Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum
O steep and rugged Life, whose harsh ascent
Slopes blindly upward through the bitter night!
They say that on thy summit, high in light,
Sweet rest awaits the climber, travel-spent;
But I, alas, with dusty garments rent,
With fainting heart and failing limbs and sight,
Can see no glimmer of the shining height,
And vainly list, with body forward bent,
To catch athwart the gloom one wandering note
Of those glad anthems which (they say) are sung
When one emerges from the mists below:
But though, O Life, thy summit be remote
And all thy stony path with darkness hung,
Yet ever upward through the night I go.
poem by William Gay
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Light Between the Trees
Long, long, long the trail
Through the brooding forest-gloom,
Down the shadowy, lonely vale
Into silence, like a room
Where the light of life has fled,
And the jealous curtains close
Round the passionless repose
Of the silent dead.
Plod, plod, plod away,
Step by step in mouldering moss;
Thick branches bar the day
Over languid streams that cross
Softly, slowly, with a sound
In their aimless creeping
Like a smothered weeping,
Through the enchanted ground.
"Yield, yield, yield thy quest,"
Whispers through the woodland deep;
"Come to me and be at rest;
"I am slumber, I am sleep."
Then the weary feet would fail,
But the never-daunted will
Urges "Forward, forward still!
"Press along the trail!"
Breast, breast, breast the slope!
See, the path is growing steep.
Hark! a little song of hope
When the stream begins to leap.
Though the forest, far and wide,
Still shuts out the bending blue,
We shall finally win through,
Cross the long divide.
On, on, onward tramp!
Will the journey never end?
Over yonder lies the camp;
Welcome waits us there, my friend.
Can we reach it ere the night?
Upward, upward, never fear!
Look, the summit must be near;
See the line of light!
Red, red, red the shine
Of the splendour in the west,
Glowing through the ranks of pine,
Clear along the mountain-crest!
Long, long, long the trail
Out of sorrow's lonely vale;
But at last the traveller sees
Light between the trees!
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Lyrics Of Love And Sorrow
I
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Heigho, but the world is gloomy;
The light has failed and the lamp down hurled,
Leaves only darkness to me.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Ah me, but the world is dreary;
The night is down, and my curtain furled
But I cannot sleep, though weary.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Alas for a hopeless hoping,
When the flame went out in the breeze that swirled,
And a soul went blindly groping.
II
The light was on the golden sands,
A glimmer on the sea;
My soul spoke clearly to thy soul,
Thy spirit answered me.
Since then the light that gilds the sands,
And glimmers on the sea,
But vainly struggles to reflect
The radiant soul of thee.
III
The sea speaks to me of you
All the day long;
Still as I sit by its side
You are its song.
The sea sings to me of you
Loud on the reef;
Always it moans as it sings,
Voicing my grief.
IV
My dear love died last night;
Shall I clothe her in white?
My passionate love is dead,
Shall I robe her in red?
But nay, she was all untrue,
She shall not go drest in blue;
Still my desolate love was brave,
Unrobed let her go to her grave.
V
There are brilliant heights of sorrow
That only the few may know;
And the lesser woes of the world, like waves,
Break noiselessly, far below.
I hold for my own possessing,
A mount that is lone and still--
The great high place of a hopeless grief,
And I call it my 'Heart-break Hill.'
And once on a winter's midnight
I found its highest crown,
And there in the gloom, my soul and I,
Weeping, we sat us down.
But now when I seek that summit
We are two ghosts that go;
Only two shades of a thing that died,
Once in the long ago.
So I sit me down in the silence,
And say to my soul, 'Be still,'
So the world may not know we died that night,
From weeping on 'Heart-break Hill.'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Remorse. (From August Von Platen)
How I started up in the night, in the night,
Drawn on without rest or reprieval!
The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my sight,
As I wandered so light
In the night, in the night,
Through the gate with the arch mediaeval.
The mill-brook rushed from the rocky height,
I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning;
Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight,
As they glided so light
In the night, in the night,
Yet backward not one was returning.
O'erhead were revolving, so countless and bright,
The stars in melodious existence;
And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;--
They sparkled so light
In the night, in the night,
Through the magical, measureless distance.
And upward I gazed in the night, in the night,
And again on the waves in their fleeting;
Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight,
Now silence thou light,
In the night, in the night,
The remorse in thy heart that is beating.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Your Ascent
How many times you’ve fallen means nothing.
It’s how many times you got up that make the difference.
Your climb toward life’s summit will suffer falls if you’ve charted a high enough course.
Each fall only makes your ascent sweeter if you arise wiser and continue.
Plan your next step rather than fearing your next fall.
If you start with fear, you have already fallen even before taking your next step.
During your ascent, you will rise and fall like the sea.
As the falls rise take care; as the rises fall take heart.
Beware of a slide masquerading as smooth ride.
As the tempo quickens, remember a fall is fast, an ascent slow.
Look ahead with your eyes and behind with your memory.
While ascending don’t let your vision be blurred by your memory.
Remember the past only as it can relate to your present and future.
The past without reference is nothing, but the past with only remorse is worse than nothing.
See the present for what it is rather than should have been.
Live the present before it is the past while planning for the future before it is the present.
During your ascent think quickly, but deliberately.
What you have put behind will gain on you if you don’t keep moving ahead.
Keep your mind on the summit, your eyes on the ascent and your foot on the very next step.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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My Stairway
MY STAIRWAY
There is a stairway
In my mind
Spiraling upward-
Ever Upward.
Upon my journey-
I sometimes tire
And must
Stop to rest.
At times,
I fall back a step
Or two,
But always,
I look upward
As I travel
On my journey.
Upward, I travel,
On that spiraling
Staircase-
Toward a reward.
The reward
Our Heavenly Father
Has promised
So long ago.
Just the twinkling
Of an eye.
A whole lifetime
for you and me.....
Only an instant
In Eternity............
author: Carolyn Ford Witt
3-25-1980
By Ms. Caroline
© 2006 Ms. Caroline (All rights reserved)
poem by Carolyn Ford Witt
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Heat
From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
Beyond, and melt into the glare.
Upward half-way, or it may be
Nearer the summit, slowly steals
A hay-cart, moving dustily
With idly clacking wheels.
By his cart's side the wagoner
Is slouching slowly at his ease,
Half-hidden in the windless blur
Of white dust puffiing to his knees.
This wagon on the height above,
From sky to sky on either hand,
Is the sole thing that seems to move
In all the heat-held land.
Beyond me in the fields the sun
Soaks in the grass and hath his will;
I count the marguerites one by one;
Even the buttercups are still.
On the brook yonder not a breath
Disturbs the spider or the midge.
The water-bugs draw close beneath
The cool gloom of the bridge.
Where the far elm-tree shadows flood
Dark patches in the burning grass,
The cows, each with her peaceful cud,
Lie waiting for the heat to pass.
From somewhere on the slope near by
Into the pale depth of the noon
A wandering thrush slides leisurely
His thin revolving tune.
In intervals of dreams I hear
The cricket from the droughty ground;
The grasshoppers spin into mine ear
A small innumerable sound.
I lift mine eyes sometimes to gaze:
The burning sky-line blinds my sight:
The woods far off are blue with haze:
The hills are drenched in light.
And yet to me not this or that
Is always sharp or always sweet;
In the sloped shadow of my hat
I lean at rest, and drain the heat;
Nay more, I think some blessèd power
Hath brought me wandering idly here:
In the full furnace of this hour
My thoughts grow keen and clear.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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The Joy of Incompleteness
If all our life were one broad glare
Of sunlight, clear, unclouded;
If all our path were smooth and fair,
By no soft gloom enshrouded;
If all life's flowers were fully blown
Without the sweet unfolding,
And happiness were rudely thrown
On hands too weak for holding--
Should we not miss the twilight hours,
The gentle haze and sadness?
Should we not long for storms and showers
To break the constant gladness?
If none were sick and none were sad,
What service could we render?
I think if we were always glad,
We scarcely could be tender.
Did our beloved never need
Our patient ministration,
Earth would grow cold and miss indeed
Its sweetest consolation;
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
And every wish were granted,
Patience would die, and hope depart--
Life would be disenchanted.
And yet in heaven is no more night,
In heaven is no more sorrow!
Such unimagined new delight
Fresh grace from pain will borrow.
As the poor seed that underground
Seeks its true life above it,
Not knowing what will there be found
When sunbeams kiss and love it,
So we in darkness upward grow,
And look and long for heaven,
But cannot picture it below
Till more of light be given.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Summit Mt Everest Death Zone Tested
ego skilled self-esteem
may summit Mt Everest
in heights rarified inflated...
feeling approach supremacy
climb into thin air past...
death zone 8000 metres
temperatures chill low level
frostbite extremities body parts...
exposed to contact ice air
snow shaded well-frozen...
deaths injury mistake slipping
falling stalks pounces high winds
threatens life diced changeable...
potential threat stalks climbers
baited breath altitude on Everest...
low atmospheric pressure
at summit alluring on Everest
about a third of sea level...
low pressure resulting in
availability in limited about...
a deprivation starved third oxygen
left to breathe in blood oxygen level
summit plummets expunged depleted...
vastly increased pace breathing rate
times three four hundred percent...
exhaustion attempting to breathe
lacking oxygen extreme cold
climbing hazards all contribute...
to death zone death toll an injured
climber who cannot walk is in...
serious threatening life trouble
rescue by helicopter death zone
too high cannot peak fly carrying...
a climber off death zone heights
reaper Everest is extremely risky...
only skilled egos climb Everest
battle fierce three harsh masters
consciousness mind edge memory
to reconcile claims demands weary
control planning confirming reality
unconscious psyche source deep
primitive impulses drives id fears
superego conscience morals forms
standards rules ethical choice society
summit triumph or rescue lost attempt
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Africa
A thousand years of darkness in her face,
She turns at last from out the centurys' blight
Of labored moan and dull oppression's might,
To slowly mount the rugged path and trace
Her measured step unto her ancient place.
And upward, ever upward towards the light
She strains, seeing afar the day when right
Shall rule the world and justice leaven the race.
Now bare her swarthy arm and firm her sword,
She stands where Universal Freedom bleeds,
And slays in holy wrath to save the word
Of nations and their puny, boasting creeds.
Sear with the truth, O God, each doubting heart,
Of mankind's need and Afric's gloried part.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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Sonnet 27
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts--from far where I abide--
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The summit
My preconceived thoughts have no limit,
My perceptions have my heart ignite,
My path your eyes have given light,
My hope dont have power nor might,
Should I put aside weapons or fight,
There we are at the summit
We searched in the places of lovers,
We found all the lovers things along,
So many different pictures we painted,
So many different paintings we pictured,
We had to make vital choices,
Look at us, standing upon the summit
Look at us my beautiful lover,
Beyond the imagination of all our thoughts,
We sailed past the deepest seas,
The water so bluest yet us so purest,
The trip was always long my love,
All the same, we at the summit now
Some built houses, we built a home,
The clouds are closer my love,
Lets not step down this mountain,
Its me and you forever more,
Me and you upon the summit
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Sonnet 27: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tirèd;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expirèd.
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see;
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which like a jewel, hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Elemento De Noctis
Element of the Night, Darkness. My way and my path of life.
I've been ranting continuously ever since I found out that the Dark is actually light in a different form. So I made my 'E' poem Elemento de Noctis:
Darkness was created with the land
The dark one stretched out his old gloomy hand
Yet not a soul is willing to go
In darkness you reap, in darkness you sow
Darkness is one of the light
It shines its energy out day and night
Yet nobody trusts its presence
Due to human fear towards its essence
The dark is never evil
From the beginning it is good
Yet from the beginning it is misunderstood
As both light and dark are mutual
The dark cannot exist without light
Just as day could not end without night
The path of life that nobody has taken
The path of life that I have awaken
Upward and upward
I am first
You are second
Rest third.
Have you heard?
Comeforward
Here is our world.
Nothing soft
Nothing hard
Out life is to go
Upward and upward.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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In A Vale
When I was young, we dwelt in a vale
By a misty fen that rang all night,
And thus it was the maidens pale
I knew so well, whose garments trail
Across the reeds to a window light.
The fen had every kind of bloom,
And for every kind there was a face,
And a voice that has sounded in my room
Across the sill from the outer gloom.
Each came singly unto her place,
But all came every night with the mist;
And often they brought so much to say
Of things of moment to which, they wist,
One so lonely was fain to list,
That the stars were almost faded away
Before the last went, heavy with dew,
Back to the place from which she came-
Where the bird was before it flew,
Where the flower was before it grew,
Where bird and flower were one and the same.
And thus it is I know so well
Why the flower has odor, the bird has song.
You have only to ask me, and I can tell.
No, not vainly there did I dwell,
Nor vainly listen all the night long.
poem by Robert Frost
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1897
Deep in my hidden country stands a peak,
and none hath known its name
and none, save I, hath even skill to seek:
thence my wild spirit came.
Thither I turn, when the day's garish world
too long hath vex'd my sight,
and bare my limbs where the great winds are whirl'd
and life's undreaded might.
For there I know the pools of clearest blue,
glad wells of simple sooth,
there, steep'd in strength of glacier springs, renew
the lucid body of youth,
there I alone may know the joy of quest
and keen delight of cold,
or rest, what time the night with naked breast
and shaken hair of gold,
folds me so close, that her great breath would seem
to fill the darkling heart
with solemn certainty of ancient dream
or whisperingly to impart
aeonian life, larger than seas of light,
more limpid than the dawn:
there, when my foot hath touch'd the topmost height,
the fire from heaven is drawn.
If any murmur that my 'sdainful hand
withholds its sacrifice
where ranged unto the Law the peoples stand,
let this blown word suffice:
The gift of self is self's most sacred right:
only where none hath trod,
only upon my secret starry height
I abdicate to God.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
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In the St. Gotthardt Pass
The storm which shook the silence of the hills
And sleeping pinnacles of ancient snow
Went muttering off in one last thunder throe
Mixed with a moan of multitudinous rills;
Yea, even as one who has wept much, but stills
The flowing tears of some convulsive woe
When a fair light of hope begins to glow
Athwart the gloom of long remembered ills:
So does the face of this scarred mountain height
Relax its stony frown, while slow uprolled
Invidious mists are changed to veiling gold.
Wild peaks still fluctuate between dark and bright,
But when the sun laughs at them, as of old,
They kiss high heaven in all embracing light.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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The Dream of Those Days
The dream of those days when first I sung thee is o'er
Thy triumph hath stain'd the charm thy sorrows then wore;
And even the light which Hope once shed o'er thy chains,
Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains.
Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in thy heart,
That still the dark brand is there, though chainless thou art;
And Freedom's sweet fruit, for which thy spirit long burn'd,
Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath turn'd?
Up Liberty's steep by Truth and Eloquence led,
With eyes on her temple fix'd, how proud was thy tread!
Ah, better thou ne'er hadst lived that summit to gain,
Denied in the porch, than thus dishonour the fane.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Thick Is The Darkness
Thick is the darkness -
Sunward, O, sunward!
Rough is the highway -
Onward, still onward!
Dawn harbours surely
East of the shadows.
Facing us somewhere
Spread the sweet meadows.
Upward and forward!
Time will restore us:
Light is above us,
Rest is before us.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Darkness Of...
Darkness is not the darkness of night
it is the darkness of mind and soul.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of discrimination between poor and rich.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of dishonesty.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of aggravate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is darkness of corruption.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of indiscipline.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of animosity.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of inveterate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of perjury.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness that we all brought up inside us,
so, light the lamp of light inside you...
poem by Suniya Garg
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