The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXXII
FROM THE FRENCH OF ANVERS
My heart has its secret, my soul its mystery,
A love which is eternal begotten in a day.
The ill is long past healing. Why should I speak to--day?
For none have ears to hear, and, least of all, she.
Alas I shall have lived unseen tho' ever near,
For ever at her side, for ever too alone.
I shall have lived my life unknowing and unknown,
Asking naught, daring naught, receiving naught from her.
And she, whom Heaven made kind and chaste and fair,
Shall go undoubting on, the while upon her way
The murmur of my love shall fill the land,
Till, reading here perchance severe and unaware
These lines so full of her, she shall look up and say
``Who was this woman then?'' and shall not understand.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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My Secret
My soul its secret has, my life too has its mystery,
A love eternal in a moment's space conceived;
Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history,
And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed.
Alas! I shall have passed close by her unperceived,
Forever at her side, and yet forever lonely,
I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only
Daring to ask for naught, and having naught received.
For her, though God has made her gentle and endearing,
She will go on her way distraught and without hearing
These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend.
Piously faithful still unto her austere duty,
She will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty,
"Who can this woman be?" and will not comprehend.
poem by Felix Arvers, translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Simona Enache
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My Secret. (From The French Of Felix Arvers)
My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mystery,
A love eternal in a moment's space conceived;
Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history,
And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed.
Alas! I shall have passed close by her unperceived,
For ever at her side and yet for ever lonely,
I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only
Daring to ask for nought, and having nought received.
For her, though God hath made her gentle and endearing,
She will go on her way distraught and without hearing
These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend,
Piously faithful still unto her austere duty,
Will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty,
Who can this woman be? and will not comprehend.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Dreams
There is naught in the pathless reach
Of the pale, blue sky above,
There is naught that the stars tell, each to each,
As over the heavens they rove;
That I have not felt, or have not seen
Clad in dull earth or fancy's sheen.
There is naught, in the still, mauve twilight
When the dreams come flitting by,
From lands afar of eternal night,
Or lands of the sunswept sky,
For countless spirits within me dwell
With heaven's efflugence or dark hell.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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An Immorality
Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.
Though I have been in many a land,
There is naught else in living.
And I would rather have my sweet,
Though rose-leaves die of grieving,
Than do high deeds in Hungary
To pass all men's believing.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Love Is Not Love
Love is not love if it comes with thought of condition;
A heart is not alive unless it is capable of submission
To the ardor it holds for another that naught may explain.
Love is not love if but mere time may sustain
Not, the fervor of same-
As though an eternal flame
That is subject to the sands of time;
So long as word, at the hands of rhyme,
May proffer explication of its lasting power,
It shall stand not prey, to the passing hour!
Love is not love if it bends, buckles, or breaks:
Love is subject but to the same it makes
Of another and contrariwise, naught more-
It is not our's to wonder: 'how? ', or 'what for? '.
-Maurice Harris,24 May 2012
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Palmed Heart
I knocked on the door of her soul
peered into its window
tried to see her there at the table
where she sits each day;
I listened for her heart beats
tried to divine her secret place
her mystery needs.
But no;
my trek and voyeurism
came to naught;
she kept all her secrets in her pillow keep
and I had at last
to knock her door
and wait for her to turn the lock
peer out
and ask
'Hi, do I know you? '
She did not; but my eyes had fixed her
many times
and she knew them, their gaze.
She looked at me-
looked at my eyes-
beginning to slowly recognize
they had sought her many times.
I hoped they could speak for me
that they could communicate what words could not convey.
But, I could only stand there and allow proximity
to inveigh what I could not, make my silence speak;
place my soul in the palm of my hand
for long seconds
while she looked and looked
a puzzle-stranger at her door.
She finally said.
'Come in, have something to drink; I have made some tea.
I think she recognized me finally
as someone who from afar
had given her their heart
and she was kind enough
not to slam the door
on it
and I.
It was not love
but kindness here
but that dear reader
is what allows True Love in the door
and she did.
And that was the main thing I needed to know about her
and that was what made me love her.
first from afar
and now
up close.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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To Me, A Mystery
In some ways you choose to remain, to me, a mystery-
Wonder do I at thought of such: 'why...what for? '
Alas, the more I know about you-I love you more!
Know do I too, not is it I you fear, but your pain's 'history'!
You must know this though my bonnie lass:
Nary can cause repeat of hurt for you, being my cause-
Thought surely of my requited love enough to give pause!
In return, I offer you stewardship of my heart, made of glass!
Replete am I, heart and soul, with you in my embrace-
Harm shall ne'er come to you as long as I am alive,
To be the Prince worthy of my Princess, is what for I shall strive:
Wanton of naught in return, but witness to your grace!
The fates surely have been kind to me in their erudition:
To recompense their faith in us, I shall make my life's mission!
Maurice Harris,16 November 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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I Know, I know, I know
'I know, I know, I know, ' you softly say.
But, how can I be sure you understand
My depth of love? From you what will convey
Assurances to me, that when we stand
Alone, we two; I whisper in your ear
Equivalent soft-spoken words, I'll know
That you will comprehend that what you hear
Is uttered from my soul? Not just a flow
Of idle praise but, solemn words that mean
That unrelenting, pounding, lonely heart
Of this, perhaps, most foolish man, unseen
Behind a mask of practiced calm, that part
Of me that dies a little more each day,
By longing for your kiss on lip and brow,
Has had to speak or break; has had to say,
What lies so heavely therein. The vow
So long withheld from you, of silent love,
Is broken, breached, confessed, oh yes, its true.
My penance paid, now truth, and God above,
Forgive my sin, my sin of loving you.
I speak without reproof, deceit or guilt.
My burden of existence is no more.
My wounds, unhealed from long held silence, built
The weakened structure of this man. To shore
My mental framework, give me peace of mind,
I plead you this, my dear, please hear my prayer.
If love's responce to me is disinclined
And, I have lost love's grace, I won't dispair
Denied your love from me, if you can find
Naught else but this, I pray you please be kind.
(Rhymed Iambs)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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All Pervading Consciousness
And as His Essence all the world pervades
Naught in Creation is, save this alone.
Upon the waters has He fixed His Throne,
This earth suspended in the starry space,
Yet what are seas and what is air? For all
Is God, and but a talisman are heaven and earth
To veil Divinity. For heaven and earth,
Did He not permeate them, were but names;
Know then, that both this visible world and that
Which unseen is, alike are God Himself,
Naught is, save God: and all that is, is God.
And yet, alas! by how few is He seen,
Blind are men's eyes, though all resplendent shines
The world by Deity's own light illumined,
0 Thou whom man perceiveth not, although
To him Thou deignest to make known Thyself;
Thou all Creation art, all we behold, but Thou,
The soul within the body lies concealed,
And Thou dost hide Thyself within the soul,
0 soul in soul! Myst'ry in myst'ry hid!
Before all wert Thou, and are more than all!
poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
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Rondel. (From Froissart)
Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine?
Naught see I fixed or sure in thee!
I do not know thee,--nor what deeds are thine:
Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine?
Naught see I fixed or sure in thee!
Shall I be mute, or vows with prayers combine?
Ye who are blessed in loving, tell it me:
Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine?
Naught see I permanent or sure in thee!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Nothing
Pain
All consuming
Like a fire
I can't breathe
There's nothing left
What have you done?
My hands are shaking
I can't sit still
My mind is racing
My heart is breaking
Strangled gasps
Heart races
It's all a blur
Where am I?
What happened?
Who are you?
You stole my breath
My mind
My heart
My body
Are you a thief?
Are you a liar?
Who is it that can do something so small,
Yet so large
That I have nothing left
Only pain
Only rage
Only hurt
Only tears
Only blood
Only fears
Only death
Have you stolen everything?
Or is my life still left?
I hear naught
I see naught
I feel naught
I smell naught
I taste naught
Am I nothing?
Are you nothing?
There's nothing left
I sense nothing
I know nothing
This must mean I am nothing
It must mean you are nothing
Am I nobody?
Like a myth
Like a legend
Like a story
Does this make everything I've said
And done
And felt
Unreal
Like a dream
Or a story
Or a thought
So it never happened?
You didn't make me love you?
You didn't hurt me?
You didn't make me cry?
Make me bleed?
Make me suffer?
You didn't leave me there
On the street
On a sidewalk
So I could bleed out?
You didn't hold a knife?
You didn't violate me?
You didn't kill me?
You didn't walk away?
You didn't lie?
I didn't exist meaning
You didn't exist so
You must not have
Meaning
I am not dead because
I just never existed
And you are not alive
Because you never existed
We are just nothing
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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My Heart's Poignant Grief
Many a lonely day, lo, many a mournful night
I have pondered when, wherest again, I may sight
My pride and joy, my children, most beauteous-
Until this glorious day, I remain steadfast and duteous!
I muse upon how, toward me, they may now cogitate;
Does thought not cross them, perchance, they efflagitate?
Assuredly, my absence from their lives is not trifle:
I shall stay this when reasons for my state do stifle!
My heart aches as days without them do elapse,
Others may believe: 'worry not, your heart adapts';
Alas, not-it withers without, time does not heal-
Synoptic they would be, if they but felt what I feel!
Naught is there to minify my heart's poignant grief,
But for consort again with them, naught is there relief!
Maurice Harris,19 October 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Dream Song I
Long years ago, within a distant clime,
Ere Love had touched me with his wand sublime,
I dreamed of one to make my life's calm May
The panting passion of a summer's day.
And ever since, in almost sad suspense,
I have been waiting with a soul intense
To greet and take unto myself the beams,
Of her, my star, the lady of my dreams.
O Love, still longed and looked for, come to me,
Be thy far home by mountain, vale, or sea.
My yearning heart may never find its rest
Until thou liest rapt upon my breast.
The wind may bring its perfume from the south,
Is it so sweet as breath from my love's mouth?
Oh, naught that surely is, and naught that seems
May turn me from the lady of my dreams.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXXXI
TO ONE WHOM HE HAD LOVED TOO LONG
Why do I cling to thee, sad love? Too long
Thou bringest me neither pleasure to my soul
Nor profit to my reason save in song,
My daily utterance. See, thy beggar's dole
Of foolish tears cannot my tears cajole;
Thy laughter doth my laughter grievous wrong;
Thy anger angereth me; thou heapest coal
Of fire upon my head the drear night long
With thy forgiveness. What is this thou wilt?
Mine ears have ceased to hear, my tongue to speak,
And naught is left for my spent heart to do.
Love long has left the feast; the cup is spilt.
Let us go too. The dawn begins to break,
And there is mockery in this heaven of blue.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Hen's Nest
Among the orchard weeds, from every search,
Snugly and sure, the old hen’s nest is made,
Who cackles every morning from her perch
To tell the servant girl new eggs are laid;
Who lays her washing by, and far and near
Goes seeking all about from day to day,
And stung with nettles tramples everywhere;
But still the cackling pullet lays away.
The boy on Sundays goes the stack to pull
In hopes to find her there, but naught is seen,
And takes his hat and thinks to find it full,
She’s laid so long so many might have been.
But naught is found and all is given o’er
Till the young brood come chirping to the door.
poem by John Clare
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Like A Butterfly
In my boyhood,
So sweet so lovely;
Like an eagle with its meteor eyes.
This pilot is guiding me,
This love is my hope;
Like a swarm of golden bees.
Of my unseen feet,
Of your unseen feet,
Of his unseen feet,
Of her unseen feet,
From Cape to Cape;
I am lured by the love of my growth.
Of a world so fair,
Eyes have not seen it;
It is like life beyond the tomb of love.
Ears have not heard its deep songs of joy,
This land is full of harvest;
But another race has filled it.
In silence and in fear like,
The banners up high in the sky;
Living in a better land as expected but,
A little weeping will ease my heart.
Another joy has come like,
The anthem of freed Slaves;
Where i do hear you speak like the long Amazon River.
Quiet as a stone,
A thing of beauty is of a joy;
Like a bed of straw in my boyhood,
Of the days gone by like a butterfly.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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All For Naught, I Do Not Believe
Naught did I possess any seer, for my abject fear,
Naught are there any here-to see, as I tear!
My best friend has been corrupted,
My entire life, completely, tragically interrupted!
For what reason might be this the case?
Pain has been caused, ne'er to be erased
Drunketh was I, from the cup of my life-
Joined at my festival, by the one who was to be my Wife!
Severed from my family, as though something wrong, I had done!
Falsity was causal to this pain, known to all, but for the one!
Wheresoever she may wander, back to reason,
So too may she allow for the changing of her pain's season!
All for naught, I do not believe-part of His plan-
Each day which passes, I grow more, to understand!
Maurice Harris,23 December 2007
poem by Maurice Harris
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To Molde
Molde, Molde,
True as a song,
Billowy rhythms whose thoughts fill with love me,
Follow thy form in bright colors above me,
Bear thy beauty along.
Naught is so black as thy fjord, when storm-lashes
Sea-salted scourge it and inward it dashes,
Naught is so mild as thy strand, as thine islands,
Ah, as thine islands!
Naught is so strong as thy mountain-linked ring,
Naught is so sweet as thy summer-nights bring.
Molde, Molde,
True as a song,
Murm'ring memories throng.
Molde, Molde,
Flower-o'ergrown,
Houses and gardens where good friends wander!
Hundreds of miles away,-but I'm yonder
'Mid the roses full-blown.
Strong shines the sun on that mountain-rimmed beauty,
Fast is the fight, let each man do his duty.
Friends, who your favor would never begrudge me,
Gently now judge me!-
Only with life ends the fight for the right.
Thought flees to you for a refuge in light.
Molde, Molde,
Flower-o'ergrown,
Childhood's memories' throne.
Oh, may at last
In thine embrace, life's fleeting
Conflict past,
Glad thine evening-glory greeting,
-Where life let thought awaken,-
My thought by death be taken!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Sunrise
Ive been waiting to hear your voice for too long now
One way conversations do not work somehow
Tell me how does one get your soul in touch with the one above
When one way conversations pay a price for the use of love
I tried so hard last night you would not talk to me
I live with the fear of the few with the gift
And I know whats going to be
Why did you never speak my name in front of my family
You gave a gift that you then took away
Like you never did before
Your name might be God but you dont say that much to me
Your name might be God but you dont say that much to me
We might be your black sheep
But you forgot us a long time ago
We might be your lost sheep
But its time you remembered us now
As we spend our days together, nothing can go wrong
No one told the truth about it because it was so strong
If you ever think of me, if you hear my name
If you read between the lines, youll hang your head in shame
These ? ? ? ears will never hear, the ice will never freeze
Whatever I have done for you I did because you complained
( whatever you may think of me whatever you may say
Ive lived my whole life in danger,
Youve lived your life in hate )*
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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