En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Veil

I think and think: yet still I fail —
Why must this lady wear a veil?
Why thus elect to mask her face
Beneath that dainty web of lace?
The tip of a small nose I see,
And two red lips, set curiously
Like twin-born berries on one stem,
And yet, she has netted even them.
Her eyes, 'tis plain, survey with ease
Whate'er to glance upon they please.
Yet, whether hazel, gray, or blue,
Or that even lovelier lilac hue,
I cannot guess: why — why deny
Such beauty to the passer-by?
Out of a bush a nightingale
May expound his song; from 'neath that veil
A happy mouth no doubt can make
English sound sweeter for its sake.
But then, why muffle in like this
What every blossomy wind would kiss?
Why in that little night disguise
A daybreak face, those starry eyes?

poem by Walter de la Mare
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The Right Mask

One night a poem came up to a poet
From now on, it said, you must wear a mask.
What kind of mask? asked the poet.
A rose mask, said the poem.
I've used it already, said the poet,
I've exhausted it.
Then wear the mask that's made out of
a nightingale's song, use that mask.
Oh, it's an old mask, said the poet,
it's all used up.
Nonsense, said the poem, it's the perfect mask,
still, try on the god mask,
now that mask illuminates heaven.
It's a tight mask, said the poet,
and the stars crawl about in it like ants.
Then try on the troubador's mask, or the singer's mask,
try on all the popular masks.
I have, said the poet, but they fit so easily.

The poem was getting impatient,
it stamped its feet like a child,
it screamed. Then try on your own face,
try the one mask that terrifies,
the mask only you could possibly use,
the mask only you could wear out.

The poet tore at his face til it bled,
this mask? he yelled, this mask?
Yes, said the poem, yes.

But the poet was tired of masks,
he had lived too long with them,
he snatched at the poem and stuck it in his face.
Its screams were muffled, it wept, it tried to be lyrical,
it wriggled into his eyes and mouth.

Next day his friends were afraid of him,
he looked so distorted.
Now it's the right mask, said the poem, the right mask.
It clung to him lovingly and never let go again.

poem by Brian Patten
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The Most Visible Mask

you have loved the most visible mask i have
my face

everyday, this face, tomorrow this face, yesterday
this face

you are proud of my nose, and you tell all your friends about
it
aquiline, conquest of a nose, occupying almost all parts
of your territory

not even the hands but this face
the mouth that eats you

the eyes that close when
i kiss you

the tongue that maps out
what has to be found when lost

this face, the most visible mask
inside
is the real face, the face of my mind

it is thinking something else
all these years

the invisible mask is silent
tomorrow shall be the scorn

you must bear it,
you are fond of the most visible

though not really enduring.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Veiled

You do not see me, not really.
You walk past me, like I am a ghost.
No second thoughts for me,
No intrigued: who is she? What's her story?

It's like I am not here.
I don't mind, not really.
I am a normal girl, blond hair,
Blue eyes -ice blue, cold blue.

Regular girl, nothing strange...
Scandinavian, plain dressed.
Just your ordinary student;
Not too smart, not too neat.

Yet I am veiled, but not in black,
My veil is the kind you cannot see.
Every inch; covered, hidden,
Within this veil no one forced me to wear.

It's my protection, my final escape.
It's my protection, my hiding place.

All you get to see are:
My eyes, my glaciers of pain.
And they will tell you: I am hurt.
But there's no way through my veil;
Because you do not see me, not really...

poem by Anne Harkonen
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Beneath The Mask

Beneath the mask her wander lies
projecting an image for lovers eyes.
Such endless beauty my eyes behold,
under the mask she wears so bold

She hides behind her vain-full pride,
The twist and turn of storms inside.
She sits so still, so calm a girl
And guards with faith her hidden pearl.

Behold the mask covers her face
For between its cracks lies hidden grace
And beneath that mystic mask of wood
Lies secrets of a love so good

She needs to see through sudden glee
She needs not wear the mask for me.
In her glory I need to bask
For I love the girl who wear the mask.

Beneath the mask
There is a love and compassion
Inhibition and insecurities,
But there is also the girl I love

poem by C.F Francis
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A Pretty Woman

I

That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the blue eye
Dear and dewy,
And that infantine fresh air of hers!

II

To think men cannot take you, Sweet,
And enfold you,
Ay, and hold you,
And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!

III

You like us for a glance, you know—
For a word's sake
Or a sword's sake,
All's the same, whate'er the chance, you know.

IV

And in turn we make you ours, we say—
You and youth too,
Eyes and mouth too,
All the face composed of flowers, we say.

V

All's our own, to make the most of, Sweet—
Sing and say for,
Watch and pray for,
Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet!

VI

But for loving, why, you would not, Sweet,
Though we prayed you,
Paid you, brayed you
in a mortar—for you could not, Sweet!

VII

So, we leave the sweet face fondly there:
Be its beauty
Its sole duty!
Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there!

VIII

And while the face lies quiet there,
Who shall wonder
That I ponder
A conclusion? I will try it there.

IX

As,—why must one, for the love foregone,
Scout mere liking?
Thunder-striking
Earth,—the heaven, we looked above for, gone!

X

Why, with beauty, needs there money be,
Love with liking?
Crush the fly-king
In his gauze, because no honey-bee?

XI

May not liking be so simple-sweet,
If love grew there
'Twould undo there
All that breaks the cheek to dimples sweet?

XII

Is the creature too imperfect,
Would you mend it
And so end it?
Since not all addition perfects aye!

XIII

Or is it of its kind, perhaps,
Just perfection—
Whence, rejection
Of a grace not to its mind, perhaps?

XIV

Shall we burn up, tread that face at once
Into tinder,
And so hinder
Sparks from kindling all the place at once?

XV

Or else kiss away one's soul on her?
Your love-fancies!
—A sick man sees
Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her!

XVI

Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose,—
Plucks a mould-flower
For his gold flower,
Uses fine things that efface the rose:

XVII

Rosy rubies make its cup more rose,
Precious metals
Ape the petals,—
Last, some old king locks it up, morose!

XVIII

Then how grace a rose? I know a way!
Leave it, rather.
Must you gather?
Smell, kiss, wear it—at last, throw away!

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Gardener XIX: You Walked

You walked by the riverside path
with the full pitcher upon your hip.
Why did you swiftly turn your face
and peep at me through your fluttering
veil?
That gleaming look from the dark
came upon me like a breeze that sends
a shiver through the rippling water
and sweeps away to the shadowy
shore.
It came to me like the bird of the
evening that hurriedly flies across the
lampless room from the one open
window to the other, and disappears
in the night.
You are hidden as a star behind the
hills, and I am a passer-by upon the
road.
But why did you stop for a moment
and glance at my face through your
veil while you walked by the river-
side path with the full pitcher upon
your hip?

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Mask

You wear a mask upon your face
So people wont know of your sin and disgrace
Or of the things that you have said and done
And of the life you have ended and then again begun.
You cover up your lines and all of your tears
So no one can see the worries and your fears
Or of the anger and the hate that's on your face
So upon your face a mask you did paste.
But I wonder if anyone really does know
The color of your cheeks or the shape of your nose
Or the saddened bags underneath your eyes
From the guilt you felt from the tears of your lies.
And when you meet people I wonder do they stare
Maybe they think to themselves, who is really behind there
But then you don't care what people might say or ask
As you can conceal all, when you wear your mask.
And so that mask you will wear till your dying days
As it will become you in so many very different ways
But one day in death your mask it will then be removed
Then man and all will stand in sadness, as they see the real you.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Somewhere Before

Have you ever met your
twin?
Returning from the past.
Traveling on life's road,
Reflections always last.

Calling it a connection,
Colored with electric
blue,
Does memories of yester-
day?
Keep on haunting you.

Looking thru this veil of
lace,
Do you remember, some-
ones face?

I get the feeling, more and
more,
I've known you, some-
where before.

poem by Heather Burns
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A Portrait Of Tomorrow

get the pen of the present
and take the colors of the past
use the hand that you trust
and begin making
tomorrow's portrait

have the ears of twenty years ago
try listening
if the sound is happy
put them there

and for the nose
smell the sweat of your childhood
those that play so well on the grass
and took the plunge on the clean rivers of your life
if you have that nostalgic feeling
then put that nose there

and how about the mouth and the lips
i think, if i were you
i'll take the teen age years
remembering the first kiss
and the first communion
the sound of a tight embrace
and if you like those happenings
then have those years
as your mouth and lips
and even the teeth

and now for the eyes
those that know really how to see
clearly and probingly
ponderous eyes
where wisdom is embedded
i think if i were you
take it from the present
those that see the past
as a summary
and of course the future
as a plan
specific and determined
strong and willing

and with a stroke of your
skilled hand you put the final
touches of tomorrow's portrait

you see your face and you say
you are beautiful
you caress it and tell yourself
you are lovable

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For An Unknown Lady

Lady, if you'd slumber sound,
Keep your eyes upon the ground.
If you'd toss and turn at night,
Slip your glances left and right.
Would the mornings find you gay,
Never give your heart away.
Would they find you pale and sad,
Fling it to a whistling lad.
Ah, but when his pleadings burn,
Will you let my words return?
Will you lock your pretty lips,
And deny your finger-tips,
Veil away your tender eyes,
Just because some words were wise?
If he whistles low and clear
When the insistent moon is near
And the secret stars are known-
Will your heart be still your own
Just because some words were true? ...
Lady, I was told them, too!

poem by Dorothy Parker
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A Blouse Machinist

Miss Murphy has blue eyes and blue-black hair,
Her machine's opposite mine
So I can stare
At her pale face and shining blue-black hair.
I'm sure that other people think her plain
But I could look at her
And look again
Although I see why people think her plain.
She's nice to watch when her machine-belt breaks.
She has such delicate hands
And arms, it takes
Ages for her to mend it when it breaks.
Oh, beauty's still elusive and she's fine.
Though all the moulding
Of her face, the line
Of nose, mouth, chin is Mongol, yet she's fine.
Of course things would be different in Japan.
They'd see her beauty.
On a silken fan
They'd paint her for a princess in Japan.
But still her loveliness eludes the blind.
They never use their eyes
But just their mind.
So must much loveliness elude the blind.

poem by Lesbia Harford
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The Tryst

I raised the veil, I loosed the bands,
I took the dead thing from its place.
Like a warm stream in frozen lands
My lips went wandering on her face,
My hands burnt in her hands.

She could not stay me, being dead;
Her body here was mine to hold.
What if her lips had lost their red?
To me they always tasted cold
With the cold words she said.

Did my breath run along her hair,
And free the pulse, and fire the brain,
My wild blood wake her wild blood there?
Here eyelids lifted wide again
In a blue, sudden stare.

Beneath my fierce, profane caress
The whole white length of body moved;
The drowsy bosom seemed to press
As if against a breast beloved,
Then fail for weariness.

No, not that anguish! Christ forbid
That I should raise such dead! I rose,
Stifled the mouth with lilies, hid
Those eyes, And drew the long hair close,
And shut the coffin lid.

My cold brow on the cold wood laid,
Quiet and close to-night we lie.
No cruel words her lips have said.
I shall not take nor she deny.
The dead is with the dead.

poem by Muriel Stuart
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Sonnet III

THE FORNARINA.

AND bless'd was she thou lovedst, for whose sake
Thy wit did veil in fanciful disguise
The answer which thou wert compell'd to make
To Rome's High Priest, and call'd her then 'Thine Eyes;'
Tho' of her life obscure there is no trace,
Save where its thread with THY bright history twines,--
Tho' all we know of her be that sweet face
Whose nameless beauty from thy canvass shines,--
Dependent still upon her Raphael's fame,
And but recorded by her low degree,
As one who had in life no higher claim
Than to be painted and be loved by thee;--
Yet would I be forgot, as she is now,
Once to have press'd my lips on that seraphic brow!

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Face of Love

When I gaze upon your countenance
I see all who I have and will still love
and your eyes a blue summer sky
warming the very core of my being
The alabaster perfection of your skin
crowning your lustrous beauty
Your inviting mouth drawing me in
to savour your sweet taste
to guess at your secrets
hidden behind an enigmatic smile
You are like a secret rendezvous
hankered after by all
Time cannot be defined
for you are infinite
in your freedom
Face of my beloved
the face of love

By: Suzette Crous

Inspired by:
The Face of Love
by Ingrid Jonker

Your face is the face of all the others
before you and after you and
your eyes calm as a blue
dawn breaking time on time
herdsman of the clouds
sentinel of white iridescent beauty
the landscape of your contesses (sic) mouth
that I have explored
keeps the secret of a smile
like small white villages beyond the mountains
and your heartbeats the measure of their ecstasy
There is no question of beginning
there is no question of possession
there is no question of death
face of my beloved
the face of love

poem by Suzette Crous
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Humayun To Zobeida (From the Urdu)

You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn,
Your sweetness in the nightingale, your white- ness in the swan.

You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon,
Pervade me like a musky scent, possess me like a tune.

Yet, when I crave of you, my sweet, one tender moment's grace,
You cry, "I sit behind the veil, I cannot show my face."

Shall any foolish veil divide my longing from my bliss?
Shall any fragile curtain hide your beauty from my kiss?

What war is this of Thee and Me? Give o'er the wanton strife,
You are the heart within my heart, the life within my life.

poem by Sarojini Naidu
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This Mask

this is the mask you love most
and it is you who always ask me to wear it
the happy face
the look of a rich man to save you from your financial distress
the look of desire to save you from loneliness
the penetrating eyes
lips hungry for your kisses
smooth skin for you to feast upon in your caress

i will wear this mask today and tomorrow
i have nothing to hide
i am honest and you have loved me
inside this mask

how can i blame you? you also need to relax and feel life
even for a moment
of this illusion

anyway, reality is always there
why bother

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nocturnal Transmissions

At night in dreams she comes to me
In full length gown with veil of lace
With nobility, grace, grand authority
Gives sweet kiss ‘n warm embrace

Sits face-to-face with me then speaks
Of her many travels to distant places
Like Istanbul, Beijing, Mozambique
Of other lands she sometime graces

Reveals beauty of God’s Creation
The value of a loving heart, soul
The power of prayer, meditation
About man’s longing to be whole

My Guardian Angel then takes flight
As night gives way to morning light

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Nightingale

I built my house beside the wood
So I could hear you singing
And it was sweet and it was good
And love was all beginning
Fare thee well my nightingale
Twas long ago I found you
Now all your songs of beauty fail
The forest closes round you
The sun goes down behind a veil
Tis now that you would call me
So rest in peace my nightingale
Beneath your branch of holly
Fare thee well my nightingale
I lived but to be near you
Tho' you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you

song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A White Wedding Veil

A breezy day for a Bride in her prime,
Controlling her dainty wedding veil...
But in the Church, with love in her heart
Her distinctive aura cast a magical spell.

At the Altar the bluest of eyes shone with love.
She would keep those vows ~ and never fail.
Tomorrow, the dream of a lifetime would start.
All thanks to a 'white wedding veil'.

poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Vincent

starry starry night
paint your palette blue and gray
look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the darkness in my soul
shadows on the hill
sketch the trees and daffodils
catch the breeze and the winter chills
in colors on the snowy linen land
now i understand
what you tried to say to me
and how you suffered you sanity
and how you tried to set them free
they would not listen they did not know how
perhaps they'll listen now
starry starry night
flaming flowers that brightly blaze
swirling clouds in violet haze
reflect in vincent's eyes of china blue
colors changing hue
morning fields of amber grain
weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand
now i understand
what you tried to say to me
they did not listen they did not know how
perhaps they'll listen now
starry starry night

song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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