A Death Song
What cometh here from west to east awending?
And who are these, the marchers stern and slow?
We bear the message that the rich are sending
Aback to those who bade them wake and know.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.
We asked them for a life of toilsome earning,
They bade us bide their leisure for our bread;
We craved to speak to tell our woeful learning;
We come back speechless, bearing back our dead.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.
They will not learn; they have no ears to hearken.
They turn their faces from the eyes of fate;
Their gay-lit halls shut out the skies that darken.
But, lo! this dead man knocking at the gate.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.
Here lies the sign that we shall break our prison;
Amidst the storm he won a prisoner's rest;
But in the cloudy dawn the sun arisen
Brings us our day of work to win the best.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Sunrise, Sunset
O Sun, When you rise,
It’s morning dawn.
When you set,
It’s evening dusk.
O Sun, Seeing your beauty lighting
Shining on landscape from dawn
Shining on seascape from dusk
It comes from dawn to dusk.
O Sun, rise from East
O Sun, set to West
From East to West,
Celestial light comes and go,
Seasons come and go.
Here come four seasons
North to South, East to West
From Spring comes Autumn,
From Summer comes Winter.
O Sun, From rising East
To setting West
O Moon, Come rising East
To setting West
Cycle never end,
It’s endless cycle,
Seeing sunset every dusk,
Seeing sunrise every dawn.
Making us pondering..
Make us wondering
Where, When will be next..
Sunrise, sunset..
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There Are Thousands And Thousands
there are thousands and thousands of poems
written everyday in this world where we, whether we like it or not,
still continue living, breathing, writing, sighing,
whatever that we do, singing, bathing, playing, mourning,
there are thousands and thousands of poems
thousands of us, doing the same boring things in this world,
you are one of us, we are us, us, us, us,
thousands, and trillions, we are us,
despite, i have my ears for you, my eyes,
all for you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Circle of Evil
In these caves I've dwelled for long
The lust for blood keeps me strong
Fly at dusk, land at dawn
Evil and darkness I bring upon
It makes no difference in my eyes
If I slay for right or wrong
Selfinflicted are their cries
In the graveyards they belong
Once blessed with life, now with death
I decide to kill them all
Without them evil will fall
They have taken their last breath
Now that my job is done
Evil, there is one last one
No more peace before it's gone
I decide to wait past dawn
poem by Atahan Tolunay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Orchard
LEAVE go my hands, let me catch breath and see;
Let the dew-fall drench either side of me;
Clear apple-leaves are soft upon that moon
Seen sidelong like a blossom in the tree;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
The grass is thick and cool, it lets us lie.
Kissed upon either cheek and either eye,
I turn to thee as some green afternoon
Turns toward sunset, and is loth to die;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Lie closer, lean your face upon my side,
Feel where the dew fell that has hardly dried,
Hear how the blood beats that went nigh to swoon;
The pleasure lives there when the sense has died;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
O my fair lord, I charge you leave me this:
Is it not sweeter than a foolish kiss?
Nay take it then, my flower, my first in June,
My rose, so like a tender mouth it is:
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire,
Dividing my delight and my desire,
The crescent life and love the plenilune,
Love me though dusk begin and dark retire;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Ah, my heart fails, my blood draws back; I know,
When life runs over, life is near to go;
And with the slain of love love’s ways are strewn,
And with their blood, if love will have it so;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Ah, do thy will now; slay me if thou wilt;
There is no building now the walls are built,
No quarrying now the corner-stone is hewn,
No drinking now the vine’s whole blood is spilt;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Nay, slay me now; nay, for I will be slain;
Pluck thy red pleasure from the teeth of pain,
Break down thy vine ere yet grape-gatherers prune,
Slay me ere day can slay desire again;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Yea, with thy sweet lips, with thy sweet sword; yea,
Take life and all, for I will die, I say;
Love, I gave love, is life a better boon?
For sweet night’s sake I will not live till day;
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
Nay, I will sleep then only; nay, but go.
Ah sweet, too sweet to me, my sweet, I know
Love, sleep, and death go to the sweet same tune;
Hold my hair fast, and kiss me through it so.
Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Research on Cinderalla - after Shel Silverstein In search of Cinderalla
From dawn til dusk,
from land to land,
without too much ado,
I'd seek the perfect ankle,
From dawn til dusk
I'd stretch my hand
to virgin, husk, - not you! -
perceptions change, oh dear, they do!
perfection minds must rankle
In Search of Cinderella
From dusk to dawn,
From town to town,
Without a single clue,
I seek the tender, slender foot
To fit this crystal shoe.
From dusk to dawn,
I try it on
Each damsel that I meet.
And I still love her so, but oh,
I've started hating feet.
- Shel Silverstein
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sad
dusk to dusk
this sadness
carries a shade
the heart finds
hard to bear
the melancholy
scarlet of dusk
an artist keenly
touches up to portray
the remaining
breaths of the day
the soft breeze
carries your soft sigh
and carress
to bid me farewell
the quiet dusk is
choked with
my longings
for you while divinity
witholds its
consolations
and looks at me
through blood shot eyes
a breathless
conflagration of
copper red,
orange and gold
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bells Ringing
bells ringing...
thousands and thousands
of bells.... ringing....
the chorus of crows,
the sound of the whip
cracking on thousands
of backs, , ,
black and white,
brown and red....
the fat-bellied ticket taker
stands with hand outstretched...
cant pay the fare... cant ride....
left standing on the corner
of lost, and nameless.
marching to death, leaving
no trace, no footprints....
the bastard children of freedom,
no home to return to....
look up, look up!
the skies full of wings!
bells are ringing!
thousands and thousands
of bells... and each one
has a name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Between the Dusk of a Summer Night
Between the dusk of a summer night
And the dawn of a summer day,
We caught at a mood as it passed in flight,
And we bade it stoop and stay.
And what with the dawn of night began
With the dusk of day was done;
For that is the way of woman and man,
When a hazard has made them one.
Arc upon arc, from shade to shine,
The World went thundering free;
And what was his errand but hers and mine --
The lords of him, I and she?
O, it's die we must, but it's live we can,
And the marvel of earth and sun
Is all for the joy of woman and man
And the longing that makes them one.
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Blood of Thousands
Thousands upon thousands are slain
Each year, are killed in cruel, cold blood.
Thousands cry out, but to no avail—
They are attacked with cruelest hate.
They scream and shout!
But do we care? No! and we never will!
Let’s murder some more! Kill more from inside!
It doesn’t hurt us in the least!
They’re as dead as dead can ever get—
They’ll not trouble us again.
They are gone and now you can rejoice!
Take pride in your murder of innocent blood!
Who are these thousands killed every year?
The infants in your womb!
Murderess! ! Fiend! Heartless animal!
You don’t deserve motherhood!
Abort them. Go ahead. At least they’re in a better place,
A place you’ll never go! At least it’s over, and they
Didn’t have to deal with you, selfish pig!
I hope that guilt tears you apart the way you did to them!
This is abortion.
This is evil.
This is.....
Murder!
poem by Paige Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballad of God-Makers
A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.
The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;
The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man nailed thereon
On a hill above a town.
That right the kings of the earth were gay
And filled the cup and can;
Last night the kings of the earth were chill
For dread of a naked man.
'If he speak two more words,' they said,
'The slave is more than the free;
If he speak three more words,' they said,
'The stars are under the sea.'
Said the King of the East to the King of the West,
I wot his frown was set,
'Lo; let us slay him and make him as dung,
It is well that the world forget.'
Said the King of the West to the King of the East,
I wot his smile was dread,
'Nay, let us slay him and make him a god,
It is well that our god be dead.'
They set the young man on a hill,
They nailed him to a rod;
And there in darkness and in blood
They made themselves a god.
And the mightiest word was left unsaid,
And the world had never a mark,
And the strongest man of the sons of men
Went dumb into the dark.
Then hymns and harps of praise they brought,
Incense and gold and myrrh,
And they thronged above the seraphim,
The poor dead carpenter.
'Thou art the prince of all,' they sang,
'Ocean and earth and air.'
Then the bird flew on to the cruel cross,
And hid in the dead man's hair.
'Thou art the sun of the world,' they cried,
'Speak if our prayers be heard.'
And the brown bird stirred in the dead man's hair,
And it seemed that the dead man stirred.
Then a shriek went up like the world's last cry
From all nations under heaven,
And a master fell before a slave
And begged to be forgiven.
They cowered, for dread in his wakened eyes
The ancient wrath to see;
And the bird flew out of the dead Christ's hair,
And lit on a lemon-tree.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballad of God-Makers
A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.
The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;
The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man nailed thereon
On a hill above a town.
That night the kings of the earth were gay
And filled the cup and can;
Last night the kings of the earth were chill
For dread of a naked man.
‘If he speak two more words,' they said,
‘The slave is more than the free;
If he speak three more words,' they said,
‘The stars are under the sea.'
Said the King of the East to the King of the West,
I wot his frown was set,
‘Lo, let us slay him and make him as dung,
It is well that the world forget.'
Said the King of the West to the King of the East,
I wot his smile was dread,
‘Nay, let us slay him and make him a god,
It is well that our god be dead.'
They set the young man on a hill,
They nailed him to a rod;
And there in darkness and in blood
They made themselves a god.
And the mightiest word was left unsaid,
And the world had never a mark,
And the strongest man of the sons of men
Went dumb into the dark.
Then hymns and harps of praise they brought,
Incense and gold and myrrh,
And they thronged above the seraphim,
The poor dead carpenter.
‘Thou art the prince of all,' they sang,
‘Ocean and earth and air.'
Then the bird flew on to the cruel cross,
And hid in the dead man's hair.
‘Thou art the son of the world.' they cried, `
‘Speak if our prayers be heard.'
And the brown bird stirred in the dead man's hair
And it seemed that the dead man stirred.
Then a shriek went up like the world's last cry
From all nations under heaven,
And a master fell before a slave
And begged to be forgiven.
They cowered, for dread in his wakened eyes
The ancient wrath to see;
And a bird flew out of the dead Christ's hair,
And lit on a lemon tree.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Faery Song
Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania, in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.
We who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Gie to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jezreel
On Its Seizure By The English Under Allenby, September 1918
Did they catch as it were in a Vision at shut of the day-
When their cavalry smote through the ancient Esdraelon Plain,
And they crossed where the Tishbite stood forth in his enemy's way-
His gaunt mournful Shade as he bade the King haste off amain?
On war-men at this end of time-even on Englishmen's eyes-
Who slay with their arms of new might in that long-ago place,
Flashed he who drove furiously? . . . Ah, did the phantom arise
Of that queen, of that proud Tyrian woman who painted her face?
Faintly marked they the words 'Throw her down!' rise from Night
eerily,
Spectre-spots of the blood of her body on some rotten wall?
And the thin note of pity that came: 'A King's daughter is she,'
As they passed where she trodden was once by the chargers' footfall?
Could such be the hauntings of men of to-day, at the cease
Of pursuit, at the dusk-hour, ere slumber their senses could seal?
Enghosted seers, kings-one on horseback who asked 'Is it peace?'…
Yea, strange things and spectral may men have beheld in Jezreel!
September 24, 1918.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Faery Song
i{Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania,}
i{in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.}
WE who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
As if you are Helen of Troy
As if you are Helen of Troy
You are such a nasty playboy!
You wear a beautiful mask
From dusk to dawn dawn to dusk!
You hurt me with Cupid’s arrow
My life is now full of sorrow!
As if you are deaf and blind
You can’t hear and read my mind!
poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fishing (Novelinee)
To sit next to the big river brings peace
throwing a rod over the tranquil way
in a kind of the heart's sheer release
into the same pool up to close of day.
To live a life of utter joy we must,
when the river catches the rays of morn
to experience nature until dusk,
to be there when the bright new day is born;
it's great to just catch time at dusk and dawn.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Take Time Off To Relax! !
Behind each and every human,
Who has to work dusk to dawn,
Dawn to dusk or dawn to dawn,
There are few mouths at home,
Hopefully waiting for them,
To keep the food on the table,
to provide cloth and shelter,
to educate and medicate,
to love, care and cherish,
Most labor goes for love,
Love that we have,
Upon our loved ones,
our friends, society,
and our dear nation,
That energizes us,
To work tirelessly.
Happy Labor's day! !
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Eagles
THE eagles gather on the place of death
So thick the ground is spotted with their wings,
The air is tainted with the noisome breath
The wind from off the field of slaughter brings;
Alas! no mourners weep them for the slain,
But all unburied lies the naked soul;
The whitening bones of thousands strew the plain,
Yet none can now the pestilence control;
The eagles gathering on the carcase feed,
In every heart behold their half-formed prey;
The battened wills beneath their talons bleed,
Their iron beaks without remorse must slay;
Till by the sun no more the place is seen,
Where they who worshipped idol gods have been.
poem by Jones Very
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Last of the thousand kisses
Every thing has a beginning
And every thing that began has an end
Good or bad
Pallatable or otherwise
Joyful or saddening
Things have an end as they had a beginning
Though, most of the times, we know as to
When things began
We do not really know as to
When they are going to end
There is a need for us to be
Prepared for the nemesis
Whether such an end is
Acceptable to us or not
We really do not know
Whether it is the last of the thousand good things we have done
Whether it is the last of the millions of breathes we have taken
Whether it is the last of the billions of beats our heart has performed
Whether it is the last of the thousands of suppers we had
Whether it is the last of the thousands of the tear droplets we shed
Whether it is the last of the thousands of hearty laughters we had
Whether it is the last of the thousands of affectionate hugs we made
Or
Whether it is the last of the thousands joyful intimacies
We had with our life partner
So
Let us enjoy every bit of every thing we do
Let us be involved
Let us be immersed
Let us be lost
Let us be perfect
Let us be self-satisfied
Let us be exciting the beneficiary of our deed
With whatever we do
As if it is the
Last of the thousand kisses
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Working Man
I am a working man
up from dawn to dusk.
I till the fields to keep my family fed.
The soil is not my right,
but a gift to me.
If I handle it with care,
crops every year it rewards me.
I am a working man
and when my day is done,
the warmth of my family
fills the place I call home.
Every morning I see
the wonders of the rising sun
and as night approaches,
I watch the moon come up.
My life is sometimes hard,
but I know satisfaction of a job well done.
It is our daily bread,
where our money comes from.
God blessed me with this land
and I look after it for him.
For I am a working man
up from dawn to dusk.
26 November 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!