En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Song I: Though the World Be A-Waning

Love is enough: though the World be a-waning
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love is enough

LOVE is enough: though the World be a-waning,
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
   Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
   And this day draw a veil over all deeds pass'd over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
   These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love is Enough: Songs I-IX

I1.
Love is enough: though the World be a-waning
.
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
.
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
.
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
.
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
.
And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over,
.
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
.
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
.
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.II2.
Love is enough: have no thought for to-morrow
.
If ye lie down this even in rest from your pain,
.
Ye who have paid for your bliss with great sorrow:
.
For as it was once so it shall be again.
.
Ye shall cry out for death as ye stretch forth in vain2.
Feeble hands to the hands that would help but they may not,
.
Cry out to deaf ears that would hear if they could;
.
Till again shall the change come, and words your lips say not
.
Your hearts make all plain in the best wise they would
.

And the world ye thought waning is glorious and good:2.

And no morning now mocks you and no nightfall is weary,
.

The plains are not empty of song and of deed:
.

The sea strayeth not, nor the mountains are dreary;
.

The wind is not helpless for any man's need,
.

Nor falleth the rain but for thistle and weed.2.

O surely this morning all sorrow is hidden,
.

All battle is hushed for this even at least;
.

And no one this noontide may hunger, unbidden
.

To the flowers and the singing and the joy of your feast
.

Where silent ye sit midst the world's tale increased.2.

Lo, the lovers unloved that draw nigh for your blessing!
.

For your tale makes the dreaming whereby yet they live
.

The dreams of the day with their hopes of redressing,
.

The dreams of the night with the kisses they give,
.

The dreams of the dawn wherein death and hope strive.2.

Ah, what shall we say then, but that earth threatened often
.

Shall live on for ever that such things may be,
.

That the dry seed shall quicken, the hard earth shall soften,
.

And the spring-bearing birds flutter north o'er the sea,
.

That earth's garden may bloom round my love's feet and me?III3.
Love is enough: it grew up without heeding
.
In the days when ye knew not its name nor its measure,
.
And its leaflets untrodden by the light feet of pleasure
.
Had no boast of the blossom, no sign of the seeding,
.
As the morning and evening passed over its treasure.3.
And what do ye say then?--That Spring long departed
.
Has brought forth no child to the softness and showers;
.
--That we slept and we dreamed through the Summer of flowers;
.
We dreamed of the Winter, and waking dead-hearted
.

Found Winter upon us and waste of dull hours.3.

Nay, Spring was o'er-happy and knew not the reason,
.

And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended
.

In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended;
.

But this is the harvest and the garnering season,
.

And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended.3.

It sprang without sowing, it grew without heeding,
.

Ye knew not its name and ye knew not its measure,
.

Ye noted it not mid your hope and your pleasure;
.

There was pain in its blossom, despair in its seeding,
.

But daylong your bosom now nurseth its treasure.IV4.
Love is enough: draw near and behold me
.
Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter,
.
And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after;
.
For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me
.
And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter.
.
--Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not!4.
Cry out and come near; for my ears may not hearken,
.
And my eyes are grown dim as the eyes of the dying.
.
Is this the grey rack o'er the sun's face a-flying?
.

Or is it your faces his brightness that darken?
.

Comes a wind from the sea, or is it your sighing?
.

--Pass by me and hearken, and pity me not!4.

Ye know not how void is your hope and your living:
.

Depart with your helping lest yet ye undo me!
.

Ye know not that at nightfall she draweth near to me,
.

There is soft speech between us and words of forgiving
.

Till in dead of the midnight her kisses thrill through me.
.

--Pass by me and harken, and waken me not!4.

Wherewith will ye buy it, ye rich who behold me?
.

Draw out from your coffers your rest and your laughter,
.

And the fair gilded hope of the dawn coming after!
.

Nay this I sell not,--though ye bought me and sold me,--
.

For your house stored with such things from threshold to rafter.
.

--Pass by me, I hearken, and think of you not!V5.
Love is enough: through the trouble and tangle
.
From yesterday's dawning to yesterday's night
.
I sought through the vales where the prisoned winds wrangle,
.
Till, wearied and bleeding, at end of the light
.
I met him, and we wrestled, and great was my might.5.
O great was my joy, though no rest was around me,
.
Though mid wastes of the world were we twain all alone,
.
For methought that I conquered and he knelt and he crowned me,
.
And the driving rain ceased, and the wind ceased to moan,
.

And through clefts of the clouds her planet outshone.5.

O through clefts of the clouds 'gan the world to awaken,
.

And the bitter wind piped, and down drifted the rain,
.

And I was alone--and yet not forsaken,
.

For the grass was untrodden except by my pain:
.

With a Shadow of the Night had I wrestled in vain.5.

And the Shadow of the Night and not Love was departed;
.

I was sore, I was weary, yet Love lived to seek;
.

So I scaled the dark mountains, and wandered sad-hearted
.

Over wearier wastes, where e'en sunlight was bleak,
.

With no rest of the night for my soul waxen weak.5.

With no rest of the night; for I waked mid a story
.

Of a land wherein Love is the light and the lord,
.

Where my tale shall be heard, and my wounds gain a glory,
.

And my tears be a treasure to add to the hoard
.

Of pleasure laid up for his people's reward.5.

Ah, pleasure laid up! Haste then onward and listen,
.

For the wind of the waste has no music like this,
.

And not thus do the rocks of the wilderness glisten:
.

With the host of his faithful through sorrow and bliss
.

My Lord goeth forth now, and knows me for his.VI6.
Love is enough: cherish life that abideth,
.
Lest ye die ere ye know him, and curse and misname him;
.
For who knows in what ruin of all hope he hideth,
.
On what wings of the terror of darkness he rideth?
.
And what is the joy of man's life that ye blame him
.
For his bliss grown a sword, and his rest grown a fire?6.
Ye who tremble for death, or the death of desire,
.
Pass about the cold winter-tide garden and ponder
.
On the rose in his glory amidst of June's fire,
.

On the languor of noontide that gathered the thunder,
.

On the morn and its freshness, the eve and its wonder:
.

Ye may make it no more--shall Spring come to awaken?6.

Live on, for Love liveth, and earth shall be shaken
.

By the wind of his wings on the triumphing morning,
.

When the dead, and their deeds that die not shall awaken,
.

And the world's tale shall sound in your trumpet of warning,
.

And the sun smite the banner called Scorn of the Scorning,
.

And dead pain ye shall trample, dead fruitless desire,
.

As ye wend to pluck out the new world from the fire.VII7.
Dawn talks to Day
.
Over dew-gleaming flowers,
.
Night flies away
.
Till the resting of hours:
.
Fresh are thy feet
.
And with dreams thine eyes glistening,
.
Thy still lips are sweet
.
Though the world is a-listening.
.
O Love, set a word in my mouth for our meeting,
.

Cast thine arms round about me to stay my heart's beating!
.

O fresh day, O fair day, O long day made ours!...7.

Morn shall meet noon
.

While the flower-stems yet move,
.

Though the wind dieth soon
.

And the clouds fade above.
.

Loved lips are thine
.

As I tremble and hearken;
.

Bright thine eyes shine,
.

Though the leaves thy brow darken.
.

O Love, kiss me into silence, lest no word avail me,
.

Stay my head with thy bosom lest breath and life fail me!
.

O sweet day, O rich day, made long for our love!7.

Late day shall greet eve,
.

And the full blossoms shake,
.

For the wind will not leave
.

The tall trees while they wake.
.

Eyes soft with bliss,
.

Come nigher and nigher!
.

Sweet mouth I kiss,
.

Tell me all thy desire!
.

Let us speak, love, together some words of our story,
.

That our lips as they part may remember the glory!
.

O soft day, O calm day, made clear for our sake!7.

Eve shall kiss night,
.

And the leaves stir like rain
.

As the wind stealeth light
.

O'er the grass of the plain.
.

Unseen are thine eyes
.

Mid the dreamy night's sleeping,
.

And on my mouth there lies
.

The dear rain of thy weeping.
.

Hold silence, love, speak not of the sweet day departed,
.

Cling close to me, love, lest I waken sad-hearted!
.

O kind day, O dear day, short day, come again!VIII8.
Love is enough: while ye deemed him a-sleeping,
.
There were signs of his coming and sounds of his feet;
.
His touch it was that would bring you to weeping,
.
When the summer was deepest and music most sweet:
.
In his footsteps ye followed the day to its dying,
.
Ye went forth by his gown-skirts the morning to meet:
.
In his place on the beaten-down orchard-grass lying,
.
Of the sweet ways ye pondered left for life's trying.8.
Ah, what was all dreaming of pleasure anear you,
.

To the time when his eyes on your wistful eyes turned,
.

And ye saw his lips move, and his head bent to hear you,
.

As new-born and glad to his kindness ye yearned?
.

Ah, what was all dreaming of anguish and sorrow,
.

To the time when the world in his torment was burned,
.

And no god your heart from its prison might borrow,
.

And no rest was left, no today, no tomorrow?8.

All wonder of pleasure, all doubt of desire,
.

All blindness, are ended, and no more ye feel
.

If your feet treat his flowers or the flames of his fire,
.

If your breast meet his balms or the edge of his steel.
.

Change is come, and past over, no more strife, no more learning:
.

Now your lips and your forehead are sealed with his seal,
.

Look backward and smile at the thorns and the burning.
.

--Sweet rest, O my soul, and no fear of returning!IX9.
Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving,
.
Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it,
.
And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving;
.
These know the Cup with the roses around it;
.
These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it:
.
Cry out, the World heedeth not, 'Love, lead us home!'9.
He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward;
.
Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble
.
Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward,
.

Lo his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble!
.

Lo his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble!
.

Cry out, for he heedeth, 'O Love, lead us home!'9.

O hearken the words of his voice of compassion:
.

'Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken
.

Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashions!
.

As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken,
.

But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken,
.

As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home.9.

'Come--pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending!
.

Come--fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting!
.

Come--change ye shall have, for far are ye wending!
.

Come--no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting,
.

But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting!
.

Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!'9.

Is he gone? was he with us?--ho ye who seek saving,
.

Go no further; come hither; for have we not found it?
.

Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving;
.

Here is the Cup with the roses around it;
.

The World's Wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it:
.

Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home.

poem by William Morris
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20/20 The Blind Have No Trouble Seeing The Darkness

Who can understand
what we feel inside
When we gaze into the eyes
of the shadows
To which we subscribe as members
Of this dark and lonely world

Constantly turning round
while friction builds
Like rats in a tool shed
we die and are replaced
Never again to taste the bait
that lured us to our fate
Before we found the words and will to save
this dark and lonely world

Described as truth by one man
questioned and doubted by others
Remembered in short
by no one
The deeds of mankind are
shadows to us all
Whose eyes we capture
upon the walls
While searching for our place in this
dark and lonely world

Held empty in meaning and
failing to comprehend
We play the game to its end
we're always trying to win
Salvation for ourselves
while the world
goes on dancing
and picture postcards sell
The meaning of a life
to which we subscribe
As members of those shadows
in a dark and lonely world
And somehow we do manage to survive
and somehow we do manage to surmise

What lies behind those eyes
Fatalistically speaking of course.....

poem by Ted Sheridan
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Parted Presence

LOVE, I speak to your heart,
Your heart that is always here.
Oh draw me deep to its sphere,
Though you and I are apart,
And yield, by the spirit's art,
Each distant gift that is dear.
O love, my love, you are here!
Your eyes are afar to-day,
Yet, love, look now in mine eyes.
Two hearts sent forth may despise
All dead things by the way.
All between is decay,
Dead hours and this hour that dies.
O love, look deep in mine eyes!
Your hands to-day are not here,
Yet lay them, love, in my hands.
The hourglass sheds its sands
All day for the dead hours' bier;
But now, as two hearts draw near,
This hour like a flower expands.
O love, your hands in my hands!
Your voice is not on the air,
Yet, love, I can hear your voice:
It bids my heart to rejoice
As knowing your heart is there,—
A music sweet to declare
The truth of your steadfast choice.
O love, how sweet is your voice!
To-day your lips are afar,
Yet draw my lips to them, love.
Around, beneath, and above,
Is frost to bind and to bar;
But where I am and you are,
Desire and the fire thereof.
O kiss me, kiss me, my love!
Your heart is never away,
But ever with mine, for ever,
For ever without endeavour,
To-morrow, love, as to-day;
Two blent hearts never astray,
Two souls no power may sever,
Together, O my love, for ever!

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Green Woods Of Truagh

In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o' the day,
And o'er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come–
I left home and you for the stranger's far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–if God hears my prayer–
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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Dark.

Dark.
Dark is deep,
Is heavy
And soft,
Is gentle
And everywhere;
It's in your lungs.
Dark is in your lungs.
Dark is in limbo-land.
Dark is waxing
Waning as the
Phone is on/off ringing.
Dark is silent
Is in your bed,
And stirring the sheets,
Is your blanket tonight.
Every night.
Dark is warm/cold,
Is delecate hands
And elegant jewelry
Is wormed into your head.
And shiney
And thin
Is film over your eyes.
Dark.
Dark is in love.
Dark wants
You to sleep well
Tonight.

poem by Maia AlmediaAmir
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The Watcher on the Tower

I
The Voice of a Man

WHAT of the Night, O Watcher?

The Voice of a Woman

Yea, what of it?

The Watcher

A star has risen; and a wind blows strong.

Voice of the Man

The Night is dark.

The Watcher

But God is there above it.

Voice of the Woman

The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.

II
Voice of the Man

What of the Night, O Watcher?

Voice of the Woman

Night of sorrow!

The Watcher

Out of the East there comes a sound, like song.

Voice of the Man

The Night is dark.

The Watcher

Have courage! There’s To-morrow!

Voice of the Woman

The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.

III
Voice of the Man

What of the Night, O Watcher?

Voice of the Woman

Is it other?

The Watcher

I see a gleam; a thorn of light; a thong.

Voice of the Man

The Night is dark.

The Watcher

The Morning comes, my Brother.

Voice of the Woman

The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.

IV
Voice of the Man

What now, what now, O Watcher?

The Watcher

Red as slaughter
The Darkness dies. The Light comes swift and strong.

Voice of the Man

The Night was long.—What sayest thou, my Daughter?

Voice of the Woman

The Night was dark; the Night was dark and long.

poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Unto This Last

They brought my fair love out upon a bier—
Out from the dwelling that her smile made sweet,
Out from the life that her life made complete,
Into the glitter of the garish street—
And no man wept, save I, for that dead dear.
And then the dark procession wound along,
Like a black serpent with a snow-white bird
Held in its fangs. I think God said a word
To death, as He in His chill heaven heard
Her voice so sweeter than His seraph’s song.

And so Death took away her flower-sweet breath
One darkest day of days in a dark year,
And brought to that strong God who had no fear
My own dear love. Ah, closed eyes without peer!
Ah, red lips pressed on the blue lips of Death!

poem by Victor James Daley
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Page One, Part Two

My hand yearns not what my eyes have seen.
Though the eyes plead to hands,
'Show me again, learn it forever,
so when my heart aches I can look
to my memories of what I so love.
I never want to forget. wish to
memorize,
the features and the shadows,
even more - the eyes, ' Yet, Curses!
my graphite speaks Dark, and
too dark for those lite eyes
some who I love behold. And more,
Curses! If all these eyes be dark, can I never forget the dark eyes that torture and tempt.
If you look, you will fall.
Fall, fall, you have failed.

poem by D.M.L. Catseye
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Clenching My Eyes

Such a beautiful shield of ignorance.

The finest sense abolished with glee.

I clench my eyes in fear.

To the truth, forever free.

Though, I'm the final man alive.

And I smell the aftermath, indeed.

I hear the echoes from the sea.

But these, I'll never have to see.

A voice is chanting violent verses.

Venom taints it's breath.

Apocalyptic innards churning.

Putridity, all that's left.

The voice warps into a twisted roar.

And to a common language, it shifted:

'Cowardly fool, how dare you defy me?

I demand that your veil be lifted!

I know that you fear the dark voice that you hear.

And the stench of the death in the air.

But open your eyes, stop believing your lies.

And I promise your life will be spared.'

poem by Aaron Lynn
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Three Pretenders

Three pretenders forced their entry
There wasn't time to defend or attack
Somewhere inside I held their fury
But one by one my defenses began to crack
The first became a voice from my childhood
Without a world to call his own
Asking questions but doubting the answers
And too confused to stand up and face it alone
I can feel my body tremble
Like an animal under the gun
Can you feel your body tremble
Look in and see the eyes of Three Pretenders
The second came a shadowy hustler
Selling anything not nailed to the ground
He put a price on my resistance
And if it's high, I know he'll be marking it down
The third became a mysterious traveller
Stormy words like sea-weathered sails
His life was scarred with peaks and valleys
A haunted kingdom crumbling against the gales
I can feel my body tremble
Like a child afraid of the dark
Can you feel your body tremble
Look in and see the eyes of Three Pretenders

song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Dark, Painted Pink

eyes blazing in the dark
do not be slumbered
by sleek black hair
and soft touching
of breath from
ripened lips of red

eyes blazing in the dark
do not fall into sleep's abyss
as gentle touch
fingers promises on brow
with polished nails
pointed painted pink

eyes blazing in the dark
do not drift in dreams
of allures sweet scent
such intoxicates
and dims the wit
of weary men

eyes blazing in the dark
look into souls
and reflect
what is within;
eyes blazing in the dark

poem by David Taylor
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In My Dark

In my dark
I was lost and confused
feeling as if my heart
had been ripped and abused

In my dark
I discovered the truth

In my dark I couldnt find my way
I wanted to stay
hidden so far away

Deep in the ground
where I could no longer be hurt

In my dark
I was safe
no longer in the world
where words mean nothing
and hearts dont exsist

In my dark
there was only this

In my dark
I wanted to take my last breath
Close my eyes
hold closer to death

But in my dark
there was one voice
who refused
To let me close my eyes
to hide from the truth

That in my dark
tho I had never seen

That in my dark he had always been

holding me.

poem by Danyel Theresa Vertalics
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The Dead To The Living

Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.

IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,

She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!

And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!

Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'

'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Voice

Between the open heart and the whisper goodbye,
Theres a perfect teardrop in your eye.
Between the lovers moon and the trembling sky,
Theres a broken dream in your mind.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost,
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
Between the careful touch and the breakaway kiss,
Theres a beauty you cant resist.
Mmm, between the fall apart and the moment of bliss,
There must be something more than this.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
In the dark.
Hear the lonely voice.
Hear the lonely voice.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
Oh, yea, the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark. in the dark.
Lonely voice. lonely voice in the dark.
Hear the lonely voice.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark...

song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Ballad Maker

ONCE I loved a maiden fair,
Over the hills and jar away,
Lands she had and lovers to spare,
Over the hills and far away.
And I was stooped and troubled sore,
And my face was pale, and the coat I wore
Was thin as my supper the night before
Over the hills and far away.

Once I passed in the Autumn late,
Over the hills and jar away,
Her bawn and barn and painted gate,
Over the hills and jar away.
She was leaning there in the twilight space,
Sweet sorrow was on her fair young face,
And her wistful eyes were away from the place,
Over the hills and jar away.

Maybe she thought as she watched me come,
Over the hills and jar away,
With my awkward stride and my face so glum,
Over the hills and jar away.
Spite of his stoop, he still is young,
They say he goes the Shee among,
Ballads he makes; I've heard them sung
Over the hills and jar away.

She gave me good-night in gentle wise,
Over the hills and jar away,
Shyly lifting to mine, dark eyes,
Over the hills and jar away.
What could I do but stop and speak,
And she no longer proud, but meek?
She plucked me a rose like her wild-rose cheek-
Over the hills and jar away.

To-morrow Mavourneen a sleeveen weds,
Over the hills and jar away,
With corn in haggard and cattle in sheds,
Over the hills and jar away.
And I who have lost her, the dear, the rare-
Well, I got me this ballad to sing at the fair,
Twill bring enough money to drown my care,
Over the hills and jar away.

poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Castro Alves From Brazil

Castro Alves from Brazil, for whom did you sing?
Did you sing for the flower? For the water
whose beauty whispered words to the stones?
Did you sing to the eyes, to the torn profile
of the woman you once loved? For the spring?

Yes, but those petals were not dewed,
those black waters had no words,
those eyes were those who saw death,
still burning the tortures behind love,
Spring was splashed with blood.

I sang for the slaves, aboard the ships
as a dark branch of wrath.
They travelled, and bled from the ships
leaving us the weight of a stolen blood.

I sang in those days against the inferno,
against the sharp languages of greed,
against the gold drenched in the torment,
against the hand that rose the whip,
against the maestros of darkness.

Each rose had one dead man in their roots.
The light, the night, the sky were covered in tears,
the eyes separated from wounded hands
and it was my voice the only one to fill the silence.

I wanted that from the man we could be rescued,
I believed that the route passed through the man,
and from there destiny would be made.
I sang for those who had no voice.
My voice hit doors that until then were closed
so that, fighting, Freedom could be let in.

Castro Alves from Brazil, now that your pure book
is reborn to a free land,
let me, poet of our America,
to crown your head with the laurels of the people.
Your voice joined the eternal and loud voice of the men.
You sang well. You sang how it must be sung.

poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Your Smiles And Gleaming Eyes

In your smiles and gleaming eyes
there is a land of wonder that begins
and you are mine like the winds whispering
at the blooming flowers in the garden

and on your soft lips even beer is sweet,
the voices of birds die at the sound of your voice,
while I am captured by the tunes that you sing
which brings unknown joy and tranquillity.

Now your essence is much more than memory,
while your dark eyes are still swallowing me.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark Road

I will be your stay
When the feet falter.
I will be your stay
When the tears blind.
Love will sweeten yet
Though the friend alter,
And the world’s unkind.
Not alone you go this way.
Hold my hand on the dark road.
I will be your courage: would the load
On me might lay.
We will share the dust
Who have shared heaven,
Nearer now in trust
That the need calls.
I will be your stay
Till the path fail us,
Till the night veil us,
And the silence falls.

poem by James Martin Devaney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing Anymore

When I once looked into your eyes,
I saw honesty lying there.
When I once looked into your eyes,
I saw loyalty with love and care.
When I once looked into your eyes,
I saw life and love forever more.
When I now look into your eyes,
I see darkness, and nothing anymore.

When I once held onto your hand,
I felt compassion, kindness and love.
When I once held onto your hand,
I felt the warmth from GOD above.
When I once held onto your hand,
I felt a joy from the person I adored.
When I now hold onto your hand,
I feel coldness, and nothing anymore.

When I use to listen to your voice,
I once heard it with vigor and excitement.
When I use to listen to your voice,
I once heard it with warmth and fulfillment.
When I use to listened to your voice,
I once heard it with truth which I swore.
When I now listen to your voice.
I go dumb, as I hear nothing anymore.

When I once looked upon your face,
I would always look with pride and a smile.
When I once looked upon your face,
I would always thank GOD your with me now
When I once looked upon your face,
I would always be there to open your door.
When I now look upon your face,
I go blind, as I see nothing anymore.

When I once kissed your lips,
I tasted myself and also your flavor.
When I once kissed your lips,
I tasted life as you were my savior.
When I once kissed your lips,
I tasted excitement and your love in store.
When I now think of kissing your lips,
I now bite them shut, I taste nothing anymore.

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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