Netley Abbey
Fallen pile! I ask not what has been thy fate;
But when the winds, slow wafted from the main,
Through each rent arch, like spirits that complain,
Come hollow to my ear, I meditate
On this world's passing pageant, and the lot
Of those who once majestic in their prime
Stood smiling at decay, till bowed by time
Or injury, their early boast forgot,
They may have fallen like thee! Pale and forlorn,
Their brow, besprent with thin hairs, white as snow,
They lift, still unsubdued, as they would scorn
This short-lived scene of vanity and woe;
Whilst on their sad looks smilingly they bear
The trace of creeping age, and the pale hue of care!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Related quotes
Life's Progress
How gayly is at first begun
Our Life's uncertain Race!
Whilst yet that sprightly Morning Sun,
With which we just set out to run
Enlightens all the Place.
How smiling the World's Prospect lies
How tempting to go through !
Not Canaan to the Prophet's Eyes,
From Pisgah with a sweet Surprize,
Did more inviting shew.
How promising's the Book of Fate,
Till thoroughly understood!
Whilst partial Hopes such Lots create,
As may the youthful Fancy treat
With all that's Great and Good.
How soft the first Ideas prove,
Which wander through our Minds!
How full the Joys, how free the Love,
Which do's that early Season move;
As Flow'rs the Western Winds!
Our Sighs are then but Vernal Air;
But April–drops our Tears,
Which swiftly passing, all grows Fair,
Whilst Beauty compensates our Care,
And Youth each Vapour clears.
But oh! too soon, alas, we climb;
Scarce feeling we ascend
The gently rising Hill of Time,
From whence with Grief we see that Prime,
And all its Sweetness end.
The Die now cast, our Station known,
Fond Expectation past;
The Thorns, which former Days had sown,
To Crops of late Repentance grown,
Thro' which we toil at last.
Whilst ev'ry Care's a driving Harm,
That helps to bear us down;
Which faded Smiles no more can charm,
But ev'ry Tear's a Winter-Storm,
And ev'ry Look's a Frown.
Till with succeeding Ills opprest,
For Joys we hop'd to find;
By Age too, rumpl'd and undrest,
We gladly sinking down to rest,
Leave following Crouds behind.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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The Red House
On the wide fields the water gleams like snow,
And snow like water pale beneath pale sky,
When old and burdened the white clouds are stooped low.
Sudden as thought, or startled near bird's cry,
The whiteness of first light on hills of snow
New dropped from skiey hills of tumbling white
Streams from the ridge to where the long woods lie;
And tall ridge-trees lift their soft crowns of white
Above slim bodies all black or flecked with snow.
By the tossed foam of the not yet frozen brook
Black pigs go straggling over fields of snow;
The air is full of snow, and starling and rook
Are blacker amid the myriad streams of light.
Warm as old fire the Red House burns yet bright
Beneath the unmelting snows of pine and larch,
While February moves as slow, as slow
As Spring might never come, never come March.
Amid such snows, by generations haunted,
By echoes, memories and dreams enchanted,
Firm when dark winds through the night stamp and shout,
Brightest when time silvers the world all about,
That old house called _The Heart_ burns, burns, and still
Outbraves the mortal threat of the hanging hill.
poem by John Freeman
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Pale
Pale blue clouds, in a pale blue sky,
Pale sea birds, fly every which way.
O'er the pale blue sea, they softly fly,
Throughout the pale blue day.
Pale brown grass, withering alone,
Amid the sand dunes dying.
Pale as a sun bleached animal bone,
As you hear the sea breeze sighing.
Pale grey mist upon the sea,
Slowly creeping to the shore.
Pale giant tarpons jumping free,
As the pale Atlantic, gently roars.
12/3/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Fallen Star
I am like the fallen wish
So lonely as a fallen star
My bed a pool of tears I cry
Alone! ' I cry myself to sleep
'Alone I am with me!
Lonely in a world of mist
Alone, I reach to touch your wrist
And see if I am thee.’
To be alone beside a soul
Afloat, adrift; an empty ghoul
Alone in woe; the yearning flesh
To fill a thin, contorted mesh
Diffuse atop an icy floor
All alone I am alone
Too much stare much nightmare
Only thee walls
Can speak and share
loneliness a disease
Thee only cure is care
I am a song without a tune
Alone
A greying sky in June
Alone
I am a wedding without a groom
Alone
I am a ring without a hand
Alone
The blueness of a sullen moon
waning in a starless night
Alone
Coasting down a weedy pass
Alone
No rainfall no fallen leaves
Alone
The only image in the glass
Alone
I am so alone!
Alone like a fallen star
poem by Khalifa Mustapha
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Already Fallen
(Bob DiPiero/Pam Tillis)
You come bangling on the screen door,begging me to let you in
All I got to say is, "Honey,where you been!"
This time I think it's you that's surrenderin'
I've already fallen
Yeah,I've already fallen
If you're waiting on me you're backing up
I'm way in over my head in love
It's true,well,I've already fallen for you
Well you look so serious leaning on the Frigidaire
And gee,it's sweet of you to ask me if I really care
But,honey,I'm already picking out the silverware,you see
I've already fallen
Yeah,I've already fallen
If you're waiting on me you're backing up
I'm way in over my head in love
It's true,well,I've already fallen for you
I must have played this scene out a hundred times in my head
That you'd look into my eyes and say you love me like you just did
But you'd better tell me twice,cause I'm still one step ahead,oh...
I've already fallen
Yeah,I've already fallen
If you're waiting on me you're backing up
I'm way in over my head in love
It's true,well,I've already fallen for you
song performed by by Pam Tillis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fallen Soldier
Fallen Soldier All Alone
Fallen Soldier Far From Home.
Trickling Down His Face A Tear,
Forgetting How It Feels To Fear
Death And All It's Fate And Glory.
Now It's Here, No Need To Worry.
Fallen Soldier All Alone
Fallen Soldier Far From Home
He's One Of Those They'll All Forget;
The Life He Lived, The Goals He Set,
The Ones He Loved, The Ones Who Wait
To See His Nearly Forgotten Face.
Fallen Soldier All Alone
Fallen Soldier Far From Home
Now Breathing's Just A Waste Of Breath
And Living's Just A Waste Of Death
As He Searches For A New Address;
A Brand New Home Free Of Loneliness.
Fallen Soldier All Alone
Fallen Soldier Far From Home
Lying Motionless On The Ground,
The Battle Raging All Around.
For Now He Is Not All Alone.
This Fallen Soldier Is Welcomed Home.
poem by Branden Hidalgo
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To A Blank Sheet Of Paper
WAN-VISAGED thing! thy virgin leaf
To me looks more than deadly pale,
Unknowing what may stain thee yet,--
A poem or a tale.
Who can thy unborn meaning scan?
Can Seer or Sibyl read thee now?
No,--seek to trace the fate of man
Writ on his infant brow.
Love may light on thy snowy cheek,
And shake his Eden-breathing plumes;
Then shalt thou tell how Lelia smiles,
Or Angelina blooms.
Satire may lift his bearded lance,
Forestalling Time's slow-moving scythe,
And, scattered on thy little field,
Disjointed bards may writhe.
Perchance a vision of the night,
Some grizzled spectre, gaunt and thin,
Or sheeted corpse, may stalk along,
Or skeleton may grin.
If it should be in pensive hour
Some sorrow-moving theme I try,
Ah, maiden, how thy tears will fall,
For all I doom to die!
But if in merry mood I touch
Thy leaves, then shall the sight of thee
Sow smiles as thick on rosy lips
As ripples on the sea.
The Weekly press shall gladly stoop
To bind thee up among its sheaves;
The Daily steal thy shining ore,
To gild its leaden leaves.
Thou hast no tongue, yet thou canst speak,
Till distant shores shall hear the sound;
Thou hast no life, yet thou canst breathe
Fresh life on all around.
Thou art the arena of the wise,
The noiseless battle-ground of fame;
The sky where halos may be wreathed
Around the humblest name.
Take, then, this treasure to thy trust,
To win some idle reader's smile,
Then fade and moulder in the dust,
Or swell some bonfire's pile.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Lonely Bone
The hollow bone stands alone
Amidst the clapping condor wings
Commiserating with the fallen plumes
Cascading sunwards to deny
The winds from their liberty
Whilst you traversed the leaking sun
And leave the deafening ruins
The bone bows to implore protection
Sullying in the graying sky
Where your remorseful faces
Was painted by the Eastern wind
Like a danseuse of passing time
You glanced, waved not your good bye
And left the vermillion bleeding
Trapped in the vineyard of memories
Until one day the vines would sprout
To touch the havens in your sky
Intoxicated from the brewery
Of your empty rues and bliss
But for now the bone remained alone
Whilst you depart with the sun
And the sky was ever higher
Whilst time was away and somewhere else.
poem by Norman Santos
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Undesired Revenge
Sorrow and sin have worked their will
For years upon your sovereign face,
And yet it keeps a faded trace
Of its unequalled beauty still,
As ruined sanctuaries hold
A crumbled trace of perfect mould
In shrines which saints no longer fill.
I knew you in your splendid morn,
Oh, how imperiously sweet!
I bowed and worshipped at your feet,
And you received my love with scorn.
Now I scorn you. It is a change,
When I consider it, how strange
That you, not I, should be forlorn.
Do you suppose I have no pain
To see you play this sorry part,
With faded face and broken heart,
And life lived utterly in vain?
Oh would to God that you once more
Might scorn me as you did of yore,
And I might worship you again!
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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The Sin Of Detection
SHE bowed her face among them all, as one
By one they rose and went. A little scorn
They showed—a very little. More forlorn
She seemed because of that: she might have grown
Proud else in her turn, and have so made known
What she well knew—that the free—hearted corn,
Kissed by the hot air freely all the morn,
Is better than the weed which has its own
Foul glut in secret. Both her white breasts heaved
Like heaving water with their weight of lace;
And her long tresses, full of musk and myrrh,
Were shaken from the braids her fingers weaved,
So that they hid the shame in her pale face.
Then I stept forth, and bowed addressing her.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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At Malvern
I shall behold far off thy towering crest,
Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray
Down through the distant vale my homeward way,
I shall behold upon thy rugged breast,
The parting sun sit smiling: me the while
Escaped the crowd, thoughts full of heaviness
May visit, as life's bitter losses press
Hard on my bosom; but I shall beguile
The thing I am, and think, that ev'n as thou
Dost lift in the pale beam thy forehead high,
Proud mountain! whilst the scattered vapours fly
Unheeded round thy breast,--so, with calm brow,
The shades of sorrow I may meet, and wear
The smile unchanged of peace, though pressed by care!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Before the Mirror
I.
WHITE ROSE in red rose-garden
Is not so white;
Snowdrops that plead for pardon
And pine for fright
Because the hard East blows
Over their maiden rows
Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.
Behind the veil, forbidden,
Shut up from sight,
Love, is there sorrow hidden,
Is there delight?
Is joy thy dower or grief,
White rose of weary leaf,
Late rose whose life is brief, whose loves are light?
Soft snows that hard winds harden
Till each flake bite
Fill all the flowerless garden
Whose flowers took flight
Long since when summer ceased,
And men rose up from feast,
And warm west wind grew east, and warm day night.
II.
“Come snow, come wind or thunder
High up in air,
I watch my face, and wonder
At my bright hair;
Nought else exalts or grieves
The rose at heart, that heaves
With love of her own leaves and lips that pair.
“She knows not loves that kissed her
She knows not where.
Art thou the ghost, my sister,
White sister there,
Am I the ghost, who knows?
My hand, a fallen rose,
Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.
“I cannot see what pleasures
Or what pains were;
What pale new loves and treasures
New years will bear;
What beam will fall, what shower,
What grief or joy for dower;
But one thing knows the flower; the flower is fair.”
III.
Glad, but not flushed with gladness,
Since joys go by;
Sad, but not bent with sadness,
Since sorrows die;
Deep in the gleaming glass
She sees all past things pass,
And all sweet life that was lie down and lie.
There glowing ghosts of flowers
Draw down, draw nigh;
And wings of swift spent hours
Take flight and fly;
She sees by formless gleams,
She hears across cold streams,
Dead mouths of many dreams that sing and sigh.
Face fallen and white throat lifted,
With sleepless eye
She sees old loves that drifted,
She knew not why,
Old loves and faded fears
Float down a stream that hears
The flowing of all men’s tears beneath the sky.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Simplocity appeals to me for M lady Catrina
All I can see from my window.
A vast expanse of fallen snow,
Unmarked as yet by wheel or feet
As perfect as a laundered sheet.
Reflecting back the pale moonlight
in shades of silver blue and white.
This will not last it cannot do
it will marred by tyre and shoe.
At first light when the morning breaks
and all the sleeping world awakes
To make their way reluctantly
to office shop and factory.
Although the falling snow has stopped
the temperature still has not dropped
The snow will turn from white to gray
and very slowly melt away
Just for tonight the pristine white
will satisfy my appetite
for unadorned simplicity
There’s beauty in austerity.
22-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Winter Night for Friend Hunter
Though almost imperceptibly. The snow was falling steadily,
unruffled by the slightest breeze. To coat the branches of the trees,
with layers of the purest white, which sparkle in the pale moonlight.
The contrast pleasing to my eyes. Beneath the trees a blanket lies
as yet a flimsy covering which is slowly thickening.
The snow continues relentlessly but quietly and stealthily.
The winter will remorselessly alter existing scenery.
Cover the faults and flaws with snow, assisted by the winds which blow.
When night departs and morning breaks, spread far and wide the fallen flakes.
Until the world appears to be as far as human eye can see.
A pristine expanse of pure white: a truly awe inspiring sight.
Which waits to greet us when we rise, a sight too bright for human eyes.
26-Nov-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Snow Queen
She stood there dressed in cold white down
as soft winds swirled around her.
Her angelic face smiled
as she surveyed her wonderland.
Her time had come again
as it did once a year
to cleanse the world white,
making it seem bright
under the pale moon.
She surveyed her kingdom
and with the sweep of her hand,
she watched as the snowflakes fell again.
The smile on her virginal face
grew in its proportions
as the winter winds blew their deepest chill,
and then the Snow Queen knew
her season had last arrived.
The kingdom was hers again
before it came the time
when her sisters of spring, summer and autumn
would once more again
take their place on the throne.
21 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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In The Bleak Midwinter
In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind may blow
Earth stood hard as iron
Water like a stone
Snow had fallen, snow on snow
Snow on snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter
Long, long ago
What can I give him?
Poor as I am
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb
If I were a wise man
I would do my part
Yet what I can, I give him
Give my heart
Snow had fallen, snow on snow
Snow on snow on snow
In the bleak midwinter
Long, long ago
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Transition
A little while to walk with thee, dear child;
To lean on thee my weak and weary head;
Then evening comes: the winter sky is wild,
The leafless trees are black, the leaves long dead.
A little while to hold thee and to stand,
By harvest-fields of bending golden corn;
Then the predestined silence, and thine hand,
Lost in the night, long and weary and forlorn.
A little while to love thee, scarcely time
To love thee well enough; then time to part,
To fare through wintry fields alone and climb
The frozen hills, not knowing where thou art.
Short summer-time and then, my heart's desire,
The winter and the darkness: one by one
The roses fall, the pale roses expire
Beneath the slow decadence of the sun.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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A Dead Rose
O Rose! who dares to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat,---
Kept seven years in a drawer---thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day,---
If breathing now,---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,---
If shining now,---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was,---
If dropping now,---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now,---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,---
If passing now,---would blindly overlook thee.
The heart doth recognise thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee!
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Fallen In The Night!
IT dressed itself in green leaves all the summer long,
Was full of chattering starlings, loud with throstles' song.
Children played beneath it, lovers sat and talked,
Solitary strollers looked up as they walked.
O, so fresh its branches! and the its old trunk gray
Was so stately rooted, who forbode decay?
Even when winds had blown it yellow and almost bare,
Softly dropped its chestnuts through the misty air;
Still its few leaves rustled with a faint delight,
And their tender colors charmed the sense of sight,
Filled the soul with beauty, and the heart with peace,
Like sweet sounds departing--sweetest when they cease.
Pelting, undermining, loosening, came the rain;
Through its topmost branches roared the hurricane;
Oft it strained and shivered till the night wore past;
But in dusky daylight there the tree stood fast,
Though its birds had left it, and its leaves were dead,
And its blossoms faded, and its fruit all shed.
Ay, and when last sunset came a wanderer by,
Watched it as aforetime with a musing eye,
Still it wore its scant robes so pathetic gay,
Caught the sun's last glimmer, the new moon's first ray;
And majestic, patient, stood amidst its peers
Waiting for the spring-times of uncounted years.
But the worm was busy, and the days were run;
Of its hundred sunsets this was the last one:
So in the quiet midnight, with no eye to see,
None to harm in falling, fell the noble tree!
Says the early laborer, starting at the sight
With a sleepy wonder, 'Fallen in the night!'
Says a schoolboy, leaping in a wild delight
Over trunk and branches, 'Fallen in the night!'
O thou Tree, thou glory of His hand who made
Nothing ever vainly, thou hast Him obeyed!
Lived thy life, and perished when and how He willed;--
Be all lamentation and all murmurs stilled.
To our last hour live we--fruitful, brave, upright,
'T will be a good ending, 'Fallen in the night!'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Koorime
A woman of the snow.
Yuki, her name, brings snow to the mountain peaks.
She sits in the snow filled glade, her icy colored hair
fell around her in ribbons.
Her eyes as white as clouds,
A navy yukata littered with the fallen flakes.
There she sat frozen, her body preserved for eternity.
The now blank eyes show all an inner peace.
Her statue had stayed there for many years
never disturbed.
'She is the woman we have trusted since the dawn of time
for yule, and for the snow that has fallen.' The woman said
'Why, ' the children asked.
'She is the ice maiden of snow, Yuki the Koorime.'
poem by Regan Meade
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