The Dedication To A Book Of Stories
SELECTED FROM THE IRISH NOVELISTS
THERE was a green branch hung with many a bell
When her own people ruled this tragic Eire;
And from its murmuring greenness, calm of Faery,
A Druid kindness, on all hearers fell.
It charmed away the merchant from his guile,
And turned the farmer's memory from his cattle,
And hushed in sleep the roaring ranks of battle:
And all grew friendly for a little while.
Ah, Exiles wandering over lands and seas,
And planning, plotting always that some morrow
May set a stone upon ancestral Sorrow!
I also bear a bell-branch full of ease.
I tore it from green boughs winds tore and tossed
Until the sap of summer had grown weary!
I tore it from the barren boughs of Eire,
That country where a man can be so crossed;
Can be so battered, badgered and destroyed
That he's a loveless man: gay bells bring laughter
That shakes a mouldering cobweb from the rafter;
And yet the saddest chimes are best enjoyed.
Gay bells or sad, they bring you memories
Of half-forgotten innocent old places:
We and our bitterness have left no traces
On Munster grass and Connemara skies.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Dedication To A Book Of Stories Selected From The Irish Novelists
There was a green branch hung with many a bell
When her own people ruled this tragic Eire;
And from its murmuring greenness, calm of Faery,
A Druid kindness, on all hearers fell.
It charmed away the merchant from his guile,
And turned the farmer's memory from his cattle,
And hushed in sleep the roaring ranks of battle:
And all grew friendly for a little while.
Ah, Exiles wandering over lands and seas,
And planning, plotting always that some morrow
May set a stone upon ancestral Sorrow!
I also bear a bell-branch full of ease.
I tore it from green boughs winds tore and tossed
Until the sap of summer had grown weary!
I tore it from the barren boughs of Eire,
That country where a man can be so crossed;
Can be so battered, badgered and destroyed
That he's a loveless man: gay bells bring laughter
That shakes a mouldering cobweb from the rafter;
And yet the saddest chimes are best enjoyed.
Gay bells or sad, they bring you memories
Of half-forgotten innocent old places:
We and our bitterness have left no traces
On Munster grass and Connemara skies.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kohoutek
Who will stand alone?
She carried ribbons, she wore them out
Courage built a bridge, jealous tore it down
At least its something youve left behind
Like kohoutek, you were gone
We sat in the garden, we stood on the porch
I wont deny myself, we never talked
She wore bangles, she wore bells
On her toes and she jumped like a fish
Like a flyin friend, you were gone
Like kohoutek, cant forget that
Fever built a bridge, reason tore it down
If I am one to follow.. who will stand alone?
Maybe youre not the problem
Scissors, paper, stone
If you stand and holler, these prayers will talk
She carried ribbons, she wore them out
Michael built a bridge...michael tore it down
At least its something youve left behind
Like kohoutek, you were gone
Michael built a bridge... michael tore it down
If I stand and holler... will I stand alone?
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Leaf
A little oak leaf tore off from its branch
Was driven o'er the steppe by a cruel gale;
Dried up and withered from the cold, the heat and sorrow
It finally alit by the Black Sea shore.
A young plane tree stands by the Black Sea shore;
A whispering wind strokes her green boughs;
On her green boughs sway heavenly birds
Singing the praises and fame of the queen of the sea.
The traveler lit at the soaring tree's roots;
Anguished he pled for a moment's shelter,
And these were his words: "I am but a poor oak leaf,
Matured before my time in a grim homeland.
For ages I've wandered without a goal, all alone
Without shade I withered, without repose, faded.
Would you welcome this stranger among your emerald leaves,
I know many stories of wonder and wisdom."
"But why do I need you?" the young tree replies, -
"You are dusty and yellow - ill-suited to my wholesome young sons.
You've seen many things - but what use do I have for your tales?
The heavenly birds have long wearied my ears.
O traveler! Be on your way. You are a stranger to me!
Beloved by the sun, I bloom and shine for him;
My boughs are spread in the heavenly fields,
The cool sea refreshes and washes my roots."
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Shadowy Waters: The Harp of Aengus
Edain came out of Midhir's hill, and lay
Beside young Aengus in his tower of glass,
Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs,
And sleepy boughs, and boughs where apples made
Of opal and ruhy and pale chrysolite
Awake unsleeping fires; and wove seven strings,
Sweet with all music, out of his long hair,
Because her hands had been made wild by love.
When Midhir's wife had changed her to a fly,
He made a harp with Druid apple-wood
That she among her winds might know he wept;
And from that hour he has watched over none
But faithful lovers.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Harp Of Aengus
Edain came out of Midhir's hill, and lay
Beside young Aengus in his tower of glass,
Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs,
And sleepy boughs, and boughs where apples made
Of opal and ruhy and pale chrysolite
Awake unsleeping fires; and wove seven strings,
Sweet with all music, out of his long hair,
Because her hands had been made wild by love.
When Midhir's wife had changed her to a fly,
He made a harp with Druid apple-wood
That she among her winds might know he wept;
And from that hour he has watched over none
But faithful lovers.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fergus And The Druid
Fergus. This whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape,
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.
Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
Fergus. This would I Say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, So I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.
Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
Fergus. A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head
Druid. What would you, Fergus?
Fergus. Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.
Druid. Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.
Fergus. A king is but a foolish labourer
Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.
Druid. Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
Fergus. I See my life go drifting like a river
From change to change; I have been many things --
A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold --
And all these things were wonderful and great;
But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.
Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Saint Germain-En-Laye
(1887-1895)
Through the green boughs I hardly saw thy face,
They twined so close: the sun was in mine eyes;
And now the sullen trees in sombre lace
Stand bare beneath the sinister, sad skies.
O sun and summer! Say in what far night,
The gold and green, the glory of thine head,
Of bough and branch have fallen? Oh, the white
Gaunt ghosts that flutter where thy feet have sped,
Across the terrace that is desolate,
And rang then with thy laughter, ghost of thee,
That holds its shroud up with most delicate,
Dead fingers, and behind the ghost of me,
Tripping fantastic with a mouth that jeers
At roseal flowers of youth the turbid streams
Toss in derision down the barren years
To death the host of all our golden dreams.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Sleep
I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep-
A hidden wood among the hill-tops green,
Full of soft streams and little winds that creep
The murmuring boughs between.
A hollow cup above the ocean placed
Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be,
But woodland light and shadow interlaced
And summer sky and sea.
There in the fragrant twilight I will raise
A secret altar of the rich sea sod,
Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise
Unto my lonely god:
Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers,
The deadening poppies in an ocean shell
Round which through all forgotten days and hours
The great seas wove their spell.
So may he send me dreams of dear delight
And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain,
And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night
To hear the falling rain.
And when he meets me at the dusk of day
To call me home for ever, this I ask-
That he may lead me friendly on that way
And wear no frightful mask.
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Green Month
WHAT of all the colours shall I bring you for your fairing,
Fit to lay your fingers on, fine enough for you ?–
Yellow for the ripened rye, white for ladies' wearing,
Red for briar-roses, or the skies' own blue ?
Nay, for spring has touched the elm, spring has found the willow,
Winds that call the swallow home sway the boughs apart;
Green shall all my curtains be, green shall be my pillow,
Green I'll wear within my hair, and green upon my heart.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tree of Laughing Bells
[A Poem for Aviators]
How the Wings Were Made
From many morning-glories
That in an hour will fade,
From many pansy buds
Gathered in the shade,
From lily of the valley
And dandelion buds,
From fiery poppy-buds
Are the Wings of the Morning made.
The Indian Girl Who Made Them
These, the Wings of the Morning,
An Indian Maiden wove,
Intertwining subtilely
Wands from a willow grove
Beside the Sangamon —
Rude stream of Dreamland Town.
She bound them to my shoulders
With fingers golden-brown.
The wings were part of me;
The willow-wands were hot.
Pulses from my heart
Healed each bruise and spot
Of the morning-glory buds,
Beginning to unfold
Beneath her burning song of suns untold.
The Indian Girl Tells the Hero Where to Go to Get the Laughing Bell
"To the farthest star of all,
Go, make a moment's raid.
To the west — escape the earth
Before your pennons fade!
West! west! o'ertake the night
That flees the morning sun.
There's a path between the stars —
A black and silent one.
O tremble when you near
The smallest star that sings:
Only the farthest star
Is cool for willow wings.
"There's a sky within the west —
There's a sky beyond the skies
Where only one star shines —
The Star of Laughing Bells —
In Chaos-land it lies;
Cold as morning-dew,
A gray and tiny boat
Moored on Chaos-shore,
Where nothing else can float
But the Wings of the Morning strong
And the lilt of laughing song
From many a ruddy throat:
"For the Tree of Laughing Bells
Grew from a bleeding seed
Planted mid enchantment
Played on a harp and reed:
Darkness was the harp —
Chaos-wind the reed;
The fruit of the tree is a bell, blood-red —
The seed was the heart of a fairy, dead.
Part of the bells of the Laughing Tree
Fell to-day at a blast from the reed.
Bring a fallen bell to me.
Go!" the maiden said.
"For the bell will quench our memory,
Our hope,
Our borrowed sorrow;
We will have no thirst for yesterday,
No thought for to-morrow."
The Journey Starts Swiftly
A thousand times ten thousand times
More swift than the sun's swift light
Were the Morning Wings in their flight
On — On —
West of the Universe,
Thro' the West
To Chaos-night.
He Nears the Goal
How the red bells rang
As I neared the Chaos-shore!
As I flew across to the end of the West
The young bells rang and rang
Above the Chaos roar,
And the Wings of the Morning
Beat in tune
And bore me like a bird along —
And the nearing star turned to a moon —
Gray moon, with a brow of red —
Gray moon with a golden song.
Like a diver after pearls
I plunged to that stifling floor.
It was wide as a giant's wheat-field
An icy, wind-washed shore.
O laughing, proud, but trembling star!
O wind that wounded sore!
He Climbs the Hill Where the Tree Grows
On —
Thro' the gleaming gray
I ran to the storm and clang —
To the red, red hill where the great tree swayed —
And scattered bells like autumn leaves.
How the red bells rang!
My breath within my breast
Was held like a diver's breath —
The leaves were tangled locks of gray —
The boughs of the tree were white and gray,
Shaped like scythes of Death.
The boughs of the tree would sweep and sway —
Sway like scythes of Death.
But it was beautiful!
I knew that all was well.
A thousand bells from a thousand boughs
Each moment bloomed and fell.
On the hill of the wind-swept tree
There were no bells asleep;
They sang beneath my trailing wings
Like rivers sweet and steep.
Deep rock-clefts before my feet
Mighty chimes did keep
And little choirs did keep.
He Receives the Bells
Honeyed, small and fair,
Like flowers, in flowery lands —
Like little maidens' hands —
Two bells fell in my hair,
Two bells caressed my hair.
I pressed them to my purple lips
In the strangling Chaos-air.
He Starts on the Return Journey
On desperate wings and strong,
Two bells within my breast,
I breathed again, I breathed again —
West of the Universe —
West of the skies of the West.
Into the black toward home,
And never a star in sight,
By Faith that is blind I took my way
With my two bosomed blossoms gay
Till a speck in the East was the Milky way:
Till starlit was the night.
And the bells had quenched all memory —
All hope —
All borrowed sorrow:
I had no thirst for yesterday,
No thought for to-morrow.
Like hearts within my breast
The bells would throb to me
And drown the siren stars
That sang enticingly;
My heart became a bell —
Three bells were in my breast,
Three hearts to comfort me.
We reached the daytime happily —
We reached the earth with glee.
In an hour, in an hour it was done!
The wings in their morning flight
Were a thousand times ten thousand times
More swift than beams of light.
He Gives What He Won to the Indian Girl
I panted in the grassy wood;
I kissed the Indian Maid
As she took my wings from me:
With all the grace I could
I gave two throbbing bells to her
From the foot of the Laughing Tree.
And one she pressed to her golden breast
And one, gave back to me.
From Lilies of the valley —
See them fade.
From poppy-blooms all frayed,
From dandelions gray with care,
From pansy-faces, worn and torn,
From morning-glories —
See them fade —
From all things fragile, faint and fair
Are the Wings of the Morning made!
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blue Skies Bring Tears
Unleash the armageddon
So all the children go to heaven
I sit by quiet still
With their pictures on my eyes
You'll draw the guns your given
Write down the words as written
And never disturb the presense
Of resurrection touch
And it's about time
It's about drawing near
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Descend the darkened stairway
Make hate with plastic playmates
And fire out remaining traces
Of your self esteem
Mainline the deepest secrets
Lick clean the dirty fingers
I am a stranger to you
As you are to yourself
And it's about time
It's about fear
Blue skies bring tears
Don't you want me (don't want you)
Cause I await cityside
We'll watch the seas start to die
Blue skies bring tears
Take me inside your body
Blue skies bring tears
Cover me with your soul
Blue skies bring tears
To the darkest reasons
Blue skies bring tears
Is where I wish to go
Blue skies bring tears
You are the sweetest flower
Blue skies bring tears
That I have ever devoured
Blue skies bring tears
I ask for nothing given
Blue skies bring tears
For nothing in return
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from Machina: The Machines Of God
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Indian To His Love
THE island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.
Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:
How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam
and dart,
The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water's drowsy blaze.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jingle Bell Rock
Jingle bell, jingle bell
Jingle bell rock
Jingle bell swing
And jingle bells ring
Snowin' and blowin'
Up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun
Jingle bell, jingle bell
Jingle bell rock
Jingle bells chime in
Jingle bell time
Dancin' and prancin'
In jingle bell square
In the frosty air
What a bright time
It's the right time
To rock the night away
Jingle bell, time
Is a swell time
To go glidin' in a
one horse sleigh
Giddy-up, jingle horse
Pick up your feet
Jingle around the clock
Mix and mingle
In a jinglin' beat
That's the jingle bell rock
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Jingle Bell Rock
Jingle bell, jingle bell
Jingle bell rock
Jingle bell swing
And jingle bells ring
Snowin and blowin
Up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun
Jingle bell, jingle bell
Jingle bell rock
Jingle bells chime in
Jingle bell time
Dancin and prancin
In jingle bell square
In the frosty air
What a bright time
Its the right time
To rock the night away
Jingle bell, time
Is a swell time
To go glidin in a
One horse sleigh
Giddy-up, jingle horse
Pick up your feet
Jingle around the clock
Mix and mingle
In a jinglin beat
Thats the jingle bell rock
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Whats Really Happening
Grown inside a plastic box
Micro thoughts and safety locks
Hearts become outdated clocks
Ticking in your mind
Now its time to close our eyes
Now its time to say goodbye
Now its time to face the lie
That wed never cry
Whats really happening, what tore us apart
Whats really happening
Whats really happening, what tore us apart
Whats really happening
All the clouds are made of glass
And theyre slowly sinking
Falling like the shattered past
Were we built to last?
Whats really happening, what tore us apart
Whats really happening
Whats really happening, what tore us apart
Whats really happening
Now its time to close our eyes
Now its time to say goodbye
Now its time to face the lie
That wed never cry
Whats really happening, what tore us apart
Whats really happening
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ring Them Bells
Ring them bells ye heathen from the city that dreams
Ring them bell from the sanctuaries, 'cross the valleys and streams
For they're deep and they're wide, and the world's on its side
And time is a-runnin' backwards and so is the bride
Ring them bells St. Peter where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
Oh it's rush hour now. on the wheel of the plow
And the sun is a-goin' down upon the sacred cow
Ring them bells sweet Martha for the poor man's son
Ring them bells so the world will know that God is one
For the shepherd is asleep where the willow weep
And the mountain is filled with lost sheep
Ring them bells - for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells - all those who are left
Ring them bells - for the chosen few
Who'll judge the many when the game is through
Ring them bells - for the time that flies
For the child who cries when innocence dies
Ring them bells St. Catherine from the top of the roof
Ring the bells from the fortress for the lilies that bloom
For the lines are long and the fighting is strong
And they're breakin' down the distance between right and wrong
song performed by by Alice In Chains
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Church-Bell
As I was lying in my bed
I heard the church-bell ring;
Before one solemn word was said
A bird began to sing.
I heard a dog begin to bark
And a bold crowing cock;
The bell, between the cold and dark,
Tolled. It was five o'clock.
The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang,
A clear true voice he had;
The cock crew, and the church-bell rang,
I knew it had gone mad.
A hand reached down from the dark skies,
It took the bell-rope thong,
The bell cried "Look! Lift up your eyes!"
The clapper shook to song.
The iron clapper laughed aloud,
Like clashing wind and wave;
The bell cried out "Be strong and proud!"
Then, with a shout, "Be brave!"
The rumbling of the market-carts,
The pounding of men's feet
Were drowned in song; "Lift up your hearts!"
The song was loud and sweet.
Slow and slow the great bell swung,
It hung in the steeple mute;
And people tore its living tongue
Out by the very root.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To The Rose Upon The Rood Of Time
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, where of stars, grown old
In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come near, that no more blinded hy man's fate,
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
Come near, come near, come near -- Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
Lest I no more bear common things that crave;
The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,
The field-mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ring Them Bells
Ring them bells ye heathen from the city that dreams
Ring them bell from the sanctuaries, cross the valleys and streams
For theyre deep and theyre wide, and the worlds on its side
And time is a-runnin backwards and so is the bride
Ring them bells st. peter where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
Oh its rush hour now. on the wheel of the plow
And the sun is a-goin down upon the sacred cow
Ring them bells sweet martha for the poor mans son
Ring them bells so the world will know that God is one
For the shepherd is asleep where the willow weep
And the mountain is filled with lost sheep
Ring them bells - for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells - all those who are left
Ring them bells - for the chosen few
Wholl judge the many when the game is through
Ring them bells - for the time that flies
For the child who cries when innocence dies
Ring them bells st. catherine from the top of the roof
Ring the bells from the fortress for the lilies that bloom
For the lines are long and the fighting is strong
And theyre breakin down the distance between right and wrong
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!