En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Apostrophe to Nature

O Sun! bright face aye undefiled;
O flowers i' the valley blooming wild;
Caverns, dim haunt of Solitude;
Perfume whereby one's step's beguiled
Deep, deep into the sombre wood;

O Sacred mounts that heavenward climb,
White as a temple-front, sublime;
Old oaks that centuries' might inherit
(Somewhat whereof I feel, what time
'Neath you I stand, endues my spirit);

O virgin forest, crystal spring,
Lake where no storm for long can fling
Darkness, clear heaven-reflecting face,—
Pure soul of Nature unslumbering,
What think you of this bandit base?

poem by Victor Hugo
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Deaf and Dumb

Her face was sweetly serious; yet a smile
Was cradled in the dimple of her cheek,
As if it waited but the frequent call,
To spring to the red lip. I spoke to her,
And listen'd for the music-breathing tones
Of childhood's laughing voice—she answer'd not,
Nor raised the fringes of her deep blue eyes;—
And then they told me that the gushing fount
Of all her young affections was seal'd up.—
That young bright lip was voiceless; and the heart
Sprang not in blessedness to the deep tones
Of thrilling tenderness—the soul was shut—
And all the spirit's wild imaginings
Thrown back in darkness—like the flowers that spring
Beneath the bosom of the winter's snow.

poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Crystal Clear

How do you feel now? I want to know
Clear as crystal, I can see your face
In my glass of water, I can see your face
How do you feel know? I want to know
Does your love burn like a summer's day
Or is it still on hold in an ice cube tray?
Clear as crystal
How do you feel now? I want to know
Clear as crystal, I can see your face
In my glass of water? I can see your face
Winter has passed now, did you ever know?
Is your love forming like the springtime
Or is it still a snowdrop in the snow so fine?
Clear as crystal
Clear as crystal, I can see your face
In a glass of water, you can see your face
How do you feel know, I want to know
Now I can see you so crystal clear
Crystal clear

song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep down in the darkness.

Way down deep deep in the darkness.
A broken soul does lie all alone.
Alone and near beaten.
She's is frightened and alone.
But tries to face the world alone.
But deep down in the darkness she cant make it on her own.
She is destined to be alone.

Deep down in the darkness she sits in her corner.
Her body covered in scars it's the only way for her to feel alive.
The cuts and scars they run so much deeper.
Deeper in to her broken fragile soul.
She has no goals.

Deep down in the darkness,
She knows she can not win this fight.
It's all been show to her.
Like a present of the future.
She can not win she can only lose.

Deep down her darkness,
She's all alone coping on her own.
She cannot win only lose.

Deep ibn the darkness of the guttet,
Lays the broken girl with her broken soul.
May she have eternal rest.

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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The time when suddenly spring does unfold (English sonnet)

The time when suddenly spring does unfold
when skies are crystal clear, sunny and blue
in blossoming trees and flowers I do behold
and still my deep feelings for you are true

when all of nature is gay, full of life,
when the season is more hot than temperate
and it's a great blessing that you are my wife
that together daily we do face fate

and although at times you bring me pain
there is loveliness that on your face I see
and our feelings of affection and love does remain
as if by God's own hand they are set to be

as if from the creation together we do belong,
still my love for you daily grows more strong.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Temple Of Life

We sat by the fire
United in song
Under the moonlight
All night long

We sang 'Halleluyah'
For the joy of it all

And out on the water
A caroling moon
Sings just a sweet
Heavenly tune

Theres peace in Gods forest
The temple of life

[CHORUS]
Halleluyah
Halleluyah
We looked to the sky
Deep into heaven's eyes
Halleluyah

And back in the city
I'm losing control
I need a place
To ease my soul

There's peace in God's temple
The temple of life

[CHORUS]
Halleluyah
Halleluyah
We looked to the sky
Deep into heaven's eyes
Halleluyah

Halleluyah
Halleluyah
We looked to the sky
Deep into heaven's eyes
Halleluyah

Halleluyah
Halleluyah
We looked to the sky
Deep into heaven's eyes
Halleluyah

Thank you jesus
we praise your name
thank you lord
Halleluyah

[CHORUS (to fade)]

song performed by by Avril Lavigne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hunter's Indian Dove

DARK is her cheek, but her blood’s rich blush
Comes through its dusk with a sunset flush,
While joy, like a prairie-bee, slaketh its drouth
At the red honey-cup of her smiling mouth,
And her wild eyes glow, like meteors, there
’Neath the streaming storm of her night-black hair.
And ever I pride in my forest choice,
The more while I list to her bird-like voice,
Warbling old songs in her own wild speech,
But with this new burden still added to each;
“Who’ll pity, who’ll comfort the dark wood-dove
When the white hawk leaves her to die of love?

O then, by the artless tears that rise
’Neath the downcast lids of her gleaming eyes—
By the truthfully tender and touching grace
That boding passion then lends to her face—
I swear, in the very wild spirit of love,
Never to leave her, my Indian dove!

poem by Charles Harpur
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A Hunter's Indian Dove

DARK is her cheek, but her blood’s rich blush
Comes through its dusk with a sunset flush,
While joy, like a prairie-bee, slaketh its drouth
At the red honey-cup of her smiling mouth,
And her wild eyes glow, like meteors, there
’Neath the streaming storm of her night-black hair.
And ever I pride in my forest choice,
The more while I list to her bird-like voice,
Warbling old songs in her own wild speech,
But with this new burden still added to each;
“Who’ll pity, who’ll comfort the dark wood-dove
When the white hawk leaves her to die of love?

O then, by the artless tears that rise
’Neath the downcast lids of her gleaming eyes—
By the truthfully tender and touching grace
That boding passion then lends to her face—
I swear, in the very wild spirit of love,
Never to leave her, my Indian dove!

poem by Charles Harpur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cora

Of Cora, once so dearly ours,
Would mournful memory sing;
Of how she came when came the flowers,
To leave us with the spring.
That day (returned) which gave her breath
Was that whereon she died,
And o’er the pangs of birth and death
Passed blooming as a bride.

The spring it came, with never a storm,
And nine times came and went,
Till its whole spirit with her form
In budding beauty blent.

Yea, till its sentiment was wreathed
About her eye it came,
And all its foregone influence breathed
At mention of her name.

And aye her soul, her inward worth,
Flushed out in subtle glows,
As from its heart come mantling forth
The ardours of a rose.

It was a glory from within
That made her face so fair,
A radiant spirit void of sin
Was working outward there.

Her locks as they were burnished shone
In many a massy fold,
Or fell in their profusion down
Like bursting sheaves of gold.

Bright garments of a spirit bright,
That even in the shroud
Were like the sunset’s aureate light
Within a lifeless cloud.

When she, our angel of the sun,
Had spread her wings in flight,
Ah, still would mournful memory sing
Of her, our lost delight!

Child with full orbs of heaven-deep blue
Illumined violet,
So richly gentle—touched with dew,
Befringed with glossy jet.

When with the spring we saw depart
Those eyes, those tresses curled,
Then summer dying in love’s heart,
To winger left the world.

Ah, soul that wore the snowy brow,
And gentle shining eyes,
Our song hath aye this burden now
Beneath the vernal skies.

In vain the dews of heaven are shed
Where blight hath been before;
So vainly weep we o’er the dead,
But only weep the more.

Yet from the bright time of her birth
And death, does faith construe
How, like the spring, though not on earth,
Our joy shall bloom anew.

poem by Charles Harpur
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Country Child

I’m country child, spurn town defiled, pollution makes me wild.
When Spring’s waft breeze soft tickles trees, from beaten tracks I keep,
with heart beguiled by creatures wild, through woodland dim and deep
my way make mid the forest hid with self am reconciled.

From city guil[e]d, souls’ stress, soles riled, I’ve strayed, at peace abide
with sun and shade on woodland glade, in valley, mountain steep,
delight each sense with joy intense, - a harvest rich to reap
from Spring which rings till Autumn brings its fruits by bushels piled.

I fly with bee from tree to tree’s bright blossom pink and white.
No cities know pure streams, dawn’s glow, air fresh and fragrant where
there is no smoke, where folk won’t yoke each other to despair.
Suburban spite, skyscrapers’ height, can’t quite convince as right.

Imagine plight of elf or sprite confined too tight! Maid, knight
stroll hand in hand through leafy land in freedom everywhere,
no asking why, nor spoke reply, we’d need, nor seek, nor care,
for spirit mild of open child soars through delight, finds flight.

Love’s love’s invite, both greet the light when dawn’s first flush is born
with badger, bird, with lowing herd, we’d sit and stare, take time,
no clocks absurd, no siren whirred, should compromise love’s rhyme,
so haste with me to taste joys free, no more to fee in pawn.

Lets brave the wind with hair unpinned, love at first sight ‘tis styled,
eyes seeking eyes flush fresh surprise through morning, noon and night.
As seasons flow all reasons go, know heights, no lows, excite
summations which together stitch two into one beguiled.

Nature’s Child

Oh, I’m a child of the country, spurning city defiled and grim,
my heart’s beguiled by creatures wild, and the woodlands deep and dim.
When the warm south winds fall, soothing, from the ferny forest’s feet,
come the nightingales’ songs each even, in madrigals mild and sweet.

For I am a child of the country, Spring orchards soften my sight
when the bees fly to the blossomed boughs, whose buds lie pink and white.
Then hand in hand in the sunlight stroll my soul’s betrothed and I,
nor need we words to question, nor words to heed reply.

Yes I am a child of the country, longing for lush fields at dawn,
where the air feels fresh and fragrant, when sun’s first faint flush is born,
then thrush appeals to starling: ‘Fie, forsake thy stealing way! ’
and the badger cubs, and the birds, and I, welcome the break of day!

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Life is There Where The Moment is Mine And His

It's a sultry summer day and here is a lake,
All around lies a forest with tall oaks,
We could feel the freshness of the trees,
We enjoy the green of nature and the happy birds.

Sun is setting slowly, its last shine is kissing the waves,
You are keeping my hand into yours and we are walking around the lake,
I have a great feeling, something i cant describe in words,
If exists a meaning of life, you are the meaning of everything.

He is rowing a boat crossing the lake,
Looking at each other our eyes meet,
Words are not enough to express our happiness and love,
Our silence is a romance in moonlight.

Phosphorescence of the moon in lake water,
Was reflecting in his eyes such brightness,
I can see the joy of his face, his magnetic smile,
We'll seal this love with a tender hug and a kiss.

We'll float on the lake took by the wind,
His arms wrapping me meanwhile we gaze to each other,
He is mine and i belong to him to eternity,
Life is there where the moment is mine and his.

poem by Cristina Teodor
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Spirit

I can see my destination
I can hear my call
No more hesitation, mmm
This time I'm goin' for all
'Cause I know where this road leads to
And therefore I will rise
I know this dream will come true, mmm
And I will soar the sky
(Spirit, spirit)
Would you guide me? Oh
(Spirit) oh (spirit)
Stand by me
Come on, Come on, Come on
Set me free
I can feel the penetration
Of a strong wind movin' me, mmm
I feel can the elevation, mmm
Of an angel lifting me, mmm
'Cause I know where this road leads to
Therefore I will rise
I know this dream will come true, oh
And I will soar the sky
(Spirit) spirit (spirit) spirit
Would you guide me? Ohh
(Spirit) spirit (spirit) spirit
Standin' by me
Come on, Come on, Come on
Set me free
(Oh spirit)
Now that I've found my way home
I've got to get there, get there (get there)
Though one step seems one mile long
Your bridge before my face (your bridge before my face)
I will take the leap of faith (I will take the leap of faith)
(Spirit) spirit (spirit) spirit
Would you guide me? Oh
(Spirit) spirit (spirit) spirit
Stand by me, oh
(Spirit) spirit (spirit) spirit
Set me free...
(Spirit) spirit (spirit) spirit
Spirit, set me free
(Spirit) help me find my way (spirit) stand by my side
Spirit take my hand and be my guide
(Spirit) run free (spirit) run free
Run free, run free
(Spirit) run free (spirit) run free...

song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep

Every time I hear the sound of the rain
Beating on my roof again
I want to taste your love
And I want to go deep
Deep
I want to go deep
Deep
I want to go deep
Every time I lift my eyes to the sky
Something in my heart asks why
I want to know the truth
And I want to go deep
Deep
I want to go deep
Like the footprints
Disappearing from the sand
I try to catch the thought
It slips right through my hand
And as the darkness
Throws its cloak upon the ground
I start to run to you
Ive got to take you down
I want to go deep
Deep
I want to go deep
Deep
I want to go deep
Every time I feel Im loosing my way
The power of your love remains
I want to touch your love
An I want to go deep
Deep
I want to go deep
Deep
I want to go deep
Deep
I want to go deep

song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a Pine Tree

Crowned, lofty scion of the pine
Whence Gothic architect’s design
Derived the grace and power
For churches planned in noblest style,
For Notre Dame’s majestic pile,
Westminster Hall, or Münster’s aisle,
Or Pisa’s leaning tower, -

In this dark valley laid aside,
Thou in thy grief thy crown of pride
Dost in the clouds retire;
And far thy somber glance ahs flown
To spires like pine-trees shaped in stone,
Perceiving, with a wistful groan,
The portrait of thy sire.

The dastard axe awaits thy wood:
Like Hercules in dragon’s blood,
Thou in slow flames must die.
Yet perish proudly, pine, for know
Not all of Europe’s skill can show
How such a pyramid may grow,
So stately and so high.

Lament not thou, for many a heart,
Fit model for the loftiest art,
Unknown in rags has pined;
There, brooding over work denied,
Some hero sits, some Tell Untried;
A Byron, Plato, oft has died
Unnoticed by mankind.

You Tell, for lack of tyrant foe,
Wars on the sparrow and the crow,
And he whose brain could soar
To match the master-minstrel’s lays –
Some trumpeter usurps his bays,
While on his rustic pipe he plays
For alms from door to door.

Like theirs, my pine, obscurely placed,
Thy nobleness must run to waste,
With lowly village spires –
Unworthy hovels – must contend,
Thou, Nature’s temple! Fortune send
Thee first a Herostratic end,
Immortalised in fires.

Thou stand’st a nobler temple there,
Thy dome the leaden clouds of air;
No Lateran tapers fling
A beam so radiant and so fine
As those dew-spangled boughs of thine,
What sacred strains are so divine
As those thy linnets sing?

Beneath what temple arches are
Such trophies of victorious war,
So honourably won,
As are these pennons pearly bright,
Flecking thy darkest twigs with white,
Which spiders, in a hard-fought fight,
Have stablished where they spun.

Dim spaces filled with incense fine,
A choir thou hast, a holy shrine,
But ne’er an image there;
For sinless Nature, who did base
Thy root, to God speaks face to face,,
Nor needs, like man, who fell from grace,
To mediate her prayer.

Upon thine organ-pipes the storm
Its wild Te Deum can perform,
So awful, yet so fair:
Join thou, my soul, that anthem’s strain; -
“The house of God is Nature’s fane;
No moss so small, no weed so plain,
But builds a chapel there.”

poem by Henrik Wergeland
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Deep Into The Wood

the scars of love,
ingrained and stamped
into the wood....

rivulets worn deep
into the face of stone...
the coming of spring

in a brown crumbling leaf....
the light trapped
on the bottom of

the cave's darkness.....
the look of fear hidden
in the lines neath your eyes

as you brush lightly with death,
and squeeze my hand
against the cold....

the prayers i lift
with unspoken yielding,
trading my heart for yours....

trading my eyes
for the soft underside
of your feathers....

resting against lifetimes
stamped deep into the wood,
the tree strong, and standing

against the coming snow!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Travel Flowers

When you travel ‘cross the country
You see along the roadways
Bright and cheerful flowers especially
In the warm spring and summer days

I love the beautiful sunflowers
Bold yellow blooms you see
Nodding in the gentle winds
Seem to say “hello” to me

White flowers ‘long side a trail
Roots go deep in red dirt
Stand out just beautifully
As they crop up in little spurts

Old barns off in the distance
In the midst of a field of dry grass
Are dotted with many flowers
Oh, I enjoy them when I pass

When spring time sets in and we have
Warm and gentle spring showers
I love to start my trips to see
Delightful travel flowers!

poem by Marilyn Lott
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Hymn Of Hippolytus To Artemis

Artemis! thou fairest
Of the maids that be
In divine Olympus,
Hail! Hail to thee!
To thee I bring this woven weed
Culled for thee from a virgin mead,
Where neither shepherd claims his flocks to feed
Nor ever yet the mower's scythe hath come.
There in the Spring the wild bee hath his home,
Lightly passing to and fro
Where the virgin flowers grow;
And there the watchful Purity doth go
Moistening with dew-drops all the ground below,
Drawn from a river untaintedly flowing,
They who have gained by a kind fate's bestowing
Pure hearts, untaught by philosophy's care,
May gather the flowers in the mead that are blowing,
But the tainted in spirit may never be there.

Now, O Divinest, eternally fair,
Take thou this garland to gather thy hair,
Brought by a hand that is pure as the air.
For I alone of all the sons of men
Hear thy pure accents, answering thee again.
And may I reach the goal of life as I began the race,
Blest by the music of thy voice, though darkness ever veil thy face!

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Past, Future, Now

See a face.
Do I know you?
You look familar.
I must know you.

From a past,
From a present.
Somewhere in the future.
Your part of me.

Long ago in a dream.
I saw your face.
Keeping me close to you.
Embracing you, holding me.

Here and now,
I see you.
Talking sofly of sweet things.
I belong to you.

In a crystal ball,
We walk hand in hand.
Deep in a forest,
Together forever.

In my heart,
Though my soul.
The wonder of a simple role.
We are one and the same.'

poem by Mariah Simpson
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The Purification

Softly the sunbeams gleamed athwart the Temple proud and high—
Built up by Israel’s wisest to the Lord of earth and sky—
Lighting its gorgeous fretted roof, and every sacred fold
Of mystic veil—from gaze profane that hid the ark of old.

Ne’er could man’s gaze have rested on a scene more rich and bright:
Agate and porphyry—precious gems—cedar and ivory white,
Marbles of perfect sheen and hue, sculptures and tintings rare,
With sandal wood and frankincense perfuming all the air.

But see, how steals up yonder aisle, with rows of columns high,
A female form, with timid step and downcast modest eye;—
A girl she seems by the fresh bloom that decks her lovely face—
With locks of gold and vestal brow, and form of childish grace.

Yet, no! those soft, slight arms enfold a helpless new-born child,
Late entered on this world of woe—still pure and undefiled;
While two white doves she humbly lays before the altar there
Tell that, despite her girlish years, she knows a matron’s care.

No fairer sight could heart have asked than that which met the view,
E’en had He been the child of sin—and she a sinner, too;
But how must heavenly hosts have looked in breathless rapture on,
Knowing Him, as the Temple’s Lord—the Word—th’Eternal Son!

While she was that Maid Mother rare—fairest of Adam’s race,
Whom Heaven’s Archangel, bending low, had hailed as full of grace,—
The Mother of that infant God close clasped unto her breast—
the Mary humble, meek and pure, above all women blessed.

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Elijah

INTO that good old Hebrew’s soul sublime
The spirit of the wilderness had passed;
For where the thunders of imperial Storm
Rolled over mighty hills; and where the caves
Of cloud-capt Horeb rang with hurricane;
And where wild-featured Solitude did hold
Supreme dominion; there the prophet saw
And heard and felt that large mysterious life
Which lies remote from cities, in the woods
And rocks and waters of the mountained Earth.
And so it came to pass, Elijah caught
That scholarship which gave him power to see
And solve the deep divinity that lies
With Nature, under lordly forest-domes,
And by the seas; and so his spirit waxed,
Made strong and perfect by its fellowship
With God’s authentic world, until his eyes
Became a splendour, and his face was as
A glory with the vision of the seer.
Thereafter, thundering in the towns of men,
His voice, a trumpet of the Lord, did shake
All evil to its deep foundations. He,
The hairy man who ran before the king,
Like some wild spectre fleeting through the storm,
What time Jezreel’s walls were smitten hard
By fourfold wind and rain; ’twas he who slew
The liars at the altars of the gods,
And, at the very threshold of a throne,
Heaped curses on its impious lord; ’twas he
Jehovah raised to grapple Sin that stalked,
Arrayed about with kingship; and to strike
Through gold and purple, to the heart of it.
And therefore Falsehood quaked before his face,
And Tyranny grew dumb at sight of him,
And Lust and Murder raged abroad no more;
But where these were he walked, a shining son
Of Truth, and cleared and sanctified the land.

Not always was the dreaded Tishbite stern;
The scourge of despots, when he saw the face
Of Love in sorrow by the bed of Death,
Grew tender as a maid; and she who missed
A little mouth that used to catch, and cling—
A small, sweet trouble—at her yearning breast;*
Yea, she of Zarephath, who sat and mourned
The silence of a birdlike voice that made
Her flutter with the joy of motherhood
In other days, she came to know the heart
Of Pity that the rugged prophet had.
And when he took the soft, still child away,
And laid it on his bed; and in the dark
Sent up a pleading voice to Heaven; and drew
The little body to his breast; and held
It there until the bright, young soul returned
To earth again; the gladdened woman saw
A radiant beauty in Elijah’s eyes,
And knew the stranger was a man of God.

We want a new Elijah in these days,
A mighty spirit clad in shining arms
Of Truth—yea, one whose lifted voice would break,
Like thunder, on our modern Apathy,
And shake the fanes of Falsehood from their domes
Down to the firm foundations; one whose words,
Directly coming from a source divine,
Would fall like flame where Vice holds festival,
And search the inmost heart of nations; one
Made godlike with that scholarship supreme
Which comes of suffering; one, with eyes to see
The very core of things; with hands to grasp
High opportunities, and use them for
His glorious mission; one, whose face inspired
Would wear a terror for the lying soul,
But seem a glory in the sight of those
Who make the light and sweetness of the world,
And are the high priests of the Beautiful.
Yea, one like this we want amongst us now
To drive away the evil fogs that choke
Our social atmosphere, and leave it clear
And pure and hallowed with authentic light.

poem by Henry Kendall
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The Sea By The Wood

I DWELL in the sea that is wild and deep,
But afar in a shadow still,
I can see the trees that gather and sleep
In the wood upon the hill.

The deeps are green as an emerald's face,
The caves are crystal calm,
But I wish the sea were a little trace
Of moisture in God's palm.

The waves are weary of hiding pearls,
Are aweary of smothering gold,
They would all be air that sweeps and swirls
In the branches manifold.

They are weary of laving the seaman's eyes
With their passion prayer unsaid,
They are weary of sobs and the sudden sighs
And movements of the dead.

All the sea is haunted with human lips
Ashen and sere and gray,
You can hear the sails of the sunken ships
Stir and shiver and sway

In the weary solitude;
If mine were the will of God, the main
Should melt away in the rustling wood
Like a mist that follows the rain.

But I dwell in the sea that is wild and deep
And afar in the shadow still,
I can see the trees that gather and sleep
In the wood upon the hill.

poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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