Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XV
Anon, ere yet his pleasure was aware
Of other presence with him in that place,
A growing murmur in the jubilant air,
With hum of voices gathering apace,
And laughter interchanged, and tones well known,
And steps approaching him familiar--wise,
And names that seemed an echo of his own,
Broke on his musing. Turning in surprise
He saw around him a gay company,
Faces of kinsmen or of friends as near,
But dead or changed or wed: all now in joy,
Such as they showed him once in days more dear
Ere yet his manhood had been touched with pain,
Stood forth to greet him to their hearts again.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Sacred Gathering
Shadows swamp the air with a blanket of fog,
Move mythical clouds from under the dark sky,
Fitting the past sleekly within our memory,
Familiar faces buried long ago in the cemetery.
Nimbly stood stones erect as ruin pillar post,
Forgotten names shimmer in glory halls of fame,
A sacred gathering in the future with the past,
Meet history looking for friends to rise again.
Spirits gather quietly to watch at every funeral,
A world created to celebrated charm and wit,
Innumerable company posses the ethereal,
Our heroes walk slowly up into hollowed light.
The rapture of delta forces multiply in the sky,
The just are blessed, resurrected and translated,
Churned by the world martyrs greeted in eternity,
And given the rewards joyfully anticipated.
The tears we shed can make our hearts frail,
But in heaven; their will be a sacred gathering,
That no dusty method of frail flesh can assail,
Till all humanity groan in woes be forgiven.
poem by Gerry Legister
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
With the Tide
Somewhere I read, in an old book whose name
Is gone from me, I read that when the days
Of a man are counted, and his business done,
There comes up the shore at evening, with the tide,
To the place where he sits, a boat—
And in the boat, from the place where he sits, he sees,
Dim in the dusk, dim and yet so familiar,
The faces of his friends long dead; and knows
They come for him, brought in upon the tide,
To take him where men go at set of day.
Then rising, with his hands in theirs, he goes
Between them his last steps, that are the first
Of the new life—and with the ebb they pass,
Their shaken sail grown small upon the moon.
Often I thought of this, and pictured me
How many a man who lives with throngs about him,
Yet straining through the twilight for that boat
Shall scarce make out one figure in the stern,
And that so faint its features shall perplex him
With doubtful memories—and his heart hang back.
But others, rising as they see the sail
Increase upon the sunset, hasten down,
Hands out and eyes elated; for they see
Head over head, crowding from bow to stern,
Repeopling their long loneliness with smiles,
The faces of their friends; and such go forth
Content upon the ebb tide, with safe hearts.
But never to worker summoned when his day was done
Did mounting tide bring in such freight of friends
As stole to you up the white wintry shingle
That night while they that watched you thought you slept.
Softly they came, and beached the boat, and gathered
In the still cove under the icy stars,
Your last-born, and the dear loves of your heart,
And all men that have loved right more than ease,
And honor above honors; all who gave
Free-handed of their best for other men,
And thought their giving taking: they who knew
Man's natural state is effort, up and up—
All these were there, so great a company
Perchance you marvelled, wondering what great ship
Had brought that throng unnumbered to the cove
Where the boys used to beach their light canoe
After old happy picnics—
But these, your friends and children, to whose hands,
Committed, in the silent night you rose
And took your last faint steps—
These led you down, O great American,
Down to the Winter night and the white beach,
And there you saw that the huge hull that waited
Was not as are the boats of the other dead,
Frail craft for a brief passage; no, for this
Was first of a long line of towering transports,
Storm-worn and ocean-weary every one,
The ships you launched, the ships you manned, the ships
That now, returning from their sacred quest
With the thrice-sacred burden of their dead,
Lay waiting there to take you forth with them,
Out with the ebb tide, on some farther quest.
poem by Edith Wharton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lost
Searching in the crowd
For a resemblance
To no avail
No familiar faces
I once loved
A forbidden love
Oceans separated you from me
Virtually all familiar faces gone
I roam the dessert of life
Feeling all alone
Like a blind man searching
For a familiar face
The sound of your voice
The ringing of laughter shared
Of familiar faces
Barren, empty bossom
Swallowed by the dessert of life
All familiar faces
Passed with time...
06.07.2012
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Always At Sea
Always at sea I think about the dead.
On barques invisible they seem to sail
The self-same course; and from the decks cry 'Hail'!
Then I recall old words that they have said,
And see their faces etched upon the mist-
Dear faces I have kissed.
Always the dead seem very close at sea.
The coarse vibrations of the earth debar
Our spirit friends from coming where we are.
But through God's ether, unimpeded, free,
They wing their way, the ocean deeps above-
And find the hearts that love.
Always at sea my dead come very near.
A growing host; some old in spirit lore,
And some who crossed to find the other shore
But yesterday. All, all, I see and hear
With inner senses, while the voice of faith
Proclaims-there is no death.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Old Familiar Faces
I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions,
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days--
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies--
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I loved a Love once, fairest among women:
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her--
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man:
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly;
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.
Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood,
Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse,
Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?
So might we talk of the old familiar faces--
How some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed--
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Home
How do I find my way back?
I've strayed too far from home.
I've gone so many places
for so many days.
I've even been to Rome.
I have seen so many sights now.
It seems to me that somehow
that every place I've ever seen
were places in-between
from the place that is my home.
My search for brand new places
and all those other places
never filled the gap
as I crossed the map,
so far from my sweet home.
For I missed the landscape,
the place that I grew up in.
The old familiar faces
were not in the places I've been.
And now I must retrace my steps.
I've searched this world all over.
Too long I've been a rover.
I'll take a trip on back
for I'm on the wrong track.
I wonder what I'll find at my home?
Nothing seems the same now.
Familiarity has changed somehow,
except for the peace I feel around me.
'Cause in my memory I still can see
the place that is my home.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Simple Touch!
you touched my hand,
and raised this body
from the land of the dead...
you touched my heart,
and freed this soul
from the dark maze
of its own prison.
you touched my eyes,
and restored sight
to a blind man.
you touched my ears,
and filled them with
the song of every living creature.
you touched my desire,
and brought stone and fire,
and the echo of the whipporwill's song.
i touched you,
and the earth stopped turning,
rivers stopped flowing,
and mountains fell...
all in a simple touch!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fembot
Went to bed with a smile.
Bragged to my friends for a little while.
And, I wished for another date,
to *sit with you dazin'*, I was in this state
of tossing and turning not knowing what to do.
Just sitting and waiting for a call from you.
I know that its real and its no surprise.
To see that its true I look into your eyes.
Oh yes she changed me. And, now Im not the same.
And I know just how I have a world when she says my name.
Now I see you every day.
I go out of my way just to see your face
and school with you isnt the same.
Sleepless nights and our jokes are lame.
I am hoping and dreaming of another night like this.
Restless, and yearning for your sweet kiss.
I know that its real, and its no surprise, i no that its true i look into your eyes.
Oh Yes she change me, now im not the same.
I know now just how I have a world when she says me name.
She changed me and now im not the same.
And I know now just how I *have a world* when she says my name.
Tossing and turning not knowing what to do.
Just sitting and waiting for a call from you.
I know that its true and its no surprise.
To see that its real I look into your eyes.
Oh yes she changed me. And, now Im not the same.
And I know just how I have a world when she says my name.
Oh yes she changed me. And, now Im not the same.
And I know just how I have a world when she says my name.
song performed by by All American Rejects
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
In Memoriam
GROWING to full manhood now,
With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations,
With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong weep,
5
For the noble hearts that sleep,
Pillowed where they fought and bled,
The loved and lost, our glorious dead!
Toil and sorrow come with age,
Manhood's rightful heritage;
10
Toil our arms more strong shall render,
Sorrow make our hearts more tender,
In the heartlessness of time;
Honour lays a wreath sublime—
Deathless glory—where they bled,
15
Our loved and lost, with glorious dead!
Wild the prairie's grasses wave
O'er each hero's new-made grave;
Time shall write such wrinkles o'er us,
But the future spreads before us
20
Glorious in that sunset land—
Nerving every heart and hand,
Comes a brightness none can shed,
But the dead, the glorious dead!
Lay them where they fought and fell;
25
Every heart shall ring their knell,
For the lessons they have taught us,
For the glory they have brought us.
Tho' our hearts are sad and bowed,
Nobleness still makes us proud—
30
Proud of light their names shall shed
In the roll-call of our dead!
Growing to full manhood now,
With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations,
35
With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong men weep,
For the noble hearts that sleep
Where the call of duty led,
Where the lonely prairies spread,
40
Where for us they fought and bled,
Our loved, our lost, our glorious dead!
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Old Days Are Forever
Take me back to the old days
When we would run with the rain
Falling like showers on our face
And in laughter, we knew no pain.
Take me back to the old days
When music was soothing and mellow
Joys were simpler in so many ways
When Home was the place we could go.
Take me back to the old days
Perhaps in memory we may linger
Old friends and family find a trace
In our hearts, old days are forever.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Companioned
I walked to-day, but not alone,
Adown a windy, sea-girt lea,
For memory, spendthrift of her charm,
Peopled the silent lands for me.
The faces of old comradeship
In golden youth were round my way,
And in the keening wind I heard
The songs of many an orient day.
And to me called, from out the pines
And woven grasses, voices dear,
As if from elfin lips should fall
The mimicked tones of yesteryear.
Old laughter echoed o'er the leas
And love-lipped dreams the past had kept,
From wayside blooms like honeyed bees
To company my wanderings crept.
And so I walked, but not alone,
Right glad companionship had I,
On that gray meadow waste between
Dim-litten sea and winnowed sky.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Year's End
THE voices of the wind and wave
They sigh the Old Year's requiem;
The dead are calling from the grave —
Good friends, a little space I crave
To turn aside and think of them.
They were as even you and I
When you and I were young as they;
And yet they knew the way to die —
Come, think with me, and tell me why
It should be thus with hearts so gay.
Ah, blessed be the gracious God
Who, moulding us from clay and dew,
From morning dew and clay untrod,
So breathed Himself into the sod
That we, at best, grow Godlike, too.
For, treading pleasure underneath,
These glory-souls, our country's flower,
Arose responsive to that breath
And looked into the face of Death,
And did not tremble at his power.
Should it not make us sure and tough
As tested steel, and unafraid,
To feel, though Fate ride robber-rough,
That we are fashioned of the stuff
Whereof these heroes, too, were made?
Though they are dead, and o'er them bends
A people's soul in mourning mood,
Proud Honour at their grave attends:
Henceforth we are a nation, friends,
By right of sacrificial blood.
The care-free days of youth are gone;
What once we were no more we are;
And dead are all the dreams that shone
Ere we were bruised and hammered on
The ringing anvils of red war.
The Spirit of Immortal Times,
With lights that dazzle and entice,
Is vitalizing all earth's climes;
Once more in golden tones it chimes
The anthem of High Sacrifice.
And yet, though Fame be very fair,
And great the yearning and desire
Of hero-hearts to do and dare,
Behold, there stands an empty chair
Beside a cold and ashen fire!
Because, as even you and I,
They loved and were beloved, my friends,
Not all the glory-stars on high,
The splendid things for which men die,
Can for their passing make amends.
There is a house that waits in vain
To give them entrance at its door,
When frost's afoot or chilly rain;
There is a track across the plain
That they, alas, shall ride no more.
A whip, a saddle, and a spur!
(Ah, love-lit rides! The moon above,
Sweet scents around, soft winds astir!)
God give him rest! And what of her?
Why ask? Is love not always love?
Dear eyes that pain has made divine,
Sad eyes that burn with tears unshed,
Within whose depths are griefs that pine
And pilgrim thoughts that seek the shrine,
The grave of their beloved dead;
Dear eyes, dear hearts, dear folk, tear-blind,
Who greet each morn with grief anew,
Pale cheeks grown cold, and foreheads lined, —
Since God is good and Heaven is kind,
There shall be recompense for you!
The Old Year dies; and o'er the waves,
Wind-borne, there comes a requiem
Deep-chanted by a sea that laves
The shores they loved. Oh, may their graves
Give goodly rest and peace to them!
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet 23
Be aware gentlemen I dare say
For all those sugar coated lies
Ladies will have it their way
No matter what they can be sly
Be aware all gentlemen kind
The secrets are not in her kiss
Such confusion you will find
You'll never be sure of this
Be aware gentlemen or regret
Those gentle words and woes
Never once show her neglect
For such pain you will know
Be aware gentlemen and wise
Ladies come with many surprise
poem by Suelynn Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Meeting
After so long an absence
At last we meet agin:
Does the meeting give us pleasure,
Or does it give us pain?
The tree of life has been shaken,
And but few of us linger now,
Like the prophets two or three berries
In the top of the uppermost bough.
We cordially greet each other
In the old, familiar tone;
And we think, though we do not say it,
How old and gray he is grown!
We speak of a Merry Christmas
And many a Happy New Year;
But each in his heart is thinking
Of those that are not here.
We speak of friends and their fortunes,
And of what they did and said,
Till the dead alone seem living,
And the living alone seem dead.
And at last we hardly distinguish
Between the ghosts and the guests;
And a mist and shadow of sadness
Steals over our merriest jests.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Change...So Do Places
You change…so do places
You get older…as places do too
You look about for familiar faces
But only memory’s ghost looks back at you
You see the places…places in the heart
You hear long gone voices from the past
You still seem.. and yearn to be a part
Of memories that seem… to fade so fast
Fleeting touch…soft brush of lips
Memories of young love, breath held in wonder
Soft gentle touch of tender finger tips
Young hearts aflame, emotions torn asunder
That old red wagon, that very first snow
The big hill where we coasted, now seems so small
the old homestead stood here…where did it go?
It’s been replaced with a cold, soulless mall
Yes, you change…and yes, so do places
You yearn to recapture those memories of the past
To find bits and pieces…shards and traces
Memories…young love…not meant to last
You can imagine that old white home
from way back then…
Hear familiar voices …
echo in the wind, my friend
Yes…It Seems as if it was just yesterday
But you know… that it was way back then
And down deep you know…there just ain’t no way
You can really ever… go back home again
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Glee For Winter
HENCE, rude Winter! crabbed old fellow,
Never merry, never mellow!
Well-a-day! in rain and snow
What will keep one’s heart aglow?
Groups of kinsmen, old and young,
Oldest they old friends among;
Groups of friends, so old and true
That they seem our kinsmen too;
These all merry all together
Charm away chill Winter weather.
What will kill this dull old fellow?
Ale that ’s bright, and wine that ’s mellow!
Dear old songs for ever new;
Some true love, and laughter too;
Pleasant wit, and harmless fun,
And a dance when day is done.
Music, friends so true and tried,
Whisper’d love by warm fireside,
Mirth at all times all together,
Make sweet May of Winter weather.
poem by Alfred Domett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Faces & Names
Faces and names, I wish they were the same
Faces and names only cause trouble for me
Faces and names
If we all looked the same and we all had the same name
I wouldnt be jealous of you or you jealous of me
Faces and names
I always fall in love with someone who looks
The way I wish that I could be
Im always staring at someone who hurts
And the one they hurt is me
Faces and names, to me theyre all the same
If I looked like you and you looked like me
Thered be less trouble you see
Faces and names, I wish theyd go away
Id disappear into that wall and never talk
Talk, not talk
I wish I was a robot or a machine
Without a feeling or a thought
People who want to meet the name I have
Are always disappointed when they meet me
Faces and names, I wish they were the same
Faces and names only cause problems for me
Faces and names
Id rather be a hole in the wall
Looking out on the other side
Id rather look and listen, listen and not talk
To faces and names
If I had a breakdown when I was a kid
I lost my hair when I was young
If you dress older when youre not
As your really age you look the same
If we all looked the same, we wouldnt play these games
Me dressing for you and you dressing for me
Undressing for me
Faces and names, if they all were the same
You wouldnt be jealous of me or me jealous of you
Me jealous of you, me jealous of you
Your face and your name
Your face and your name
Faces and names
Faces and names
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Waste My Days
In the half-twilight of my empty year
Where I crouch, hemmed in
By an avalanche of days,
I hear the trees murmur
In some long, sad fatigue,
While birds land, hover…
And break their journeys.
My life has bunched its folds,
They gather at my feet,
As clouds, grey, scud across each enterprise;
Behind my eyes are glimpses of
Lost days, more sure and wise,
While love lies, mocking me,
And each year cries…
The clock ticks relentlessly,
The dead leaves fall,
My lost friends walk at my horizon,
The things I found familiar
Have ceased to draw my gaze…
I sleep too long and often, and
I waste my days…
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Friday
Tuesday seemed like it was thursday
Yesterday I came back down
Standing there
Just like the fool I know I'd become
I realize that I'm aware
Once again I see the sunshine
Yeah, and
I wipe the sleep out of my eyes
Well I wake up
To find the world has not stopped turning
And I
And I am gonna be alright
And I lost way too much in you
Now I don't know what to do
Oh, Oh, Oh
I broke down
Just like I have so times before
Now I see that nothing has changed
Oh, Oh, Oh
And lately things
Have turned around back where they were before
And I got too much on my mind
Mind...
Tuesday seemed like it was thursday, WHOA
Yesterday I came back down
Standing there
Just like the fool I know I'd become
I realize that I'm aware
And I lost way too much in you
Now I don't know what to do
Oh, Oh, Oh
I broke down
Just like I have so times before
Now I see that nothing has changed
Oh, Oh, Oh
And lately things
Have turned around back where they were before
And I got too much on my mind
Mind...
I broke down
Just like I have so times before
Now I see that nothing has changed
Oh, Oh, Oh
And lately things
Have turned around back where they were before
And I got too much on my mind
Mind...
OLD SCHOOL GUITAR SOLO
song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Beyond
MY heart it lies beyond, dear,
In the land of the setting day,
Where the whispers are soft and fond, dear,
Of the voices that pass away;
And oft, when the night is falling,
5
And a calm is on the sea,
I fancy I hear them calling
rom that far-off land for me.
It is only idle dreaming,
But the dream is full of rest,
10
And up where that glory is streaming,
From the gates of the golden west,
I wander away in spirit,
With a mingled joy and pain,
Till I almost seem to inherit
15
The sweet dead past again.
I see the old dear faces,
I greet them hand to hand;
But sadly too, for the places
Seem strange in that curious land;
20
Till a new light breaks, and all other
Grows dim to my streaming eyes;
For a son has found his mother
In the depths of the throbbing skies.
Yes, my heart it lies beyond, dear,
25
Where that sun is burning low,
And were you not so fond, dear,
I might perhaps—but no!
Are you weary already with walking?
And tears! What tears, dear, too!
30
How selfish of me to be talking,
My darling, in this way to you!
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!