Ave, Caesar!
From the winter's grey despair,
From the summer's golden languor,
Death, the lover of Life,
Frees us for ever.
Inevitable, silent, unseen,
Everywhere always,
Shadow by night and as light in the day,
Signs she at last to her chosen;
And, as she waves them forth,
Sorrow and Joy
Lay by their looks and their voices,
Set down their hopes, and are made
One in the dim Forever.
Into the winter's grey delight,
Into the summer's golden dream,
Holy and high and impartial,
Death, the mother of Life,
Mingles all men for ever.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Related quotes
Life Is Lovely All the Year
When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Beach On A Winters Day
The rows of wooden groynes where we once bathed in warm sunshine
Are now battered by the sea,
Waves crash along the shoreline
And go on endlessly.
The beach that was so crowded with people in the summer
On what seemed like endless days of sun,
I walk along the deserted seashore
And now I am the only one.
I think about those summer days
Of barbicue picknicks and strawberries and cream,
But now these cold dark winter days
Make the summer like some very far off dream.
I stand and look up at the clifftops
That tower above me so high,
While out at sea lights of distant ships
Light the darkened sky,
The sea that was so warm and blue in the summer
Is now so stormy and grey,
Now I just sit here and dream of summer
On the beach on a winters day.
poem by Gordon Butchers
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Think Of Me
Think of me, when 'mid joy and gladness
They bark glides smoothly down life's tranquil stream.
When thy life, free from care or sadness,
Is calm and peaceful as a summer dream.
Think of me, though thy path be dreary,
Though care and sorrow may thy life enshroud;
When crushed hopes make the heart grow weary
And life seems darkened by a wintry cloud.
Think of me, let thy heart grow kinder
In summer's sunshine or in winter's gloom,
Think of me, when thy sole reminder
Is but the shadow of my silent tomb.
poem by Thomas E. Spencer
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Sonnet for a Grey Morning
Another grey morning, much like the last
and for tomorrow, more fog’s the forecast.
When days seem the same, life always seems cold.
Night flows to night, the sad world grows old
as clouds wrap my soul in still, fatal pall
but hearts must be silent, though bold blood calls
for death to cruel winter, and end to dark days,
fair spring to release enthralled golden rays.
But looking at you, I see in your eyes
the brilliance lost from blue summer's last sky
and when you smile, in your warm glow I feel
your love overwhelm me, new suns revealed.
Overcast, confined though the earth may be
with you in my day, spring’s born endlessly.
poem by Steven Federle
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
Death death
Death death death
Death death death death
Death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death
Death death death death
Death death death
Death death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Signs of the Believer
Under us are signs of the believers,
We walk upon snow and ice too cold.
The ice age reigns like winter,
Always in shine, ever in weather.
The waves of pure delight overcome us
When we march against the lands.
The land of cold is like the land of old,
We are fortunate due to the age of winter.
Under the signs of winter are moments
We adore and recollect, for the innocence to remind.
This realised me, and my family in winter,
Understanding the heat of the summer.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Point Of View: I
I
There was never winter, summer only: roses,
Pink and white and red,
Shining down the warm rich garden closes;
Quiet trees and lawns of dappled shadow,
Silver lilies, whisper of mignonette,
Cloth-of-gold of buttercups outspread;
Good gold sun that kissed me when we met,
Shadows of floating clouds on sunny meadow.
In the hay-field, scented, grey,
Loving life and love, I lay;
By fresh airs blown, drifted into sleep;
Slept and dreamed there. Winter was the dream.
II
Summer never was, was always winter only;
Cold and ice and frost
Only, driven by the ice-wind, lonely,
In a world of strangers, in the welter
Of the puddles and the spiteful wind and sleet,
Blinded by the spitting hailstones, lost
In a bitter unfamiliar street,
I found a doorway, crouched there for just shelter,
Crouched and fought in vain for breath,
Cursed the cold and wished for death;
Crouched there, gathered somehow warmth to sleep;
Slept and dreamed there. Summer was the dream.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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When The Clocks Go Back
I dread the day, when the clocks go back;
Of daylight hours, there’s now a real lack.
I wish that, like some animals, we could hibernate,
As winter is a time of year, which I don’t highly rate.
At six o’clock, in the summer, it was still really very light,
But the same time, in winter, feels like the dead of night.
Once it gets dark, it suddenly feels really late,
And, these are the days, which I really hate.
There are a few winter events, on which, I’m keen,
Such as, Christmas, Bonfire Night, and Halloween.
But, for me, winter is just a season, to be got through;
It’s hard to keep myself from feeling down and blue.
My system begins to feel rather sluggish and slow,
As everything around me, loses its once golden glow.
Unlike, in the summer, when you feel at your best,
In winter, it’s all too easy, to lose some of your zest.
On dark evenings, it is now more dangerous to roam,
And, if I do, then it means getting a taxi back home.
On long summer evenings, people love to sit outside,
But, in winter, in their homes, they’d much rather hide.
With less daylight hours, there’s an increase in crime;
Unfortunately, for us, it’s a sign of our modern times.
For people, who now go to and from work, in the dark,
It’s no longer safe, to take a short cut through the park.
One of my favourite times of year, is the onset of spring;
A time when my sleepy soul, once more, begins to sing.
Spring is a season, which I really look forward to;
The onslaught of winter, it helps me to pull through.
Winter weather is very often dull and grey,
With persistent, heavy rain, on many a day.
When the weather warms up, I feel on a high:
Glad that the winter has, at last, passed on by.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Ballade of Summer's Sleep
Sweet summer is gone; they have laid her away-
The last sad hours that were touched with her grace-
In the hush where the ghosts of the dead flowers play;
The sleep that is sweet of her slumbering space
Let not a sight or a sound erase
Of the woe that hath fallen on all the lands:
Gather, ye dreams, to her sunny face,
Shadow her head with your golden hands.
The woods that are golden and red for a day
Girdle the hills in a jewelled case,
Like a girl's strange mirth, ere the quick death slay
The beautiful life that he hath in chase.
Darker and darker the shadows pace
Out of the north to the southern sands,
Ushers bearing the winter's mace:
Keep them away with your woven hands.
The yellow light lies on the wide wastes gray,
More bitter and cold than the winds that race,
From the skirts of the autumn, tearing away,
This way and that way, the woodland lace.
In the autumn's cheek is a hectic trace;
Behind her the ghost of the winter stands;
Sweet summer will moan in her soft gray place:
Mantle her head with your glowing hands.
Envoi.
Till the slayer be slain and the spring displace
The might of his arms with her rose-crowned bands,
Let her heart not gather a dream that is base:
Shadow her head with your golden hands.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Summer Turns To High
Mercury is rising still
Turn the fan on high
I wont step on my own shadow
No one wants to cry.
Someone put a pox on me
I spit in their eyes
Summer turns to high.
Lift my bed sheet keep in sandles
Circle search and there are candles
Summers here but night is raising hopes and dragonflies
If those hopes are overshadowed
Cotton-candy, caramel-wafer.
Summer turns to high
Summer turns to high
Summer turns to high
Summer high
After wine and nectarines the fireflies in turn
Move like syrup through the evening with the sweet resign
I wont fight for cant happen
Im preoccupied
Summer turns to high
Summer turns to high
Summer turns to high
Summer high.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Time Blues
Try to add perfumes to your minds to meet me there,
The summer is here and it is with the blues;
You are not alone on this hot summer night.
We havethe natural fragrant to keep us going,
The summer time blues to swing with the muse;
You are not alone without the blues.
Scents for your love,
Mid-Summer-Night blues to your taste;
Enjoy the summer with the safety of numbers.
Summer time blues,
The fragrant of love to keep you going;
Summer, summer, summer time! !
Summer time blues,
The summer of a muse;
Summer time blues,
The summer of a poem;
With relationships that moves you up.
Summer time blues,
With the heat waves to crown the day;
Perfume your body to meet up to the act.
Let us visit Copacabana and Ipanema this summer,
Of the rocky promontory at sight to give you hope;
Like the summer time blues with your lover.
It is summer time,
Visit the beaches to see things for yourselves;
Summer, summer, summer time! !
Meet me there and touch me with your heart.
A summer time love with the blues,
Like the golden grape of my soul;
Summer is the essence of a colourful life.
The sense of reality in times like this,
The heat with love to share with others;
Where the hearts of lovers do meet like,
One's love never touched before.
Summer time blues is all about this muse,
A time of love to share with your lover;
Summer, summer, summer time! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Weather Report Suite Part 1
Winter rain, now tell me why, Summers fade, and roses die.
The answer came; the wind and rain.
Golden hills, now veiled in grey, Summer leaves have blown away
Now what remains? The wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings, Knowing,
Like a song that's born to soar the sky, Flowing,
Flowing 'til the waters all are dry, Growing, the loving in her eyes.
Circle songs and sands of time, and seasons will end in tumbled rhyme,
and little change, the wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings,
Knowing, Like a song that's born to soar the sky,
Flowing, Flowing 'til the rivers all are dry, Growing, the loving in her eyes.
Winter grey and falling rain, we'll see summer come again,
Darkness falls and seasons change (gonna happen every time).
Same old friends the wind and rain, Summers fade and roses die,
You'll see summer come again, Like a song that's born to soar the sky.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weather Reporst Suite Part I
Winter rain, now tell me why, Summers fade, and roses die.
The answer came; the wind and rain.
Golden hills, now veiled in grey, Summer leaves have blown away
Now what remains? The wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings, Knowing,
Like a song that's born to soar the sky, Flowing,
Flowing 'til the waters all are dry, Growing, the loving in her eyes.
Circle songs and sands of time, and seasons will end in tumbled rhyme,
and little change, the wind and rain.
And like a desert spring, my lover comes and spreads her wings,
Knowing, Like a song that's born to soar the sky,
Flowing, Flowing 'til the rivers all are dry, Growing, the loving in her eyes.
Winter grey and falling rain, we'll see summer come again,
Darkness falls and seasons change (gonna happen every time).
Same old friends the wind and rain, Summers fade and roses die,
You'll see summer come again, Like a song that's born to soar the sky
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Golden Dream
Golden dream of summer morn,
By a well-remembered stream
In the land where I was born,
Golden dream!
Ripples, by the glancing beam
Lightly kissed in playful scorn,
Meadows moist with sunlit steam.
When I lift my eyelids worn
Like a fair mirage you seem,
In the winter dawn forlorn,
Golden dream!
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Golden Waves
As I languished on the sandy beach
in the summer of my youth,
a pretty maiden there beside me
watching the sparkling waves
turned golden by the sun.
What future dreams I had
of a life together as one
I cannot tell.
Time has robbed me of that memory,
all I know is if I had a dream
it was tarnished without repair.
Our lives together would never be
our worlds we would never share,
for as the summer faded
our love would soon be gone.
Her words imprinted forever
on my memory.
“I love you and don’t want to hurt you
so I am packing you up.”
Then walked away leaving me
with questions I could not answer
and memories of those golden waves
under a warm summer sun.
More years have passed
than I care to remember
and she is now a faded memory,
but her last words
still torment and haunt me.
3 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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To Each a Season
Summer kisses Winter's Hands
thereby warming them
as she takes her hair
and wraps him
in the midst of the blowing gale;
her arms reach out
to his icy branches
giving a spark to each sleeping bud
awaking each from its frozen winter encasement.
But Winter's Heart
is cold indeed
whispering to her in her ministrations
'I am Winter and Winter is my fate;
from my icy cradle
Spring is born
and I must not miss her birth.'
Summer was angry.
'Am I not more fair than she?
Have I not given you solace
in your icy retreat?
Have I not offered you much more than she?
If I withdraw my succorings
where would you be? '
'I would' Winter said
'Winter be.'
With that Summer took her Golden Hair
threw it back upon her beautiful shoulders
asking herself 'Where is the gratitude? '
Winter reached with his thin cold fingers
uttering,
'Summer is too warm for me because without
my wild blizzard face I lose my Winter Grace and Winter's dignity-
becoming only melting ice;
discarded slush
snow-flake crushed
and I would wander
my melting realm
and seep into muddy ground,
gone.'
'I understand' Summer said
'Spring, when you put it that way
seems a better bride for you since
she kisses your icy buds
slowly bringing them to blossoming
and I would perhaps apply too much heat
too soon;
they would be born flower wilted
'I understand, ' she said
flying away
'yet I am still sad.'
Below
Winter held his arms high
to welcome
the smell of
Springs breezes
not knowing
Summer in coming to him
had sacrificed her own season
and lay dead
beneath Winter's snow
unknown to him;
because indeed her love was so great
she had given up
her own Summer season.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Winter Lakes
Out in a world of death far to the northward lying,
Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day;
Under the glimmer of stars and the purple of sunsets dying,
Wan and waste and white, stretch the great lakes away.
Never a bud of spring, never a laugh of summer,
Never a dream of love, never a song of bird;
But only the silence and white, the shores that grow chiller and dumber,
Wherever the ice winds sob, and the griefs of winter are heard.
Crags that are black and wet out of the grey lake looming,
Under the sunset's flush and the pallid, faint glimmer of dawn;
Shadowy, ghost-like shores, where midnight surfs are booming
Thunders of wintry woe over the spaces wan.
Lands that loom like spectres, whited regions of winter,
Wastes of desolate woods, deserts of water and shore;
A world of winter and death, within these regions who enter,
Lost to summer and life, go to return no more.
Moons that glimmer above, waters that lie white under,
Miles and miles of lake far out under the night;
Foaming crests of waves, surfs that shoreward thunder,
Shadowy shapes that flee, haunting the spaces white.
Lonely hidden bays, moon-lit, ice-rimmed, winding,
Fringed by forests and crags, haunted by shadowy shores;
Hushed from the outward strife, where the mighty surf is grinding
Death and hate on the rocks, as sandward and landward it roars.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Verses For Pictures
Day.
I am Day; I bring again
Life and glory, Love and pain:
Awake, arise! from death to death
Through me the World’s tale quickeneth.
Spring.
Spring am I, too soft of heart
Much to speak ere I depart:
Ask the Summer-tide to prove
The abundance of my love.
Summer.
Summer looked for long am I;
Much shall change or e’er I die.
Prithee take it not amiss
Though I weary thee with bliss.
Autumn.
Laden Autumn here I stand
Worn of heart, and weak of hand:
Nought but rest seems good to me,
Speak the word that sets me free.
Winter.
I am Winter, that do keep
Longing safe amidst of sleep:
Who shall say if I were dead
What should be remembered?
Night.
I am Night: I bring again
Hope of pleasure, rest from pain:
Thoughts unsaid ’twixt Life and Death
My fruitful silence quickeneth.
poem by William Morris
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Halfdan Kjerulf
Winter had sought his life's tree to o'erthrow,
Youthful and strong. But his blood's vernal flow
Saved it from death through the cold and the maiming;
Late in the summer bright flowers were flaming,
Late in the autumn they swelled to completeness,-
Fruits that were few, but of fragrance and sweetness.
Poets received them to endless seed-sowing,
Where for his folk endless summer is glowing,-
While more and more,
Stricken he hung o'er the death-river's shore,
Fighting in weakness the winter abhorred,
Fighting for summer, the singer's reward,
Fighting while failing, with modesty rare,
Soon but in prayer.
Summer received him! He now is victorious!
Now, while they harvest the yellowing corn,
Now, while the hills hear the notes of the horn,
He
enters glorious.
Mirrored in him is true poetry's force,
Marked by our winter, in summer its source.
E'en as the air with its quivering sheen,
Leaves of the forests and red peaks serene,
Waters that wander 'mid meadows delaying
Sound with the music the sunshine is playing,-
Poetry also shall leap with new life,
If it, though failing, is faithful in strife:-
Leap from death's thronging:-
Soon comes the summer with summer's pure longing.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Winter's Summer
Winter without you is like
a summer in a winter, when memories
of your love murmur in my winter.
Summer in a winter was never been
hot as it is.when the memories
of your love thrills me today.
Winters summer were very rare when
we walked on the bed of purple flowers
with your affectionate look.
When I forget this heat and
hold you in my poetic arms, you
kiss my poem through your heart
in this winter.
winter's summer was very rare...
venky
poem by Venkatesh Nagaraj
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