The Fugitive Ideal
As some most pure and noble face,
Seen in the thronged and hurrying street,
Sheds o'er the world a sudden grace,
A flying odour sweet,
Then, passing, leaves the cheated sense
Baulked with a phantom excellence;
So, on our soul the visions rise
Of that fair life we never led:
They flash a splendour past our eyes,
We start, and they are fled:
They pass, and leave us with blank gaze,
Resigned to our ignoble days.
poem by William Watson
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Retrospection
I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts, and say,
Alas! how many friends of youth are dead;
How many visions of fair hope have fled,
Since first, my Muse, we met.--So speeds away
Life, and its shadows; yet we sit and sing,
Stretched in the noontide bower, as if the day
Declined not, and we yet might trill our lay
Beneath the pleasant morning's purple wing
That fans us; while aloft the gay clouds shine!
Oh, ere the coming of the long cold night,
Religion, may we bless thy purer light,
That still shall warm us, when the tints decline
O'er earth's dim hemisphere; and sad we gaze
On the vain visions of our passing days!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Patience
PATIENCE and I have traveled hand in hand
So many days that I have grown to trace
The lines of sad, sweet beauty in her face,
And all its veiled depths to understand.
Not beautiful is she to eyes profane;
Silent and unrevealed her holy charms;
But, like a mother's, her serene, strong arms
Uphold my footsteps on the path of pain.
I long to cry, -- her soft voice whispers, 'Nay!'
I seek to fly, but she restrains my feet;
In wisdom stern, yet in compassion sweet,
She guides my helpless wanderings, day by day.
O my Beloved, life's golden visions fade,
And one by one life's phantom joys depart;
They leave a sudden darkness in the heart,
And patience fills their empty place instead.
poem by Edith Wharton
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The Four Princesses At Wilna. A Photograph
Sweet faces, that from pictured casements lean
As from a castle window, looking down
On some gay pageant passing through a town,
Yourselves the fairest figures in the scene;
With what a gentle grace, with what serene
Unconsciousness ye wear the triple crown
Of youth and beauty and the fair renown
Of a great name, that ne'er hath tarnished been!
From your soft eyes, so innocent and sweet,
Four spirits, sweet and innocent as they,
Gaze on the world below, the sky above;
Hark! there is some one singing in the street;
'Faith, Hope, and Love! these three,' he seems to say;
'These three; and greatest of the three is Love.'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Days Go By
I'm changing lanes
I'm talking on the phone
I'm drivin' way to fast
And the interstate's jammed with
Gunners like me afraid of coming in last
But somewhere in the race we run
We're coming undone
Days go by
I can feel 'em flying
Like a hand out the window in the wind as the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin' right now
'Cause days go by
Out on the roof just the other night
I watched the world flash by
Headlights, taillights running through a river of neon signs
But somewhere in the rush I felt
We're losing ourselves
Days go by
I can feel 'em flying
Like a hand out the window in the wind as the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin' right now
'Cause days go by
We think about tomorrow then it slips away
We talk about forever but we've only got today
And the days go by
I can feel 'em flying
Like a hand out the window
As the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin'
You better start livin'
Better start livin' right now
Cause days go by
I can feel like 'em flying
Like a hand out the window in the wind as the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin' right now
Cause days go by
These days go by
So take 'em by the hand
They're yours and mine
Take 'em by the hand
And live your life
Take 'em by the hand
Don't let 'em all fly by
Come on, Come on now
Don't you know the days go by
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To be called beggar
It is curse on earth to be called beggar
It hurts a person as if inserted with the dragger
Who can like such remarks when had plenty?
He is spending life now as beggar with fallen grace from almighty
The cycle changes in everybody's life
Sometimes from the treachery of wife
Sometimes cheated by own relatives
When person remains choosey and subjective
See the lines on the face of beggar
He may look at you with agony and fear
Expecting no big amount but small coin
Collect few and come back to family to join
Not all beggars may have family of their own
Some of them may be earning more and popularly know
Yet majority of them suffer under trauma
As life has cheated them by playing drama
I hesitated for a moment to dropp coin in his hand
He was helpless but had bright eyes and looked as friend
I saw some compulsion in his eyes and felt bad
The same situation can come in our life too and make sad
Even if you want to donate or give with willingness
Give it with pleasure and happiness of face
Never make it known that it is just a gesture
God has given you plenty and act is noble and pure
Let us wish such days not come in anybody's life
It is treacherous and disgraceful to feel edge of knife
Person dies at every moment and finds no answer
Summer, hot sun and rain make their life miserable with showers
Some of the people even act as beggars
They may hold fortune under safe custody and fear
They may find no proper sleep and suffer restless nights
He is beggar by virtue and another is penniless in the street
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet IV
Behold the deed is done. Here endeth all
That bound my grief to its ancestral ways.
I have passed out, as from a funeral,
From my dead home, and in the great world's gaze
Henceforth I stand, a pilgrim of new days,
On the high road of life. Where I was thrall,
See, I am master, being passionless;
And, having nothing now, am lord of all.
How glorious is the world! Its infinite grace
Surprises me--and not as erst with fear,
But as one meets a woman face to face,
Loved once and unforgotten and still dear
In certain moods and seasons. So to me
The fair world smiles to--day, yet leaves me free.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Vanity of Vanities
Be ye happy, if ye may,
In the years that pass away.
Ye shall pass and be forgot,
And your place shall know you not.
Other generations rise,
With the same hope in their eyes
That in yours is kindled now,
And the same light on their brow.
They shall see the selfsame sun
That your eyes now gaze upon,
They shall breathe the same sweet air,
And shall reck not who ye were.
Yet they too shall fade at last
In the twilight of the past,
They and you alike shall be
Lost from the world's memory.
Then, while yet ye breathe and live,
Drink the cup that life can give.
Be ye happy, if ye may,
In the years that pass away,
Ere the golden bowl be broken,
Ere ye pass and leave no token,
Ere the silver cord be loosed,
Ere ye turn again to dust.
`And shall this be all,' ye cry,
`But to eat and drink and die?
If no more than this there be,
Vanity of vanity!'
Yea, all things are vanity,
And what else but vain are ye?
Ye who boast yourselves the kings
Over all created things.
Kings! whence came your right to reign?
Ye shall be dethroned again.
Yet for this, your one brief hour,
Wield your mockery of power.
Dupes of Fate, that treads you down
Wear awhile your tinsel crown
Be ye happy, if ye may,
In the years that pass away.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Far away from you [Departe sunt de tine]
I'm far away from you, watching the fire dance,
Thinking that in my life, I've never had a chance.
It seems I've lived too long, that eighty years have fled
I am as old as winter, I think that you are dead.
The memories are flooding my soul like bitter rivals
Reviving on my mind the past with all its trifles;
The windows now are trembling, because the wind is knocking,
Sweet tales of life my mind is spinning and recalling.
And then I see you passing, a phantom from the skies
With small and chilly hands, with tears in your big eyes;
You cling around my neck and I can see you're shy
You'd like to tell me something, but then you stop and sigh...
I hug my only wealth of love and wondrous things,
With kisses we are joining our lives, despite their stings...
To silence all my thoughts in vain I wish so bad
If only I could forget the good luck that I had,
To leave behind that moment when you departed slowly...
You will have been long dead, I will be old and lonely!
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Joy
My heart is like a little bird
That sits and sings for very gladness.
Sorrow is some forgotten word,
And so, except in rhyme, is sadness.
The world is very fair to me –
Such azure skies, such golden weather,
I’m like a long caged bird set free,
My heart is lighter than a feather.
I rise rejoicing in my life;
I live with love of God and neighbour;
My days flow on unmarred by strife,
And sweetened by my pleasant labour.
O youth! O spring! O happy days,
Ye are so passing sweet, and tender,
And while the fleeting season stays,
I revel care-free, in its splendour.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Amazing Grace
Amazing Grace, how sweet God is, and all because of this,
The Gift He sent upon a Cross, God’s Gift to all those lost,
A gift that is deserved by none, the Gift of God’s own Son,
Our Blessed Savior, Jesus Christ, who came to give us life.
His Grace reaches far and wide, and no one shall be denied,
Who comes by faith to Him, Christ, who died for all their sin,
And all who seek His face, receive from Him amazing Grace,
Grace that opens up that door, to life with God forevermore.
It is a Grace that’s from above, guiding us here by His love,
A love that sent His only Son, to be the Savior of everyone,
With His love, comes a peace, that from God will not cease,
Peace unlike the world’s friend, inner peace that has no end.
God’s Grace truly changes men, in Christ they’re born again,
Sinful men of this earth, now bound for heaven by new birth,
Fallen men, now changed for life, in a world where sin is rife,
Now living life for the Lord, since His Grace was not ignored.
Grace will soften a hard heart, giving a life a brand new start,
By giving a soul eyes to see, God’s Truth, regarding eternity,
Turning a soul to the place, where they receive saving Grace,
At the Cross of Calvary, where Grace began for you and me.
(Copyright ©09/200)
To Daisies
Ah, drops of gold in whitening flame
Burning, we know your lovely name -
Daisies, that little children pull!
Like all weak things, over the strong
Ye do not know your power for wrong,
And much abuse your feebleness.
Daisies, that little children pull,
As ye are weak, be merciful!
O hide your eyes! they are to me
Beautiful insupportably.
Or be but conscious ye are fair,
And I your loveliness could bear,
But, being fair so without art,
Ye vex the silted memories of my heart!
As a pale ghost yearning strays
With sundered gaze,
'Mid corporal presences that are
To it impalpable - such a bar
Sets you more distant than the morning-star.
Such wonder is on you, and amaze,
I look and marvel if I be
Indeed the phantom, or are ye?
The light is on your innocence
Which fell from me.
The fields ye still inhabit whence
My world-acquainted treading strays,
The country where I did commence;
And though ye shine to me so near,
So close to gross and visible sense, -
Between us lies impassable year on year.
To other time and far-off place
Belongs your beauty: silent thus,
Though to other naught you tell,
To me your ranks are rumorous
Of an ancient miracle.
Vain does my touch your petals graze,
I touch you not; and though ye blossom here,
Your roots are fast in alienated days.
Ye there are anchored, while Time's stream
Has swept me past them: your white ways
And infantile delights do seem
To look in on me like a face,
Dead and sweet, come back through dream,
With tears, because for old embrace
It has no arms.
These hands did toy,
Children, with you, when I was child,
And in each other's eyes we smiled:
Not yours, not yours the grievous-fair
Apparelling
With which you wet mine eyes; you wear,
Ah me, the garment of the grace
I wove you when I was a boy;
O mine, and not the year's your stolen Spring!
And since ye wear it,
Hide your sweet selves! I cannot bear it.
For when ye break the cloven earth
With your young laughter and endearment,
No blossomy carillon 'tis of mirth
To me; I see my slaughtered joy
Bursting its cerement.
poem by Francis Thompson
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Nothing Is Alright
What can I say?
Nothing at all is remaining to say
Everything has just gone blank
Life has really gone blank
These empty pages of life have nothing remaining
Days are passing by and she is always going further away from me
Her memories I still hold, deeply within feelings of my heart
Although, I know soon she is going to forever forget me.
To be honest I never want that to happen, since I forever want her in my heart and life
Sadly, life will never let that occurrence to be
This truth hurts as some people are impossible to forget
Even if I try, then also I cannot do so
It is about pure love which blossomed, although could not last forever
Want to just weep as much I possibly can
Nothing is alright because you are my essence
Till eternity I desire you to be next to me
That cannot ever be as even the strength of pure love failed
I am empty and totally blank.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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A Birthday Present
```Say what, to please you, you would have me be.''
Then listen, dear!
I fain would have you very fair to see,
And sweet to hear.
`You should have Aphrodite's form and face,
With Dian's tread;
And something of Minerva's lofty grace
Should crown your head.
`Summer should wander in your voice, and Spring
Gleam in your gaze,
And pure thoughts ripen in your heart that bring
Calm Autumn days.
`Yours should be winning ways that make Love live,
And ne'er grow old,
With ever something yet more sweet to give,
Which you withhold.
`You should have generous hopes that can beguile
Life's doubts and fears,
And, ever waiting on your April smile,
The gift of tears.
`You should be close to us as earth and sea,
And yet as far
As Heaven itself. In sooth, I'd have you be
Just what you are.'
poem by Alfred Austin
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Sunshine Eyes
Sunshine Eyes
Inside her mind so rapid and kind. A grace and innocence long ago feared to be lost. In her embrace you still can find.
Revealed again and running wild. Inside of her it lives and breathes. Inside of her it thrives.
Sunshine eyes that rise with her smile, irradiate her laughing face.
Oh tiny one with eyes as brilliant as the sun. She overflows your emptiness. Carrying with her all of your hopes and promise for the days to come.
And when this world sears with endless hatred and crushing fears. Just listen for her whispers soft, those simple wisdoms in your ears. That tiny voice will steal your heart, she’s everything that you hold dear, your troubles fade and fall away, carry no weight when she is near. And with a smile she dries away the rising flooding of your tears.
Sunshine eyes that rise and shine, encourage me to keep the faith.
This musical child electric and wild while all around her love resides.
Excitement running she comes to you with endless energy in her tiny strides
And all at once a flash of light as every form of joy collides
I love you too. This blessed child so soft and sweet she does confide.
Sunshine eyes that burn so bright illuminate this darkened place. If not for you then for the souls that find their strength somewhere within your sunshine gaze.
Sunshine eyes of hope and light may your eyes shine on endless days. And like your eyes may your heart and soul with happiness forever blaze. And light the way for all of those that share your joy and witness all your sunshine ways.
(For my niece Lilly)
poem by Marcel Tourdot
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FEEL AGAIN - Song Lyrics
Passing by my eyes
Are people living lives
They flow before my gaze
Just like the memories
In my mind
I watch them from
My hiding place
In shadows so
To hide my face
And as they pass
The memories flash
Of how it felt to feel that way
And home…
I long for home…
Where is my home…
Please take me home…
Home…
Please take me home…
Where is my home…
I long for home…
I watch the people
Not because
I wanna be their friend
I watch them not
Because I hope to know
Them in the end
I simply watch
And ask myself
Why do I feel this way
How did I get here
Can I hope
To feel again someday
To feel the feelings
That they feel…
To hope, to love, to cry
To fall and feel the pain
Or rise in triumph to the sky
And home…
I long for home…
Where is my home…
Please take me home…
Home…
Please take me home…
Where is my home…
I long for home…
All I have are memories
Of the times
When things were good
Memories of the days
Of when I felt
The way I should
Memories now that
Flow before the view
Inside my mind
Just as the passing people
Flow before my open eyes
Oh God! How can I be
Like them
Is there a way to
Start again
I know there is
I know its there
I’ll find it
I don’t ****ing care
What I have to go through
What I lose and what I lack
I know my heart
Can feel again
If I can only
Find my way back
Home…
I’m going home…
This is my home…
It feels like home…
Home…
This feels like home…
This feels like home…
This feels like home…
Home…
This feels like home…
This feels like home…
This feels like home…
I’m finally home
…Jeff Bresee
poem by Jeff Bresee
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In Memoriam Matris
IN my hot youth I rashly penned
A Sonnet of the After-life.
It was the time of stress and strife
Through which the ardent soul must wend.
It was the Spring-time of my days,
When Doubt, like an inspired sage,
With creeds did eager warfare wage,
And looked with scorn on ancient ways.
But gazing back across the years
That separate my youth from me,
These words and thoughts now seem to be
All dim, as through a mist of tears.
For then I saw, with eager eyes,
A coming world where joy would reign,
And evil pass away, and pain,
When man was rid of priestly ties.
While now I turn a backward gaze
On visions fled, and vanished hours,
On dead dry leaves and perished flow'rs,
That make the story of my days.
And midway on that dreary track
I see a grave-stone, standing white —
Far off. I see it in the night;
It says, “Thy mother comes not back.”
We brought her from the Austral land,
To this the land that gave her birth;
We laid her cold, in English earth,
My sire and I — and now we stand,
Like aliens, on a dreary shore,
Though once he fondly called it “Home.”
Now, old and mateless, he would roam
Back to that southern land once more.
For there her spirit seems to be,
There lie her babes beneath the sod;
And there, but for the hand of God,
Her grandchild would have climbed her knee.
* * * * *
These verses of the heedless Past,
They echo not my saddened thought,
— I held that after death came nought:
The earth was not then on her cast.
Denial now is dumb within,
Without I can but grope my way,
And trust that in some brighter day
Man's soul shall live — absolved of sin.
poem by Arthur Patchett Martin
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Dreamland
When midnight mists are creeping,
And all the land is sleeping,
Around me tread the mighty dead,
And slowly pass away.
Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,
From out the vanished ages,
With solemn pace and reverend face
Appear and pass away.
The blaze of noonday splendour,
The twilight soft and tender,
May charm the eye: yet they shall die,
Shall die and pass away.
But here, in Dreamland's centre,
No spoiler's hand may enter,
These visions fair, this radiance rare,
Shall never pass away.
I see the shadows falling,
The forms of old recalling;
Around me tread the mighty dead,
And slowly pass away.
poem by Lewis Carroll
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There is no face as fair
There is no face as fair
and dear to me
as yours
and no light shines as bright
and pure
as the look in your eyes.
If anything endures
it’s your heart that is true
and pure
and strike me with sincerity.
You alone satisfy the hunger
of my soul
and come as the drug
that brings sense and sensibility
when I want to brake free
from the things surrounding me.
Even if the world is sick
and malignant with horror,
pain, unfairness, cruelty
and hardship,
you still remain
the light in my life
and the one
that brings clarity
to the abyss around me
because you love unselfishly.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Crazy-mazy Lee! Buzzy-fuzzy Bee Lost in Marathon Battle!
Flash it back, flash it back! Many moons ago - Sun is the god,
Stars are angels yet the moon is the lord;
Nature is the empire of plants and flowers.....
Trees and fruits danced in nature’s showers!
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Oho! Things connected to original universe are supreme,
Yahoo! Flowing brooks, waves in the sea instilled hope in him,
Nature comforted primitive clan;
The same cosmos is he! Yet destroyed by the advanced man.
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Oops! Sunday changed to Monday,
Monday to Saturday – human live changes every day;
Bingo! Hamlets changed to Towns in the same way!
Towns to cities, everything changes for a new-way;
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
By Jove! There is no time to appreciate the god's creation
And comprehend sky’s commotion in the life of apprehension.
Holystone! Holy Man trapped in artificiality, lost his future!
Far away from nature, is this human creature!
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Traveling to the east, flying to the west,
sailing on the water and locomotion on the motor,
Worst at best, he is Bugging the nature for his best,
Man stop hurting nature and Quit harming nature!
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
In the world, where east meets west,
You and I are told work without rest,
A poor life disc if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare......
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Eating fast food in hurry-bury!
Dating and rating with money in a scurry
Leaves you and me in a worry,
Pushes hin in to a corner, what a sad story!
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Lo! Get spirit from Dazzling sun! soon,
See! Get delight from Divine moon,
Listen to birds' songs in the forenoon! !
Go far away from maddening crowd, in the afternoon;
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Man has shut the door of his mind....
Crazy-mazy Lee! Buzzy-fuzzy Bee Lost in Marathon Battle!
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Evening Thoughts
How beautiful
The calm earth resteth in her quiet sleep!
There are no sounds of human life abroad,
And the soft voice of that one bird, whose plaint
Melteth upon the ear so soothingly,
Seems but the low breeze moulded into sound.
The shadows of the trees distinctly lie
Upon the earth unstirring, and no breath
Comes whispering among the tender leaves,
To wake them into playfulness.
The sky
Bendeth in loveliness above the earth,
With a few clouds drawn o'er it, beautiful
In the soft light, and exquisitely pure,
As if they knew no other home than heaven.
Oh, thus it is, God of the universe!
That thou wouldst sanctify with thy rich grace,
Our erring human hearts, that we might be,
When from the earth our day of life hath pass'd,
Dwellers in that bright world where all are pure—
A world where sorrow cometh not, nor sin,
Nor the down-stooping ‘neath the oppressor's hand.
Alas! that earthly things should be so fair,
And day by day harmoniously move on
In their allotted course, at thy command,
Dutiful and unwavering from their track,
And man, man only, who alone may know
How beautiful thy ordinances are,
Mock at thy holy will, and mar his soul
With the dark stains of sin. Alas! that man,
With thy pure law unveil'd before his eyes,
Should bind the fetter on his brother's form,
And smite him with the scourge, and bid him pour
His strength out on the earth, for no reward;
And worse than this, wrench from his bleeding heart
The dearest objects of his earthly love;
And all that the oppressor's hoards may flow
With Mammon's worthless treasures; meagre dust,
Beside the priceless treasure of a soul!
Shall it be ever thus? Most Merciful!
Will man's hard heart be never touch'd with all
The o'erflowings of thy love, and yield itself
To gentle sympathies, till he shall learn
The noble joy of pouring happiness
Upon the heart of sorrow, and how sweet
The pleasure is of shedding bliss abroad.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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