A Gravestone
Far from the churchyard dig his grave,
On some green mound beside the wave;
To westward, sea and sky alone,
And sunsets. Put a mossy stone,
With mortal name and date, a harp
And bunch of wild flowers, carven sharp;
Then leave it free to winds that blow,
And patient mosses creeping; slow,
And wandering wings, and footsteps rare
Of human creature pausing there.
poem by William Allingham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Prescience
The new moon hung in the sky, the sun was low in the west,
And my betrothed and I in the churchyard paused to rest--
Happy maiden and lover, dreaming the old dream over:
The light winds wandered by, and robins chirped from the nest.
And lo! in the meadow sweet was the grave of a little child,
With a crumbling stone at the feet and the ivy running wild--
Tangled ivy and clover folding it over and over:
Close to my sweetheart's feet was the little mound up-piled.
Stricken with nameless fears, she shrank and clung to me,
And her eyes were filled with tears for a sorrow I did not see:
Lightly the winds were blowing, softly her tears were flowing--
Tears for the unknown years and a sorrow that was to be!
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Three Steps
THREE steps there are our human life must climb.
The first is Force.
The savage struggled to it from the slime
And still it is our last, ashamed recourse.
Above that jagged stretch of red-veined stone
Is marble Law,
Carven with long endeavor, monotone
Of patient hammers, not yet free from flaw.
Three steps there are our human life must climb.
The last is Love,
Wrought from such starry element sublime
As touches the White Rose and Mystic Dove.
Poor world, that stumbles up with many a trip,
A child that clings
To the great Hand, whose lifting guardianship
Quickens in wayward feet the dream of wings!
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Daniel Henry Deniehy
TAKE the harp, but very softly for our brother touch the strings:
Wind and wood shall help to wail him, waves and mournful mountain-springs.
Take the harp, but very softly, for the friend who grew so old
Through the hours we would not hear of—nights we would not fain behold!
Other voices, sweeter voices, shall lament him year by year,
Though the morning finds us lonely, though we sit and marvel here:
Marvel much while Summer cometh, trammelled with November wheat,
Gold about her forehead gleaming, green and gold about her feet;
Yea, and while the land is dark with plover, gull, and gloomy glede,
Where the cold, swift songs of Winter fill the interlucent reed.
Yet, my harp—and oh, my fathers! never look for Sorrow’s lay,
Making life a mighty darkness in the patient noon of day;
Since he resteth whom we loved so, out beyond these fleeting seas,
Blowing clouds and restless regions paved with old perplexities,
In a land where thunder breaks not, in a place unknown of snow,
Where the rain is mute for ever, where the wild winds never go:
Home of far-forgotten phantoms—genii of our peaceful prime,
Shining by perpetual waters past the ways of Change and Time:
Haven of the harried spirit, where it folds its wearied wings,
Turns its face and sleeps a sleep with deep forgetfulness of things.
His should be a grave by mountains, in a cool and thick-mossed lea,
With the lone creek falling past it—falling ever to the sea.
His should be a grave by waters, by a bright and broad lagoon,
Making steadfast splendours hallowed of the quiet, shining moon.
There the elves of many forests—wandering winds and flying lights—
Born of green, of happy mornings, dear to yellow summer nights,
Full of dole for him that loved them, then might halt and then might go,
Finding fathers of the people to their children speaking low—
Speaking low of one who, failing, suffered all the poet’s pain,
Dying with the dead leaves round him—hopes which never grow again.
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Let It Go
(will rambeaux/jamie kyle/ron bloom)
Still thristy
But the well has run dry
I could fill it with tears
But I aint gonna cry
So hungry for some kind of sign
I look for forgiveness
But theres rage in your eyes
I shouldve seen it comin
I shouldve been warned
Now Im runnin from a heartache into a storm
If we dont let it go
Lay down the anger
Let the wild winds blow
If we dont let it go
Were soon to be strangers
If we dont let it go
So clever
In your choice of words
But the time to talk is over
When no one gets hurts
So crazy
To leave it this way
With so little said
And so much to say
I shouldve seen it comin
I shouldve realize love has a dark side that cant be denied
If we dont let it go
Lay down the anger
Let the wild winds blow
If we dont let it go
Were soon to be strangers
If we dont let it go
Were holdin on so tight
Were shutting out the lights
On a love well never know
If we dont let it go
Lay down the anger
If we dont let it go
Lay down the anger
Let the wild winds blow
If we dont let it go
Were soon to be strangers
If we dont let it go
Lay down the anger
Let the wild winds blow
If we dont let it go
Were soon to be strangers
If we dont let it go
If we dont, if we dont, let it go
song performed by by Jo Dee Messina
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Early Works - The Seasons
Sky clouded and morbid blue
with cracks for the sun to shine through.
Fields barren and dead
with leaves turning from green to red.
Birds on high winging south
as rivers flow from its mouth.
Sun shines a light of cold on the
ground as autumn approaching us surrounds.
The leaves of orange and red mould where they are blown
as upon us winder begins to grow.
After a while comes a white blanket of snow
covering everything that will grow.
The nights get long
and the winter winds blow strong.
Everything is frozen fast
and in this wintry waste, none must trespass.
Overnight comes the warmth of a rearing sun
bringing with it the spring,
life to every living thing.
Trees and flowers bud, bloom,
and around the corner summer begins to loom.
As everything, turns’ smiling around
there is heard in the wind loves sweet sound.
Then with sunsets beautiful, but not rare
we can tell summer is in the air.
Flowers in full bloom spread multicolour around
as small creatures scamper on the ground
under the sun profound.
All the mysteries that summer does involve
will soon be gone as the seasons again revolve.
Date Unknown. (Early 1970’s I think)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wild & Peaceful
(j.p. maunick / ski oakenful)
There is no greater feeling to unfold
Guided by the inspiration love is bold
It is the fire burning in your soul
It is the story waiting to be told
Wild and peaceful
Rare and free
Wild and peaceful
Rare and free
You came and took away my emptiness
Put in its place a gift of tenderness
Wherever your river will flow
You know my love will follow
Wherever your river will flow
You know my love will follow
Through the jungles of your mind
You are the treasure waiting to be found
You are the wings that take me heaven bound
Wild and peaceful
So rare and free
song performed by by Incognito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Wild & Peaceful (K-Dope Remix)
J.P. Maunick / Ski Oakenful)
There is no greater feeling to unfold
Guided by the inspiration love is bold
It is the fire burning in your soul
It is the story waiting to be told
Wild and peaceful
Rare and free
Wild and peaceful
Rare and free
You came and took away my emptiness
Put in its place a gift of tenderness
Wherever your river will flow
You know my love will follow
Wherever your river will flow
You know my love will follow
Through the jungles of your mind
You are the treasure waiting to be found
You are the wings that take me heaven bound
Wild and peaceful
So rare and free
song performed by by Incognito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hamilton
WILD and wet, and windy wet falls the night on Hamilton,
Hamilton that seaward looks unto the setting sun,
Lady of the patient face, lifted everlastingly,
Veiled and hushed and mystical as a cloistered nun.
O the days, the cruel days creeping over Hamilton
Like a train of haggard ghosts, homeless and accursed,
Moaning for a fleet o’ dream silver-sailed and wonderful,
Moaning for a sorrow’s sake, the fairest and the first.
O the moon, the lonely moon, leaning low on Hamilton,
Thro’ the years that sunder us the dead come back, come back,
Scent of white eucrephia stars blown on winds of Memory,
Glint and gleam of fagus gold adown the torrent’s track.
Half my heart is buried there, buried high on Hamilton,
Lonely is the sepulchre with never stone for sign,
Where the nodding myrtle-plumes stand like sable sentinels
And the ruddy rimony wreathes the hooded pine.
Half my heart is yearning yet, yearning yet for Hamilton,
Hamilton beyond the surge of sobbing Southern main,
O the croon of wistful winds calling, calling, calling me,
Where the mottled mountain thrush is singing in the rain.
We shall ne’er go back again, back again to Hamilton,
Heart o’ me, our track is toward the heart of burning day,
Hills beyond the call of hills beaconing and beckoning—
Westward, westward winds the track, a thread of dusky grey.
poem by Marie E J Pitt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bill's Grave
I'm gatherin' flowers by the wayside to lay on the grave of Bill;
I've sneaked away from the billet, 'cause Jim wouldn't understand;
'E'd call me a silly fat'ead, and larf till it made 'im ill,
To see me 'ere in the cornfield, wiv a big bookay in me 'and.
For Jim and me we are rough uns, but Bill was one o' the best;
We 'listed and learned together to larf at the wust wot comes;
Then Bill copped a packet proper, and took 'is departure West,
So sudden 'e 'adn't a minit to say good-bye to 'is chums.
And they took me to where 'e was planted, a sort of a measly mound,
And, thinks I, 'ow Bill would be tickled, bein' so soft and queer,
If I gathered a bunch o' them wild-flowers, and sort of arranged them round
Like a kind of a bloody headpiece . . . and that's the reason I'm 'ere.
But not for the love of glory I wouldn't 'ave Jim to know.
'E'd call me a slobberin' Cissy, and larf till 'is sides was sore;
I'd 'ave larfed at meself too, it isn't so long ago;
But some'ow it changes a feller, 'avin' a taste o' war.
It 'elps a man to be 'elpful, to know wot 'is pals is worth
(Them golden poppies is blazin' like lamps some fairy 'as lit);
I'm fond o' them big white dysies. . . . Now Jim's o' the salt o' the earth;
But 'e 'as got a tongue wot's a terror, and 'e ain't sentimental a bit.
I likes them blue chaps wot's 'idin' so shylike among the corn.
Won't Bill be glad! We was allus thicker 'n thieves, us three.
Why! 'Oo's that singin' so 'earty? JIM! And as sure as I'm born
'E's there in the giddy cornfields, a-gatherin' flowers like me.
Quick! Drop me posy be'ind me. I watches 'im for a while,
Then I says: "Wot 'o, there, Chummy! Wot price the little bookay?"
And 'e starts like a bloke wot's guilty, and 'e says with a sheepish smile:
"She's a bit of orl right, the widder wot keeps the estaminay."
So 'e goes away in a 'urry, and I wishes 'im best o' luck,
And I picks up me bunch o' wild-flowers, and the light's gettin' sorto dim,
When I makes me way to the boneyard, and . . . I stares like a man wot's stuck,
For wot do I see? Bill's grave-mound strewn with the flowers of Jim.
Of course I won't never tell 'im, bein' a tactical lad;
And Jim parley-voos to the widder: "Trez beans, lamoor; compree?"
Oh, 'e'd die of shame if 'e knew I knew; but say! won't Bill be glad
When 'e stares through the bleedin' clods and sees the blossoms of Jim and me?
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Buried Love
I have come to bury Love
Beneath a tree,
In the forest tall and black
Where none can see.
I shall put no flowers at his head,
Nor stone at his feet,
For the mouth I loved so much
Was bittersweet.
I shall go no more to his grave,
For the woods are cold.
I shall gather as much of joy
As my hands can hold.
I shall stay all day in the sun
Where the wide winds blow, --
But oh, I shall cry at night
When none will know.
poem by Sara Teasdale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mystery Of Mysteries
BEFORE the abyss of the unanswering grave
Each mortal stands at last aloof, alone,
With his beloved one turned as deaf as stone,
However rebel love may storm and rave.
No will, however strong, avails to save
The wrecked identity knit to our own;
We may not hoard one treasured look or tone,
Dissolved in foam on Death's dissolving wave.
Is this the End? This handful of brown earth
For all releasing elements to take
And free for ever from the bonds of birth?
Or will true life from Life's disguises break,
Called to that vast confederacy of minds
Which casts all flesh as chaff to all the winds?
poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Forest Reverie
'Tis said that when
The hands of men
Tamed this primeval wood,
And hoary trees with groans of woe,
Like warriors by an unknown foe,
Were in their strength subdued,
The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
To springs that ne'er did flow
That in the sun Did rivulets run,
And all around rare flowers did blow
The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
And the queenly lily adown the dale
(Whom the sun and the dew
And the winds did woo),
With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew.
So when in tears
The love of years
Is wasted like the snow,
And the fine fibrils of its life
By the rude wrong of instant strife
Are broken at a blow
Within the heart
Do springs upstart
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the heart whose hope has died--
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,--
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,
The rare and radiant flowers of song!
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Come With The Summer Leaves
Come with the summer leaves, love, to my grave,
And, if you doubt among the quiet dead,
Choose out that mound where greenest grasses wave
And where the flowers grow thickest and most red.
Come in the morning while the dews of night,
Which are fair Nature's tears in darkness shed,
Rim the sad petals nor are garnered quite,
Like my lost hopes untimely harvested.
Come to my grave--ah gather, love, those flowers!
Out of my heart they grow for your dear head.
These are its songs unwritten and all yours,
The love I loved you with and left unsaid.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Slow
How slow the time passes
On hot summer days,
How heavy the air,
And the heat, and the haze.
How slow the sun's creeping
In reaching for noon,
How long now the day-time
Belonging to June.
How dry lies the earth
In the farmer's old hands,
How slow plod the herds
As they stroll off his land.
How sweet the bird sings
In the old apple tree,
How slow the leaves falling
O'er pathway and lea.
How far the bell tolls
Over green evening fields,
How close now the haymakers'
Singing and reels.
How slow the time passes
In twilight's night shade,
How slow fell the footsteps
True lovers once made.
Written March 1995
poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Like winds and sunsets, wild things were taken for granted until progress began to do away with them. Now we face the question whether a still higher 'standard of living' is worth its cost in things natural, wild and free. For us of the minority, the opportunity to see geese is more important that television.
quote by Aldo Leopold
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Green Dot
A green dot was wandering one day,
Where is its spot, where it can lay! ,
It delayed its arrival,
And all the green is now gone,
The green dot is wandering searching,
Goofing the streets under rain and thunder,
It moves fast and slow, gradual run,
From the shore, to the bays,
When it was deceived by the beauty of trees,
What beauty can it see, but she wasn’t comfee,
Because it wasn’t that green,
What green it could be?
What green does it belong?
It don’t know, but the search seemed to be long,
Oh! Lil green dot, lil green dot,
What is this mess all about?
The lil green dot missed its way,
And now it dun no where to stay,
Where are the other green, where is its stain?
Forever the search, Forever it will feel the pain,
To be away from the other green dots.
poem by Mustafa Ghuneim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Why Do They Leave?
Oh why do they leave
Oh why do they leave
On the day that you needed them the most
Simple cards and things
Rose colored sunsets no flowers for me
Simple cards and things
Rose colored sunsets no flowers for me
Lover why do you leave
Lover why do you leave
On the day I want you for me
Say say it aint so
That he will take you tomorrow
And I will sit here today
The worst
Simple cards and things
Rose colored sunsets no flowers for me
Simple cards and things
Rose colored sunsets curtains for me
Lover why do you leave
Lover why do you leave
On the day I want you to be
The one
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Mother's Wail
The sweet young Spring walks over the earth,
It flushes and glows on moor and lea;
The birds are singing in careless mirth,
The brook flows cheerily on to the sea;
And I know that the flowers are blooming now
Over my beautiful darling's brow:
Blooming and blowing in perfume now
Over my poor lost darling's brow.
The breath of the passionate Summer turns
The green of the hills to a deeper dye;
The wind from the south land blows and burns,
The sun grows red in the brazen sky;
And I know that the long, dank grasses wave
Over my beautiful darling's grave:
Rise and fall, and lift and wave
Over my darling's narrow grave.
The days flow on, and the summer dies,
And glorious Autumn takes the crown;
And toward the south the robin flies,
And the green of the hills grows dull and brown;
And the leaves, all purple, and gold, and red,
Drift over my precious darling's bed:
Drift and flutter, all gold and red,
Over my darling's lowly bed.
The Winter comes with its chilling snows,
And wraps the world in a spotless shroud;
And cold from the north the wild wind blows,
And the tempest rages fierce and loud;
It shrieks, and sobs, and sighs, and weeps
Over the mound where my darling sleeps:
In pity, it sobs, and sighs, and weeps
Over the mound where my lost one sleeps.
He was so young, and fair, and brave:
The pride of my bosom-my heart's best joy;
And he lieth now in a drunkard's grave;
My beautiful darling, my only boy:
But down in my heart of hearts, I know
He has gone where his tempters never can go:
To heaven his soul has gone, I know,
Where the soul of his tempters never can go.
They charmed him into their licensed hell,
They gave him rum, and his eye grew wild;
And lower and lower down he fell,
Till they made a fiend of my precious child:
May the curses of God fall on the soul
Who gave my darling the poison bowl!
Ay, curses dark and deep on the soul
Who tempted my darling to lift the bowl!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Butterfly
Fly, O butterfly fly in the clear and sunny day
Fly about in freedom in your haphazard way.
Fly onto colourful flowers and plants giving sustenance away
Fly as only you know how and live to see and fly another day.
Such a creature that you are and so very delicately made
A marvel of creation clothed in colours which do persuade.
What a contrast there is while you're motionless to that when you're in flight
A splendid example of nature to which all the credit is due allowing this sight.
Although you have your own season and have much with which to display
You're only here for a short time and like to make the most of it each day.
With angelic-like wings of splendour it seems you fly around effortlessly
From one area to another wherever your discretionary whim takes thee.
You are a creature of metamorphosis or the product and result of transforming change
Could this be the reason why that beauteous form of yours covers such a broad range?
For in the life-span which has been allotted to you a rare beauty you've now become
An exemplar of harmonious existence with nature that is evidently a hobby for some.
In the whole wide world there's hardly a creature that bears any resemblance to you
And it's only in your rather less noble relation the moth there's some semblance true.
You're verily also a creature that appears to revel in broad daylight
Though your cousin is mainly one who usually abounds in the night.
And you have wings that are mostly poised upright behind you when in rest
While those of your kindred are but lowly hung and only widespread at best.
It also occurs to me you're more refined and sensitive by birthright than your relation
As you're the one who avoids flying headlong into objects and get the most adulation.
Fly O butterfly fly and may you find your happy mate
Fly to where love takes you and wandering does sate.
Fly all around to every place in your naturally free and delightful state
Fly as only you know how and live to share with all that eventful fate.
poem by George Krokos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Seeing a Train Start for the Seaside
O might I leave this grassy place
For spreading foam about my feet!
The splendid spray upon my face,
The flying brine itself were sweet
If I might hear on Cromer beach
The freedom of Old Neptune's speech!
Ah, never language like to this
For those whose ears can understand!
Sometimes the coming of a kiss
To mate the ocean with the strand;
Sometimes the nameless oath is heard
The sea-god thunders through his beard!
I have a sea of blue on high,
I have a sea of green beneath;
For me sweet inland birds do cry
Until with joy I hold my breath;
But Ocean's harp of wave and stone
Is bird and leaf and stream in one!
Upon my dancing apple-sprays
The blackbird whistles melodies;
Half through a mellow run he stays
And flashes to a neighbour's trees:
He's rare, but rarer now would be
The strident pebbles of the sea.
And is it strange that round the shore
The lyric water should rejoice?
Ah no! for ever more and more
The happy dead are in its voice.
Majestic poet! might I be
As full of song, as finely free!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!