loud
Echo with the sound of waves
Rebirth of our playful Youth.
poem by Jahan zaib
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XIII
HE DARES NOT DIE
Four hours by the clock! How strange it is! Four hours
Since love and life, the future and the past,
Died with the shutting of these silent doors,
And thought became to me one purpose vast.
I have not moved from where she sat. The cast
Of her fingers on this cushion lightly scores
Its surface still; and still I hear the last
Tones of her laughter, and here lie her flowers.
Poor flowers! The ugliness of grief has wrought
Your change already. No besotted bloom
Of a false dawn has lured you to base life.
You at the pinch were brave and trifled not,
Going ungrudging to our common doom.
And I? Ah God! I have not faced the knife!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Intent and urge
Why at all the “why” should emerge?
When there is no pure intent or urge
Is it difficult to forget past and live in present?
Give enough of thoughts and readily consent
Past has to be buried but not altogether
It has to be in mind but should not bother
Learn from the past and plan for the future
As present will not push you in the past but make it sure
Gone is gone and can never be had
Until you come out of it and don’t feel sad
It may have many blots and shadows
Think of present and bright tomorrow
Nature is different and may remains so forever
It requires constant transformation for ever
Let the water flow in calm and peaceful river
Remember the past, live in present but plan however
Life is given to you not luck by chance
You give fresh look with purpose at once
It has glorious past with vivid memory for present
Utilize it as gift and consider it as heavenly sent
History can not be repeated
At once it can be created
Its root can be preserved and maintained
The future onslaught, if any, must be sustained
Time and tide waits for none
Once slipped from hand means gone
It will become past and a faint memory
No use to feel bad and express sorry
It will not knock you often
It is possible you may have all the chances again
“Fortune favors the brave” as saying goes on
If the beginning is good then half battle is won
You can have very good start even if poles are apart
Life is such an opportunity and can be enjoyed in part
It may witness fall and rise at certain level
You should have perfect goal to score and excel
It will be futile to think of impossible to become reality
Rather you must have clear instinct with ability
Self confidence is to be built up at desirable limit
You must pick the threads and finely knit
Leave it for others to judge your action
You can only evaluate and not offer the reaction
It will be better if you consolidate and learn through drawbacks
You may definitely go through even if so much is at stake
We have forgotten our caliber and ability
To lack self confidence is seen as drawback and disability
No one can succeed and achieve the aim
You may falsely leave under illusion and claim
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Three Ghosts Of Christmas
There are three ghosts of Christmas,
which visit us each year.
One from the past,
one from the present
and one from the future.
They show us what our life was,
how it is now and how
if we do not change it will be.
The past
shows us our roots
of how we have become.
The present
shows us how we are,
a mirror image of ourselves,
that not so rosy image
we do not want to see.
The future
shows how we will eventually become,
wizen and unloved
by nearly everyone
with the exception of ourselves.
It gives us this glimpse
so that we can change it
if we really want to.
That decision is ours
and if we do
next year when
the three ghosts of Christmas come to call
the piper maybe playing
a different kind of tune.
20 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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Cleave Thou the Waves
Cleave thou the waves that weltering to and fro
Surge multitudinous. The eternal Powers
Of sun, moon, stars, the air, the hurrying hours,
The winged winds, the still dissolving show
Of clouds in calm or storm, for ever flow
Above thee; while the abysmal sea devours
The untold dead insatiate, where it lowers
O'er glooms unfathomed, limitless, below.
No longer on the golden-fretted sands,
Where many a shallow tide abortive chafes,
Mayst thou delay; life onward sweeping blends
With far-off heaven: the dauntless one who braves
The perilous flood with calm unswerving hands,
The elements sustain: cleave thou the waves.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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St. Margaret's Eve
Saint Margaret's Eve it did befall,
The waves roll so gayly O,
The tide came creeping up the wall,
Love me true!
I opened my gate; who there should stand--
The waves roll so gayly O,
But a fair lady, with a cup in her hand,
Love me true!
The cup was gold, and full of wine,
The waves roll so gayly O,
'Drink,' said the lady, 'and I will be thine,'
Love me true!
'Enter my castle, lady fair,'
The waves roll so gayly O,
'You shall be queen of all that's there,'
Love me true!
A gray old harper sang to me,
The waves roll so gayly O,
'Beware of the Damsel of the Sea!'
Love me true!
In hall he harpeth many a year,
The waves roll so gayly O,
And we will sit his song to hear,
Love me true!
'I love thee deep, I love thee true,'
The waves roll so gayly O,
'But ah! I know not how to woo,'
Love me true!
Down dashed the cup, with a sudden shock,
The waves roll so gayly O,
The wine like blood ran over the rock,
Love me true!
She said no word, but shrieked aloud,
The waves roll so gayly O,
And vanished away from where she stood,
Love me true!
I locked and barred my castle door,
The waves roll so gayly O,
Three summer days I grieved sore,
Love me true!
For myself a day, a night,
The waves roll so gayly O,
And two to moan that lady bright,
Love me true!
poem by William Allingham
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I Walk'd the Other Day
1 I walk'd the other day, to spend my hour,
2 Into a field,
3 Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield
4 A gallant flow'r;
5 But winter now had ruffled all the bow'r
6 And curious store
7 I knew there heretofore.
8 Yet I, whose search lov'd not to peep and peer
9 I' th' face of things,
10 Thought with my self, there might be other springs
11 Besides this here,
12 Which, like cold friends, sees us but once a year;
13 And so the flow'r
14 Might have some other bow'r.
15 Then taking up what I could nearest spy,
16 I digg'd about
17 That place where I had seen him to grow out;
18 And by and by
19 I saw the warm recluse alone to lie,
20 Where fresh and green
21 He liv'd of us unseen.
22 Many a question intricate and rare
23 Did I there strow;
24 But all I could extort was, that he now
25 Did there repair
26 Such losses as befell him in this air,
27 And would ere long
28 Come forth most fair and young.
29 This past, I threw the clothes quite o'er his head;
30 And stung with fear
31 Of my own frailty dropp'd down many a tear
32 Upon his bed;
33 Then sighing whisper'd, "happy are the dead!
34 What peace doth now
35 Rock him asleep below!"
36 And yet, how few believe such doctrine springs
37 From a poor root,
38 Which all the winter sleeps here under foot,
39 And hath no wings
40 To raise it to the truth and light of things;
41 But is still trod
42 By ev'ry wand'ring clod.
43 O Thou! whose spirit did at first inflame
44 And warm the dead,
45 And by a sacred incubation fed
46 With life this frame,
47 Which once had neither being, form, nor name;
48 Grant I may so
49 Thy steps track here below,
50 That in these masques and shadows I may see
51 Thy sacred way;
52 And by those hid ascents climb to that day,
53 Which breaks from Thee,
54 Who art in all things, though invisibly!
55 Shew me thy peace,
56 Thy mercy, love, and ease,
57 And from this care, where dreams and sorrows reign,
58 Lead me above,
59 Where light, joy, leisure, and true comforts move
60 Without all pain;
61 There, hid in thee, shew me his life again,
62 At whose dumb urn
63 Thus all the year I mourn.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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Sheer Egoism at Ramasola
Who else would not love his own image?
Even the crude Narcissius loved himself
in a pool of water.
We feed and worship our image
from the crude shadows in the still waters
to the bright reflections of the silver mirrors
and to the wise manipulations over the lenses
of the camera men.
We pose and change suits
giggle at the transfer of life
into the shiny papers and borrowed colors,
tailor our dead sizes,
enlarge these still-pictures
in frames and hang them on walls.
We pay the high cost of joy
of our tailored image
stamped on papers and tucked on wood,
kissed by glasses and adhesives.
And never will the price alter
the rising and ebbing tide
of the ego`s worship
to our own human form.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Grateful Water
Live if you can when the water runs dry.
Once in a decade perhaps, or never in a life
Save your tear so that you won’t have to cry.
Let the water flow and wash away the strife.
Dry yourself with water if any miracle you need.
Let the water run upwards for a change to fancy.
Feed the water well to run through the creed.
Run Water! ! Run! ! Flow in a stream of constancy.
Drop of tears, dew drops, even a single dropp of water.
In course of time can change a thing always for real.
Pool, pond, brook, lake will never stop to utter
The utterance of gratitude, in the way they feel
Sometimes to the greatest source of the sea
Even sometimes to the man’s ungrateful plea.
Written in the afternoon of the 12th February,2010
poem by Munia Khan
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To My Younger Brother, On His Return From Spain, After The Fatal Retreat Under Sir John Moore, And The Battle Of Corunna.
THO' dark are the prospects and heavy the hours,
Tho' life is a desert, and cheerless the way;
Yet still shall affection adorn it with flow'rs,
Whose fragrance shall never decay!
And, lo! to embrace thee, my brother! she flies,
With artless delight, that no words can bespeak;
With a sun-beam of transport illuming her eyes,
With a smile and a glow on her cheek!
From the trophies of war, from the spear and the shield,
From scenes of destruction, from perils unblest;
Oh! welcome again to the grove and the field,
To the vale of retirement and rest!
Then warble, sweet muse! with the lyre and the voice,
Oh! gay be the measure and sportive the strain;
For light is my heart, and my spirits rejoice,
To meet thee, my brother! again.
When the heroes of Albion, still valiant and true,
Were bleeding, were falling, with victory crown'd;
How often would fancy present to my view,
The horrors that waited thee round!
How constant, how fervent, how pure was my pray'r,
That Heav'n would protect thee from danger and harm;
That angels of mercy would shield thee with care,
In the heat of the combat's alarm!
How sad and how often descended the tear,
(Ah! long shall remembrance the image retain!)
How mournful the sigh, when I trembled with fear,
I might never behold thee again!
But the pray'r was accepted, the sorrow is o'er,
And the tear-drop is fled, like the dew on the rose;
Thy dangers, our tears, have endear'd thee the more,
And my bosom with tenderness glows!
And, oh! when the dreams, the enchantments of youth,
Bright and transient, have fled, like the rainbow, away;
My affection for thee, still unfading in truth,
Shall never, oh! never, decay!
No time can impair it, no change can destroy,
Whate'er be the lot I am destin'd to share;
It will smile in the sun-shine of hope and of joy,
And beam thro' the cloud of despair!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Tides Of Change
Life has had its ups and downs
Sometimes you think you cant last the rounds
But there is always the moon above
To make you see the love
Change is always there to surprise
Not sure when it will arise
Take this change and make it happen
Don’t be left slacken’
With each experience and each day
You must find time to play
Now the change will erase the past
Look forward to something that will last.
Tides ebb and flow
And with each tide you will grow
Are you ready to face the tide
Hope aboard and enjoy the ride.
poem by Alison Smith
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A Rejected Lover
You 'never loved me,' Ada. These slow words
Dropped softly from your gentle woman-tongue
Out of your true and kindly woman-heart,
Fell, piercing into mine like very swords
The sharper for their kindness. Yet no wrong
Lies to your charge, nor cruelty, nor art,--
Ev'n when you spoke, I saw the tender tear-drop start.
You 'never loved me.' No, you never knew,
You, with youth's morning fresh upon your soul,
What 't is to love: slow, drop by drop, to pour
Our life's whole essence, perfumed through and through
With all the best we have or can control
For the libation--cast it down before
Your feet--then lift the goblet, dry for evermore.
I shall not die as foolish lovers do:
A man's heart beats beneath thid breast of mine,
The breast where--Curse on that fiend-whispering
'It might have been!'--Ada, I will be true
Unto myself--the self that so loved thine:
May all life's pain, like these few tears that spring
For me, glance off as rain-drops from my white dove's wing!
May you live long, some good man's bosom flower,
And gather chldren round your matron knees:
So, when all this is past, and you and I
Remember each our youth-days as an hour
Of joy--or anguish, one, serene, at ease,
May come to meet the other's steadfast eye,
Thinking, 'He loved me well!' clasp hands, and so pass by.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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