Witchery Knows!
Witchery knows what it means
When the oats and the barley, the wheat and the beans,
Have been built into stacks and the stubbles are bare;
When the woodlands are flaming in russet and rose,
When there's rime on the grass and a nip in the air,
Witchery knows!
Witchery knows very well
When the gorse-tops are shaking down there in the dell,
And a Whip like a statue waits under a tree,
That the moment has come to be up on her toes
And reaching her lean little head to her knee-
Witchery knows!
Witchery knows how to creep
When the banks are still blind and the ditches are deep,
When a double looms up scarce a cat could get through,
While his true tongue beyond it old Ruffian throws,
Little Witchery knows how to take it in two-
Witchery knows!
Witchery knows how to race
When the hard-riding leaders are cramming on pace
And the dog-hounds are lifting it over the plough;
She hears the glad horn and the challenge it blows,
And she knows how to answer that merry tow-row-
Witchery knows!
Witchery knows the whole game
From the find of a fox to the death of the same;
And she knows when the woods in full splendour are dressed,
And the berries hang black where the elder-bush grows,
That it's time for a good mare to gallop her best-
Witchery knows
!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Wise For Eternity
Underneath the sea is a wizard of cleverness,
Above the oceans is a witch that does witchery;
They fold and design their plans for the wealth
Of a nation they have called, as the faster news
Spreads of a rumination in the galaxy, a polite one.
It rests and suppresses afterwards,
Like the water of the planet and the calmness,
It felt too hard when you just spoke,
As the weather fought with rage on the sacred world.
Many sides of the universe spend in their health
The very sizes of the planets and worlds,
All due to the wizardry and the witchery
We have quelled, and we have sought forever,
For eternity.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Witchery is merely a word for what we are all capable of.
quote by Charles de Lint
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Horizons
Destinations over the horizon are keeping us away,
Yet agony angered best the lone warrior who lay.
Detect him, and see him, engaged in conversation,
With a lady who keeps witchery even then: no action!
Deserve him, and herself who lived far away, just away,
Near those accidents having an existence anyway.
Too many friendships are cast down, rejected all the time,
For the horizon has expense, has mirror and climb.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Although the most acute judges of the witches and even the witches themselves, were convinced of the guilt of witchery, the guilt nevertheless was non-existent. It is thus with all guilt.
quote by Friedrich Nietzsche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Witchcraft: I See Myself Reflected
I see myself reflected in your green eyes,
in times of tears, also in times of joy
and wonder at the powers you employ
to bring light to me, to the darkest skies
and although your words hit deep without lies,
your smile at times may be but a decoy,
but your feelings comes without any ploy
as something quite strange where the self dies
where love becomes a kind of witchery,
that offers everything totally selfless
and gives without any hesitation
in everything that you do for me
bringing energy, a sweet kind of rest
when you are act without anticipation.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Truthful One
With witchery of the profession and art
Is a wand of pleasure and a falsity;
The wizards fight the most monstrous souls,
And the hunters of artists and scientists
Cause them to issue demands and then
All of the heavenly bridges tumble
So that nobody can escape, nobody.
These magical numbers remain awake,
The scholars revive the sciences and
Strong subjects are understood
With glorious topics and masterful paths.
The whole sign of glory is shone
On the mind and the heart
As the tongue of the heart will speak
From the true ones, the ones who speak no lies
And who are truthful.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Ellen Terry
Nay, bring forth none but daughters: daughters young,
The doubles of yourself; with face as fair,
Bearing as candid, gait as debonair,
And voice as deeply, musically strung:
That the less fortunate age, from this age sprung,
In those transmitted gleams of what you were,
May hear your laughter, gaze on your despair,
And all but know the witchery of your tongue.
Thus shall the unsteadfast dagger of Macbeth
Be nerved by his male spouse; thus Shylock's knife,
Glittering to smite, be dulled by Portia's breath;
Thus saucy Beatrice be won for life,
Juliet in loving warble out her life,
And true Ophelia madden unto death.
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Call
Gold and green the elm leaves lean and interlace,
All the coloured woodlands are calling to the Chase.
Dew is on the stubble field, ruddy grows the thorn,
All the withered meadowland is listening for the horn.
Lures of lawn and hammock, rod and bat and ball,
Fade before the coming of a stronger lure than all,
Faint before the whisper of the padding feet that pass,
Fail before the witchery of hoof-beats on the grass.
England in her summer sleep turns about and stirs,
Hears the click of bridle rings, hears the clink of spurs,
Sees the gleam of spotted flanks moving in the gorse,
Sees the flashing scarlet of a Whip upon his horse.
Rippling water charms no more, nor the lazy noon,
Spent among the lime trees where a wild bee makes the tune;
Something fiercer tugs the heart, fans the Wood to fire,
Sets the pulses galloping, and wakes the old desire.
Girths are buckled, reins are drawn, stirrups caught again;
Women turn to sterner play, men go forth like men.
Where the storm-clouds gather, where the strong winds stride,
Autumn calls to England and bids her bravest ride.
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Postmortem
Funeral held for the depression of man
Holds the key to his own death
Entering a tomb of a corpse yet conceived
Tighten the tourniquet around your neck
Sifting away the debris of hated life
Cold touch of death begins to chill your spine
Seeking life beyond your perishment
Repeating words echoing through your mind
Chanting lines of blind witchery
To save yourself from extinction
Wanting to die is your reason to live
New life born from the oppressed
Taste your blood as it trickles through the air
Another casualty beyond the shadows you fall
Losing ground
song performed by by Slayer from Reign In Blood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Joy's Magic
Joy's is the magic sweet,
That makes Youth's pulses beat,
Puts music in young feet,
The old heart hears, the sad heart hears, that 's near it:
And Joy's the pleasant pain,
That holds us, heart and brain,
When Old Age, sound and sane,
With memories nears, long memories nears the spirit.
Joy's is the witchery rare,
That on the face of Care
Puts smiles; and rapture where
Love holds her breath, her heart's wild breath, to still her:
And Joy it is that plays
On Time's old lute of days
As Life goes on her ways
With thoughts of Death, gray thoughts of Death, that chill her.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Silently She's Combing
Silently she's combing,
Combing her long hair
Silently and graciously,
With many a pretty air.
The sun is in the willow leaves
And on the dappled grass,
And still she's combing her long hair
Before the looking-glass.
I pray you, cease to comb out,
Comb out your long hair,
For I have heard of witchery
Under a pretty air,
That makes as one thing to the lover
Staying and going hence,
All fair, with many a pretty air
And many a negligence.
poem by James Joyce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
His Masterpiece
Never before was daughter of Eve endow'd with a face so fair,
There be none of God's holy angels with a beauty half so rare
As thine, nor dreamer has ever dreamed the loveliness you wear.
There's a gleam in your golden tress, Lieb! a light in your melting eye!
There is witchery in your smile, Lieb! and a magic in your sigh
That may lure the strong ones to your shrine to worship and - to die.
And I - when you whispered softly, Lleb - perchance would have worshipped, too,
Had bowed to the spell of your beauty-an' it were not that I knew
The Devil had wrought his masterpiece what time he fashioned you.
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Myth of Arthur
O learned man who never learned to learn,
Save to deduce, by timid steps and small,
From towering smoke that fire can never burn
And from tall tales that men were never tall.
Say, have you thought what manner of man it is
Of who men say "He could strike giants down"?
Or what strong memories over time's abyss
Bore up the pomp of Camelot and the crown.
And why one banner all the background fills,
Beyond the pageants of so many spears,
And by what witchery in the western hills
A throne stands empty for a thousand years.
Who hold, unheeding this immense impact,
Immortal story for a mortal sin;
Lest human fable touch historic fact,
Chase myths like moths, and fight them with a pin.
Take comfort; rest--there needs not this ado.
You shall not be a myth, I promise you.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The New Moon
What have you got in your knapsack fair,
White moon, bright moon, pearling the air,
Spinning your bobbins and fabrics free,
Fleet moon, sweet moon, in to the sea?
Turquoise and beryl and rings of gold,
Clear moon, dear moon, ne’er to be sold?
Roses and lilies, romance and love,
Still moon, chill moon, swinging above?
Slender your feet as a white birds throat,
High moon, shy moon, drifting your boat
Into the murk of the world awhile,
Slim moon, dim moon, adding a smile.
Tender your eyes as a maiden’s kiss,
Fine moon, wine moon, no one knows this,
Under the spell of your witchery,
Dream moon, cream moon, first he kissed me.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Camma
AS one who poring on a Grecian urn
Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,
God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,
And for their beauty's sake is loth to turn
And face the obvious day, must I not yearn
For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,
When in the midmost shrine of Artemis
I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?
And yet--methinks I'd rather see thee play
That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery
Made Emperors drunken,--come, great Egypt, shake
Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,
I am grown sick of unreal passions, make
The world thine Actium, me thine Antony!
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Myth of Arthur
O learned man who never learned to learn,
Save to deduce, by timid steps and small,
From towering smoke that fire can never burn
And from tall tales that men were never tall.
Say, have you thought what manner of man it is
Of who men say "He could strike giants down" ?
Or what strong memories over time's abyss
Bore up the pomp of Camelot and the crown.
And why one banner all the background fills,
Beyond the pageants of so many spears,
And by what witchery in the western hills
A throne stands empty for a thousand years.
Who hold, unheeding this immense impact,
Immortal story for a mortal sin;
Lest human fable touch historic fact,
Chase myths like moths, and fight them with a pin.
Take comfort; rest--there needs not this ado.
You shall not be a myth, I promise you.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cleopatra.
The asp, her baby, on her breast,
She falls asleep,
Ever, like Antony, to rest
While Nile shall keep
Its course, and Egypt be a name
Whose utterance stirs
The shadow on the Roman's fame,
His love and hers.
Out of the mire and mirth of Time,
By thought removed,
The life that might have shone sublime,
Nor unbeloved —
A doting mallard when her sail
From Actium flew,
He knew her love was, passion-pale,
The sword that slew!
Ah! even though her love was lust,
The swarthy Queen,
When her babe gave the mortal thrust,
A woman's mien
Wore, as her Circean eyes their last
Looked on the slave
And with her fatal witchery passed
Into the grave.
She yet shall stand in Beauty's list
A thing superb,
The Roman's light in Egypt's mist —
A lover's verb
That through his moods and tenses toned
A royal way,
And took Death rather than be loaned
To Caesar's sway.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song
Oh love! that stronger art than Wine,
Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine,
Wont to be priz'd above all Wealth,
Disease that has more Joys than Health;
Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain,
And of Tyranny complain,
We are all better'd by thy Reign.
What Reason never can bestow,
We to this useful Passion owe:
Love wakes the dull from sluggish ease,
And learns a Clown the Art to please:
Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold,
Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold;
And teaches airy Fops to think.
When full brute Appetite is fed,
And choakd the Glutton lies and dead;
Thou new Spirits dost dispense,
And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense.
Virtue's unconquerable Aid
That against Nature can persuade;
And makes a roving Mind retire
Within the Bounds of just Desire.
Chearer of Age, Youth's kind Unrest,
And half the Heaven of the blest!
poem by Aphra Behn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Invitation for a Voyage (L'Invation au Voyage)
My sisterchild, my dear!
Imagine going there
Gently to live together, just us two,
To love and think not why
To love and live and die
Together in the land that is like you.
The soaking suns that rise
Through those cloud-raveled skies
Will move me with the selfsame mystery
And witchery that lie
Within each traitor eye
That shines out through your tears to look at me.
There, there is but beauty, measure,
Luxury, repose and pleasure
A furniture that bears
The polish of the years
Will be the decoration of our chamber,
The very rarest blooms
Commingling their perfumes
With vague and sundry redolence of amber.
Those ceilings richly wrought,
And mirrors deep as thought,
And every wall with Eastern splendors hung
They all would speak apart
To nothing but the heart
In nothing but its tender mother tongue.
There, there is but beauty, measure,
Luxury, repose and pleasure
See vessels in the sweep
Of those canals, asleep,
Whose way it is to wander from their berth.
See how, to answer some
Small wish of yours, they come
Our way through all the waters of this earth.
At close of day the sun
Robes hayfields one by one,
Then the canals, and soon the town outright,
In hyacinth and gold;
The world that we behold
Subsides to slumber in a warm low light.
There, there is but beauty, measure,
Luxury, repose and pleasure
poem by Charles Baudelaire from Les Fleurs du Mal (1857), translated by A.Z. Foreman
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Princess And The Black Horse(Final Fight-I)
And they decided to start the fight at midnight,
as the wand would work then with brilliant spark.
To unriddle the mystery of dark reign of magician,
they had to kindle the light, to annihilate power dark.
Evening called night, and night sat with blackness,
and darkest became the kingdom of prince's father.
The princess, promised to call him, prince of light,
as dark denotes, night, blackness, evil power, rather.
The King opened a box of story, which told princess,
theirs was the kingdom of Light, full of peace, gay.
It was said, the sun never sets in his happy kingdom.
But, a magician came to that king's court one day.
He played trick of black magic, and covered the sun,
blocking the rays of the sun, he set his own reign.
By his power of witchery, he made the king a lion,
turning queen, to lioness, the prince a horse in chain.
Insidious was he, sold the prince in a witch-fair.
Sordid was his mind, without hesitation he became king.
In the unknown realm the prince as a dark horse,
was bought from the fair, and in king's stable did bring.
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!