The Eagle That Is Forgotten
Sleep softly ... eagle forgotten ... under the stone.
Time has its way with you there, and the clay has its own.
"We have buried him now," thought your foes, and in secret rejoiced.
They made a brave show of their mourning, their hatred unvoiced.
They had snarled at you, barked at you, foamed at you, day after day.
Now you were ended. They praised you ... and laid you away.
The others, that mourned you in silence and terror and truth,
The window bereft of her crust, and the boy without youth,
The mocked and the scorned and the sounded, the lame and the poor,
That should have remembered forever, ... Remember no more.
Where are those lovers of yours, on what name do they call,
The lost, that in armies wept over your funeral pall?
They call on the names of a hundred high-valiant ones,
A hundred white eagles have risen, the sons of your sons,
The zeal in their wings is a zeal that your dreaming began.
The valor that wore out your soul in the service of man.
Sleep softly ... eagle forgotten... under the stone.
Time has its way with you there, and the clay has its own.
Sleep on, O brave-hearted, O wise man that kindled the flame --
To live in mankind is far more than to live in a name,
To live in mankind, far, far more than ... to live in a name.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Related quotes
Stone
The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....
poem by Apurva Jain
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Psalm 49 part 1
v.6-14
C. M.
Pride and death; or, The vanity of life and riches.
Why doth the man of riches grow
To insolence and pride,
To see his wealth and honors flow
With every rising tide?
[Why doth he treat the poor with scorn,
Made of the self-same clay,
And boast as though his flesh was born
Of better dust than they?]
Not all his treasures can procure
His soul a short reprieve,
Redeem from death one guilty hour,
Or make his brother live.
[Life is a blessing can't be sold,
The ransom is too high;
Justice will ne'er be bribed with gold,
That man may never die.]
He sees the brutish and the wise,
The tim'rous and the brave,
Quit their possessions, close their eyes,
And hasten to the grave.
Yet 'tis his inward thought and pride,-
My house shall ever stand
And that my name may long abide,
I'll give it to my land."
Vain are his thoughts, his hopes are lost,
How soon his memory dies!
His name is written in the dust
Where his own carcass lies.
PAUSE.
This is the folly of their way;
And yet their sons, as vain,
Approve the words their fathers say,
And act their works again.
Men void of wisdom and of grace,
If honor raise them high,
Live like the beast, a thoughtless race,
And like the beast they die.
[Laid in the grave like silly sheep,
Death feeds upon them there,
Till the last trumpet break their sleep
In terror and despair.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Titanic Requiem
Sleep softly in your ocean bed,
You who could grandly die !
Our fathers, who at Shiloh bled,
Accept your company.
O sons of warriors, lightly rest,
Daughters of pioneers!
Heroes freeborn, who chose the best,
No tears for you, but cheers!
Lovers of life, who life could give,
Sleep softly where you lie!
Ours be the vigil—help us live,
Who teach us how to die.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Lullaby
My little one, sleep softly
Among the toys and flowers.
Sleep softly, O my first-born son,
Through all the long dark hours.
And if you waken far away
I shall be wandering too.
If far away you run and play
My heart must follow you.
Sleep softly, O my baby,
And smile down in your sleep.
Here are red rose-buds for your bed—
Smile, and I will not weep.
We made our pledge—you had no fear;
What then to fear have I?
Though long you sleep, I shall be near;
So hush—we must not cry.
Sleep softly, dear one, softly—
They cannot part us now;
Forever rest here on my breast,
My kiss upon your brow.
What though they hide a little grave
With dream-flowers false or true?
What difference? We will just be brave
Together—I and you.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Don't Drink The Water (Edit)
Come out come out
No use in hiding
Come now come now
Can you not see?
There's no place here
What were you expecting
Not room for both
Just room for me
So you will lay your arms down
Yes I will call this home
Away away
You have been banished
Your land is gone
And given me
And here I will spread my wings
Yes I will call this home
What's this you say
You feel a right to remain
Then stay and I will bury you
What's that you say
Your father's spirit still lives in this place
I will silence you
Here's the hitch
Your horse is leaving
Don't miss your boat
It's leaving now
And as you go I will spread my wings
Yes I will call this home
I have no time to justify to you
Fool you're blind, move aside for me
All I can say to you my new neighbor
Is you must move on or I will bury you
Now as I rest my feet by this fire
Those hands once warmed here
I have retired them
I can breathe my own air
I can sleep more soundly
Upon these poor souls
I'll build heaven and call it home
'Cause you're all dead now
I live with my justice
I live with my greedy need
I live with no mercy
I live with my frenzied feeding
I live with my hatred
I live with my jealousy
I live with the notion
That I don't need anyone but me
Don't drink the water
There's blood in the water
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rouge Bouquet
In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet
There is a new-made grave to-day,
Built by never a spade nor pick
Yet covered with earth ten metres thick.
There lie many fighting men,
Dead in their youthful prime,
Never to laugh nor love again
Nor taste the Summertime.
For Death came flying through the air
And stopped his flight at the dugout stair,
Touched his prey and left them there,
Clay to clay.
He hid their bodies stealthily
In the soil of the land they fought to free
And fled away.
Now over the grave abrupt and clear
Three volleys ring;
And perhaps their brave young spirits hear
The bugle sing:
"Go to sleep!
Go to sleep!
Slumber well where the shell screamed and fell.
Let your rifles rest on the muddy floor,
You will not need them any more.
Danger's past;
Now at last,
Go to sleep!"
There is on earth no worthier grave
To hold the bodies of the brave
Than this place of pain and pride
Where they nobly fought and nobly died.
Never fear but in the skies
Saints and angels stand
Smiling with their holy eyes
On this new-come band.
St. Michael's sword darts through the air
And touches the aureole on his hair
As he sees them stand saluting there,
His stalwart sons;
And Patrick, Brigid, Columkill
Rejoice that in veins of warriors still
The Gael's blood runs.
And up to Heaven's doorway floats,
From the wood called Rouge Bouquet,
A delicate cloud of buglenotes
That softly say:
"Farewell!
Farewell!
Comrades true, born anew, peace to you!
Your souls shall be where the heroes are
And your memory shine like the morning-star.
Brave and dear,
Shield us here.
Farewell!"
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Sleep
Some people think that they live for something material
Some people think that they live for someone special
The are all wrong
In fact all they live for is some sleep
So sleep
Peoples work all day long to get some sleep
Peoples spend their life looking for the opportunity to sleep
So sleep
Sleep is a gift from god which is withdrawn from sinners
So sleep
But there will be one day when sleep will be granted forever
And the fight will be over
poem by Salmaan Sheriff
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Dreaming While You Sleep
In and out of darkness, in and out of sleep
Trying to keep my hands upon the wheel.
Never saw the corner in the driving rain.
I never saw her step into the street.
Dreaming while you sleep
Dreaming while you sleep
Memories to keep
Dreaming while you sleep
I can never understand what went thru my mind
I didnt stop to see what I had done.
Had to keep on driving deep into the night
The miles between would somehow put it right
Dreaming while you sleep
Dreaming while you sleep
Memories to keep
Dreaming while you sleep
All my life you lie silently there
All my life in a world so unfair
All my life and only Ill know why
And it will live inside of me,
I will never be free all my life,
Trapped in her memory all my life
Till the day that you open your eyes,
Please open your eyes
Dreaming while you sleep
Dreaming while you sleep
Heard it on the radio, saw it on tv,
But could I take my secret to the grave.
If I had another chance, would I do the same.
Would I still deny that it was me.
Dreaming while you sleep
Dreaming while you sleep
Dreaming while you sleep,
Are you dreaming while you sleep?
All my life Ill be haunted by
All my life just one moment in time
All my life until the day I die
And it will live inside of me
Oh I will never be free all my life
Trapped in her memory all my life
Till the day that you open your eyes
All of my life - you lie silently there
All my life - in a world so unfair
All my life - and only I know why
And it will live inside of me
I will never be free all my life
Trapped in her memory - all my life
Till the day that you open your eyes.
All of my life.
Just one moment of time, all my life.
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dont Drink The Water
Come out, come out, no use in hiding.
Come out, come out, can you not see
Theres no place here, what were you expecting?
No room for both, just room for me.
So you will lay your arms down,
Yes, I will call this home.
Away, away, you have been banished.
Your land is gone, and given to me.
And here I will spread my wings.
Yes, I will call this home.
Whats this you say, you feel a right to remain?
Then stay and I will bury you.
Whats that you say, your fathers spirit still lives in this place?
Well, I will silence you.
Heres the hitch, your horse is leaving.
Dont miss your boat, its leaving now.
And as you go I will spread my wings.
Yes, I will call this home.
I have no time to justify to you,
Fool, youre blind, move aside for me.
All I can say to you my new neighbor,
You must move on or I will bury you.
Now as I rest my feet by this fire
Those hands once warmed here, but I have retired them.
I can breathe my own air and I can sleep more soundly
Upon these poor souls,
Ill build heaven and call it home.
Cause youre all dead now.
I live with my justice
And I live with my greed in me
I live with no mercy
And I live with my frenzy feet
I live with my hatred
And I live with my jealousy
I live with the notion that I dont need anyone but me
Dont drink the water
Dont drink the water
Blood in the water
Dont drink the water
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Guy
I know this little guy, he stands, oh so, about knee high.
He's got the cutest dimples on his cheery face,
Got a smile that lights up the whole place.
He's got the knack for chatter, he invites himself if you won't:
"I'll have that muesli bar please cause my brother don't."
Suppose to have a nap, and in the a tragic voice he confides,
"I was crying the whole time." Ok, please don't make me cry.
Apparently being bounced on the trampoline is hilarious,
But all I can think of is how dangerous.
Not enough sleep is constantly plaguing me,
But he don't care if in bed he's suppose to be.
In the middle of a rousing game of hide-and-seek,
He'll curl up and go to sleep.
Wish I could do just that, and live a bit more like him,
So unaware of all the dangers and troubles surrounding,
Spend a bit more time enjoying the little things
Get the chance to take them all in.
"Can I have a drink? " he toddles up the sink.
"Why of course, here's your drink."
Watch his little legs carry him off to some new adventure,
"You can't catch me! " wait, "I gotcha! "
You're running out of time, little guy,
If only you could stay knee-high.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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The Black Swan
When the swans turned my sister into a swan
I would go to the lake, at night, from milking:
The sun would look out through the reeds like a swan,
A swan's red beak; and the beak would open
And inside there was darkness, the stars and the moon.
Out on the lake, a girl would laugh.
"Sister, here is your porridge, sister,"
I would call; and the reeds would whisper,
"Go to sleep, go to sleep, little swan."
My legs were all hard and webbed, and the silky
Hairs of my wings sank away like stars
In the ripples that ran in and out of the reeds:
I heard through the lap and hiss of water
Someone's "Sister . . . sister," far away on the shore,
And then as I opened my beak to answer
I heard my harsh laugh go out to the shore
And saw - saw at last, swimming up from the green
Low mounds of the lake, the white stone swans:
The white, named swans . . . "It is all a dream,"
I whispered, and reached from the down of the pallet
To the lap and hiss of the floor.
And "Sleep, little sister," the swan all sang
From the moon and stars and frogs of the floor.
But the swan my sister called, "Sleep at last, little sister,"
And stroked all night, with a black wing, my wings.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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Norse lullaby
The sky is dark and the hills are white
As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night,
And this is the song the storm-king sings,
As over the world his cloak he flings:
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;"
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:
"Sleep, little one, sleep."
On yonder mountain-side a vine
Clings at the foot of a mother pine;
The tree bends over the trembling thing,
And only the vine can hear her sing:
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
What shall you fear when I am here?
Sleep, little one, sleep."
The king may sing in his bitter flight,
The tree may croon to the vine to-night,
But the little snowflake at my breast
Liketh the song I sing the best,--
Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
Weary thou art, anext my heart
Sleep, little one, sleep.
poem by Eugene Field
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Mariana In The South
With one black shadow at its feet,
The house thro' all the level shines,
Close-latticed to the brooding heat,
And silent in its dusty vines:
A faint-blue ridge upon the right,
An empty river-bed before,
And shallows on a distant shore,
In glaring sand and inlets bright.
But "Aye Mary," made she moan,
And "Aye Mary," night and morn,
And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone,
To live forgotten, and love forlorn."
She, as her carol sadder grew,
From brow and bosom slowly down
Thro' rosy taper fingers drew
Her streaming curls of deepest brown
To left and right, and made appear,
Still-lighted in a secret shrine,
Her melancholy eyes divine,
The home of woe without a tear.
And "Aye Mary," was her moan,
"Madonna, sad is night and morn;"
And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone,
To live forgotten, and love forlorn."
Till all the crimson changed, and past
Into deep orange o'er the sea,
Low on her knees herself she cast,
Before Our Lady murmur'd she:
Complaining, "Mother, give me grace
To help me of my weary load."
And on the liquid mirror glow'd
The clear perfection of her face.
"Is this the form," she made her moan,
"That won his praises night and morn?"
And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone,
I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn."
Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,
Nor any cloud would cross the vault,
But day increased from heat to heat,
On stony drought and steaming salt;
Till now at noon she slept again,
And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass,
And heard her native breezes pass,
And runlets babbling down the glen.
She breathed in sleep a lower moan,
And murmuring, as at night and morn
She thought, "My spirit is here alone,
Walks forgotten, and is forlorn."
Dreaming, she knew it was a dream:
She felt he was and was not there.
She woke: the babble of the stream
Fell, and, without, the steady glare
Shrank one sick willow sere and small.
The river-bed was dusty-white;
And all the furnace of the light
Struck up against the blinding wall.
She whisper'd, with a stifled moan
More inward than at night or morn,
"Sweet Mother, let me not here alone
Live forgotten and die forlorn."
And, rising, from her bosom drew
Old letters, breathing of her worth,
For "Love", they said, "must needs be true,
To what is loveliest upon earth."
An image seem'd to pass the door,
To look at her with slight, and say,
"But now thy beauty flows away,
So be alone for evermore."
"O cruel heart," she changed her tone,
"And cruel love, whose end is scorn,
Is this the end to be left alone,
To live forgotten, and die forlorn?"
But sometimes in the falling day
An image seem'd to pass the door,
To look into her eyes and say,
"But thou shalt be alone no more."
And flaming downward over all
From heat to heat the day decreased,
And slowly rounded to the east
The one black shadow from the wall.
"The day to night," she made her moan,
"The day to night, the night to morn,
And day and night I am left alone
To live forgotten, and love forlorn."
At eve a dry cicala sung,
There came a sound as of the sea;
Backward the lattice-blind she flung,
And lean'd upon the balcony.
There all in spaces rosy-bright
Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears,
And deepening thro' the silent spheres
Heaven over Heaven rose the night.
And weeping then she made her moan,
"The night comes on that knows not morn,
When I shall cease to be all alone,
To live forgotten, and love forlorn."
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Last Will
When I am safely laid away,
Out of work and out of play,
Sheltered by the kindly ground
From the world of sight and sound,
One or two of those I leave
Will remember me and grieve,
Thinking how I made them gay
By the things I used to say;
-- But the crown of their distress
Will be my untidiness.
What a nuisance then will be
All that shall remain of me!
Shelves of books I never read,
Piles of bills, undocketed,
Shaving-brushes, razors, strops,
Bottles that have lost their tops,
Boxes full of odds and ends,
Letters from departed friends,
Faded ties and broken braces
Tucked away in secret places,
Baggy trousers, ragged coats,
Stacks of ancient lecture-notes,
And that ghostliest of shows,
Boots and shoes in horrid rows.
Though they are of cheerful mind,
My lovers, whom I leave behind,
When they find these in my stead,
Will be sorry I am dead.
They will grieve; but you, my dear,
Who have never tasted fear,
Brave companion of my youth,
Free as air and true as truth,
Do not let these weary things
Rob you of your junketings.
Burn the papers; sell the books;
Clear out all the pestered nooks;
Make a mighty funeral pyre
For the corpse of old desire,
Till there shall remain of it
Naught but ashes in a pit:
And when you have done away
All that is of yesterday,
If you feel a thrill of pain,
Master it, and start again.
This, at least, you have never done
Since you first beheld the sun:
If you came upon your own
Blind to light and deaf to tone,
Basking in the great release
Of unconsciousness and peace,
You would never, while you live,
Shatter what you cannot give;
-- Faithful to the watch you keep,
You would never break their sleep.
Clouds will sail and winds will blow
As they did an age ago
O'er us who lived in little towns
Underneath the Berkshire downs.
When at heart you shall be sad,
Pondering the joys we had,
Listen and keep very still.
If the lowing from the hill
Or the tolling of a bell
Do not serve to break the spell,
Listen; you may be allowed
To hear my laughter from a cloud.
Take the good that life can give
For the time you have to live.
Friends of yours and friends of mine
Surely will not let you pine.
Sons and daughters will not spare
More than friendly love and care.
If the Fates are kind to you,
Some will stay to see you through;
And the time will not be long
Till the silence ends the song.
Sleep is God's own gift; and man,
Snatching all the joys he can,
Would not dare to give his voice
To reverse his Maker's choice.
Brief delight, eternal quiet,
How change these for endless riot
Broken by a single rest?
Well you know that sleep is best.
We that have been heart to heart
Fall asleep, and drift apart.
Will that overwhelming tide
Reunite us, or divide?
Whence we come and whither go
None can tell us, but I know
Passion's self is often marred
By a kind of self-regard,
And the torture of the cry
"You are you, and I am I."
While we live, the waking sense
Feeds upon our difference,
In our passion and our pride
Not united, but allied.
We are severed by the sun,
And by darkness are made one.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Can A Poor Man Stand Such Times & Live ?
(alfred reed)
(g) - (c) - (g7) - (d) - (d7) - (am)
(g) I remember a time when every (d) thing was (g) cheap
Now prices nearly puts a man to (d) sleep
(d7) well, when we (g) get our grocery (g7) bill
We (c) feel like making our (am) will
Tell me, (g) how can a poor man (d7) stand such times and (g) live ?
Tell me, (g) how can a poor man (d7) stand such times and (g) live ?
Well, the doctor comes around with his face all bright
And he says, in a little while youll be all right!
Well, all he gives is a humbug pill
Dose of dope and a great big bill
Tell me, how can a poor man stand such times and live ?
Tell me, how can a poor man stand such times and live ?
Most preachers, well, they preach for gold and not for soul
Well, thats what keeps us poor folks always in a hole
Now, we can hardly get our breath
Taxed and schooled and preached to death
Tell me, how can a poor man stand such times and live ?
Tell me, how can a poor man stand such times and live ?
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eagle night
Eagle night and seen by sea
A distant call, in sonnet key
In any moment, place or time
A distant call is sent from high
Eagle night, i swear I’ve sawn
Eagle flight with salty winds
By the pinnacle of water and land
Where sea winds crash and struggle the sand
Call again, from a place that’s near
Always close, so one can hear
Or so can be thought the truth of such things
Resonate from eagle wings
Never foreboding the loss of a call
Never shorn for a sighting once more
The discontent of the mind is evaded
And all the wanting of life unladen
The call, one call, one sight, any wind
Reminds the heart of the sweetest thing
Deep remnants of a time unkempt
And narrowing from this lively nest
Illusioned by dreams of taste and touch
But grasped in song by night eagle clutch
poem by Julia Grandi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Live
Clear out your mind
Look to your past and see what you can find
Stole soul afraid
Of the prophets perfect picture falls away
Is this the life that we choose to live
Or is this the life that has been giving
Now is the time to see what my life should be
What is mine!?
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
It's a timeless rage
For many people praying to be saved
Truth is so strong
It needs lights to guide it so it can carry on
I've seen blood on my hands
Am I dead or is this where it begins
I feel the shame
For my friend who put a bullet in his brain!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
song performed by by Zug Izland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Child's Fancy
"Hush, hush! Speak softly, Mother dear,
So that the daisies may not hear;
For when the stars begin to peep,
The pretty daisies go to sleep.
"See, Mother, round us on the lawn,
With soft white lashes closely drawn,
They've shut their eyes so golden-gay,
That looked up through the long, long day.
"But now they're tired of all the fun--
Of bees and birds, of wind and sun
Playing their game at hide-and-seek;--
Then very softly let us speak."
A myriad stars above the child
Looked down from heaven and sweetly smiled;
But not a star in all the skies
Beamed on him with his Mother's eyes.
She stroked his curly chestnut head,
And whispering very softly, said,
"I'd quite forgotten they might hear;
Thank you for that reminder, dear.
poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Do You Sleep
I place my head between my hands
As once again I softly weep
I think to myself, as there is no one else,
Please tell me; How do you sleep.
Do you not think of the things you have done
Or the lies and untruths that you have said
It pains my mind, probably till the end of time
Until the time that we both are dead.
You tell your lies as they are the truth
So you can cover up your ways and sin
Do you believe your lies, as the truth you deny
Thinking your innocent in front of God and men
As I sit alone in my chair
Thinking of the secrets you did keep
With your picture in hand, I cant understand
Then I say to you; how do you sleep.
I trusted you with all that I know
And I gave you all that I had to give
You were my life, and you were my wife
And i’d give you my soul for you to live.
But then your past it caught up with you
A time that I knew nothing about
When you were wild, like a crazy child
Who got there way, as it ended out.
As I walk through out the house
As for answers I still try to seek
I walked through our home, now I am alone,
Please tell me; how do you sleep.
As I look back at the things you have done
Remembering the vows that you had broke
And In my brain, now there is only pain
With all the lies you've done and spoke.
I find my bible and it I begin to read
Someday the devil will have your soul to reap
Until that time, your words are a crime,
And please tell me; how do you sleep.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bells in the Rain
Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain,
Upon the steep cliffs of the town.
Sleep falls; men are at peace again
While the small drops fall softly down.
The bright drops ring like bells of glass
Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown;
Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass
So softly as it falls on stone.
Peace falls unheeded on the dead
Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink;
Upon a live man's bloody head
It falls most tenderly, I think.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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