Pan the Fallen
1 He wandered into the market
2 With pipes and goatish hoof;
3 He wandered in a grotesque shape,
4 And no one stood aloof.
5 For the children crowded round him,
6 The wives and greybeards, too,
7 To crack their jokes and have their mirth,
8 And see what Pan would do.
9 The Pan he was they knew him,
10 Part man, but mostly beast,
11 Who drank, and lied, and snatched what bones
12 Men threw him from their feast;
13 Who seemed in sin so merry,
14 So careless in his woe,
15 That men despised, scarce pitied him,
16 And still would have it so.
17 He swelled his pipes and thrilled them,
18 And drew the silent tear;
19 He made the gravest clack with mirth
20 By his sardonic leer.
21 He blew his pipes full sweetly
22 At their amused demands,
23 And caught the scornful, earth-flung pence
24 That fell from careless hands.
25 He saw the mob's derision,
26 And took it kindly, too,
27 And when an epithet was flung,
28 A coarser back he threw;
29 But under all the masking
30 Of a brute, unseemly part,
31 I looked, and saw a wounded soul,
32 And a god-like, breaking heart.
33 And back of the elfin music,
34 The burlesque, clownish play,
35 I knew a wail that the weird pipes made,
36 A look that was far away,—
37 A gaze into some far heaven
38 Whence a soul had fallen down;
39 But the mob only saw the grotesque beast
40 And the antics of the clown.
41 For scant-flung pence he paid them
42 With mirth and elfin play,
43 Till, tired for a time of his antics queer,
44 They passed and went their way;
45 Then there in the empty market
46 He ate his scanty crust,
47 And, tired face turned to heaven, down
48 He laid him in the dust.
49 And over his wild, strange features
50 A softer light there fell,
51 And on his worn, earth-driven heart
52 A peace ineffable.
53 And the moon rose over the market,
54 But Pan the beast was dead;
55 While Pan the god lay silent there,
56 With his strange, distorted head.
57 And the people, when they found him,
58 Stood still with awesome fear.
59 No more they saw the beast's rude hoof,
60 The furtive, clownish leer;
61 But the lightest in that audience
62 Went silent from the place,
63 For they knew the look of a god released
64 That shone from his dead face.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Related quotes
Lost In Faith
i cried late nights a
long time ago but no one
came to save me each night
i prayed but none of my
prayers was heard
i alone knew where i stood
i alone knew the capability
of this beast...i strech out
and reach for your hand
but fell short when no man
grabbed up on to me
i fell for decayeds back to back
and stood after all in my dreams
i found peace and joy
but now of this can follox me home
and for that my faith is few
poem by Robert Roberts
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Terror in the fields
I often dreamt there was a beast.
A beast lurking in the feild.
A human beast that didnt no how to be humane.
The only thing this beast knew was power of one thing.
The power of rape was what he knew.
As I played in the field.
My little playing place.
He was watching my every move.
Yes this is the perfect one shes all alone.
As I ran passed the trees.
He pounced on me.
Shut it or I'll kill you was what he said.
In that split second he raped me.
And I couldnt do a thing.
All I could do was lie there frozen to the spot.
I couldnt shout or scream.
I couldnt wriggle free.
Cos this wasnt the first time.
Now I cant play in my once happy place.
Its not the same its no longer safe.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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By The Fireside : The Singers
God sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.
The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre;
Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.
The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.
A gray old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ rolled
Contrition from its mouths of gold.
And those who heard the Singers three
Disputed which the best might be;
For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart,
But the great Master said, 'I see
No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.
'These are the three great chords of might,
And he whose ear is tuned aright
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony.'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Where Was Love?
The maiden mourned within her heart
Where all our best dreams grow.
She knew life had a missing part,
For love she didn't know.
She'd never met a likely lad,
With twinkles in his eyes...
No wonder that she felt so sad
And pondered full of sighs...
Her life continued day-by-day,
No-one to hold her tight.
No-one with sweet words meant to say,
'You are my one delight! '
And so her sighs turned into tears
That fell on stony ground...
And weeks turned into months then years
And little joy was found...
Of course she prayed, yet God remained
As silent as could be.
And so dismayed, with nothing gained,
She always looked lonely.
But God had heard her precious prayer...
And thought it wonderful.
He searched the Earth for one who'd care,
Someone incredible!
The likely lad was introduced...
Romance lit up his smile!
The maiden stood there quite amused,
Confused and in denial.
God saw them both and smiled above...
As smiles between them passed.
Because she knew her one true love
Was here, right now, at last!
poem by Denis Martindale
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Pipes Of Peace
I light a candle to our love
In love our problems disapper
But all in all we soon discover
That one and one is all we long to hear
Allround the world
Little children being born to the world
Got to give them all we can til the war is won
Then will the work be done
Help them to learn (help them to learn)
Songs of joy instead of burn, baby, burn(burn, baby burn)
Let us show them how to play the pipes of peace
Play the pipes of peace
Help me to learn
Songs of joy instead of burn, baby, burn
Wont you show me to play(how to play) the pipes of peace(pipes of
Peace)
Play the pipes of peace
What do you say? (what do you say)
Will the human race be run in a day? (in a day)
Or will someone save this planet were playing on?
Is it the only one? (what are we going to do? )
Help them to see (help them to see)
That the people here are like you and me (you and me)
Let us show them how to play(how to play)the pipes of
Peace(pipesofpeace)
Play the pipes of peace
Ooh___________________
I light a candle to our love
In love our problems disapper
But all in all we soon discover
That one and one is all we long to hear
Allround the world
Little children being born to the world
Got to give them all we can til the war is won
Then will the work be done
Help them to learn (help them to learn)
Songs of joy instead of burn, baby, burn(burn, baby burn)
Let us show them how to play the pipes of peace
Play the pipes of peace
Help me to learn
Songs of joy instead of burn, baby, burn
Wont you show me to play(how to play) the pipes of peace(pipes of
Peace)
Play the pipes of peace
What do you say? (what do you say)
Will the human race be run in a day? (in a day)
Or will someone save this planet were playing on?
Is it the only one? (what are we going to do? )
Help them to see (help them to see)
That the people here are like you and me (you and me)
Let us show them how to play(how to play)the pipes of
Peace(pipesofpeace)
Play the pipes of peace
Ooh___________________
I light a candle to our love
In love our problems disapper
But all in all we soon discover
That one and one is all we long to hear
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pipes At Lucknow
Pipes of the misty moorlands,
Voice of the glens and hills;
The droning of the torrents,
The treble of the rills!
Not the braes of bloom and heather,
Nor the mountains dark with rain,
Nor maiden bower, nor border tower,
Have heard your sweetest strain!
Dear to the Lowland reaper,
And plaided mountaineer, -
To the cottage and the castle
The Scottish pipes are dear; -
Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch
O'er mountain, loch, and glade;
But the sweetest of all music
The pipes at Lucknow played.
Day by day the Indian tiger
Louder yelled, and nearer crept;
Round and round the jungle-serpent
Near and nearer circles swept.
'Pray for rescue, wives and mothers, -
Pray to-day!' the soldier said;
'To-morrow, death's between us
And the wrong and shame we dread.'
Oh, they listened, looked, and waited,
Till their hope became despair;
And the sobs of low bewailing
Filled the pauses of their prayer.
Then up spake a Scottish maiden.
With her ear unto the ground:
'Dinna ye hear it? - dinna ye hear it?
The pipes o' Havelock sound!'
Hushed the wounded man his groaning;
Hushed the wife her little ones;
Alone they heard the drum-roll
And the roar of Sepoy guns.
But to sounds of home and childhood
The Highland ear was true; -
As her mother's cradle-crooning
The mountain pipes she knew.
Like the march of soundless music
Through the vision of the seer,
More of feeling than of hearing,
Of the heart than of the ear,
She knew the droning pibroch,
She knew the Campbell's call:
'Hark! hear ye no MacGregor's,
The grandest o' them all!'
Oh, they listened, dumb and breathless,
And they caught the sound at last;
Faint and far beyond the Goomtee
Rose and fell the piper's blast!
Then a burst of wild thanksgiving
Mingled woman's voice and man's;
'God be praised! - the march of Havelock!
The piping of the clans!'
Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance,
Sharp and shrill as swords at strife,
Came the wild MacGregor's clan-call,
Stinging all the air to life.
But when the far-off dust-cloud
To plaided legions grew,
Full tenderly and blithesomely
The pipes of rescue blew!
Round the silver domes of Lucknow.
Moslem mosque and Pagan shrine,
Breathed the air to Britons dearest,
The air of Auld Lang Syne.
O'er the cruel roll of war-drums
Rose that sweet and homelike strain;
And the tartan clove the turban,
As the Goomtee cleaves the plain.
Dear to the corn-land reaper
And plaided mountaineer, -
To the cottage and the castle
The piper's song is dear.
Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch
O'er mountain, glen, and glade;
But the sweetest of all music
The pipes at Lucknow played!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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I Cast My Net Into The Sea
In the morning I cast my net into the sea.
I dragged up from the dark abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty -- some shone like a smile, some glistened like tears, and some were flushed like the cheeks of a bride.
When with the day's burden I went home, my love was sitting in the garden idly tearing the leaves of a flower.
I hesitated for a moment, and then placed at her feet all that I had dragged up, and stood silent.
She glanced at them and said, 'What strange things are these? I know not of what use they are!'
I bowed my head in shame and thought, 'I have not fought for these, I did not buy them in the market; they are not fit gifts for her.'
Then the whole night through I flung them one by one into the street.
In the morning travellers came; they picked them up and carried them into far countries.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Ballad of Hell
'A letter from my love to-day!
Oh, unexpected, dear appeal!'
She struck a happy tear away,
And broke the crimson seal.
'My love, there is no help on earth,
No help in heaven; the dead-man's bell
Must toll our wedding; our first hearth
Must be the well-paved floor of hell.'
The colour died from out her face,
Her eyes like ghostly candles shone;
She cast dread looks about the place,
Then clenched her teeth and read right on.
'I may not pass the prison door;
Here must I rot from day to day,
Unless I wed whom I abhor,
My cousin, Blanche of Valencay.
'At midnight with my dagger keen,
I'll take my life; it must be so.
Meet me in hell to-night, my queen,
For weal and woe.'
She laughed although her face was wan,
She girded on her golden belt,
She took her jewelled ivory fan,
And at her glowing missal knelt.
Then rose, 'And am I mad?' she said:
She broke her fan, her belt untied;
With leather girt herself instead,
And stuck a dagger at her side.
She waited, shuddering in her room,
Till sleep had fallen on all the house.
She never flinched; she faced her doom:
They two must sin to keep their vows.
Then out into the night she went,
And, stooping, crept by hedge and tree;
Her rose-bush flung a snare of scent,
And caught a happy memory.
She fell, and lay a minute's space;
She tore the sward in her distress;
The dewy grass refreshed her face;
She rose and ran with lifted dress.
She started like a morn-caught ghost
Once when the moon came out and stood
To watch; the naked road she crossed,
And dived into the murmuring wood.
The branches snatched her streaming cloak;
A live thing shrieked; she made no stay!
She hurried to the trysting-oak—
Right well she knew the way.
Without a pause she bared her breast,
And drove her dagger home and fell,
And lay like one that takes her rest,
And died and wakened up in hell.
She bathed her spirit in the flame,
And near the centre took her post;
From all sides to her ears there came
The dreary anguish of the lost.
The devil started at her side,
Comely, and tall, and black as jet.
'I am young Malespina's bride;
Has he come hither yet?'
'My poppet, welcome to your bed.'
'Is Malespina here?'
'Not he! To-morrow he must wed
His cousin Blanche, my dear!'
'You lie, he died with me to-night.'
'Not he! it was a plot' ... 'You lie.'
'My dear, I never lie outright.'
'We died at midnight, he and I.'
The devil went. Without a groan
She, gathered up in one fierce prayer,
Took root in hell's midst all alone,
And waited for him there.
She dared to make herself at home
Amidst the wail, the uneasy stir.
The blood-stained flame that filled the dome,
Scentless and silent, shrouded her.
How long she stayed I cannot tell;
But when she felt his perfidy,
She marched across the floor of hell;
And all the damned stood up to see.
The devil stopped her at the brink:
She shook him off; she cried, 'Away!'
'My dear, you have gone mad, I think.'
'I was betrayed: I will not stay.'
Across the weltering deep she ran;
A stranger thing was never seen:
The damned stood silent to a man;
They saw the great gulf set between.
To her it seemed a meadow fair;
And flowers sprang up about her feet
She entered heaven; she climbed the stair
And knelt down at the mercy-seat.
Seraphs and saints with one great voice
Welcomed that soul that knew not fear.
Amazed to find it could rejoice,
Hell raised a hoarse, half-human cheer.
poem by John Davidson
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Finding Peace In A Beast
And the young boy laid down
Down in peace as it abounds
In the field where the peace is found
But this beast this peace it clouds
Today this beast stands amist his peace
But he wont blink in awe of the beast
With closed eyes and racing heart beats
He lies down in peace
And in his dreams the beast was gone out of the field
poem by Yewande Adedokun
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Beauty And Beast
They met a million years ago
Yet fresh as morning dew kissed keaf
Their love was revealed.
Arrows but no arrows passing through them.
She walked a line of broken dream
He, twixt genius and madness did seem.
But though their lips surely had not met
There lay a hunger passion had set.
Bathed in love yet dried with fear
He questioned her heart, she answered with tear
Weak with the strength of Cupids' sting
They dreamt in music they slept on cloud
Defeating doubts that whispers bring
Their silent symphony so loud.
But when passion cooled as he left her door
Jealousy would strike with sharpened claw.
Now Beauty saw the beast as weak
His poetry her heart would seek
To paint the wind would be a start
Mere brushstrokes when they were apart.
To leave would mean a lonely bell
Lost like the leaf in graveyard fell.
To stay and soothe the wounded soul
Retrieve sweet joy the beast had stole
Or cut him, left to rage alone
Facing demons on his own.
Yet love in silent carriage rides
Moving hearts and turning tides.
As Beauty lay in silent prayer
The beast would have to leave the lair
Die in the mud or soar to sky
Taste his own blood or surely die.....
And now they met a week ago
So strong in trust the beast will grow
Her wounded sparrow now ascends
As Beauty's faith in love transcends
-The pain
And they burn like a fevered candle
-Again.
Forever unquenched.
poem by Kevin East
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Forest Lord for S.J.Gardner
As I walked out beneath the moon
I heard that old compelling tune
The Pipes of Pan that faintly play
have power to steal my will away.
The old God rules the forest yet
I know he does I can’t forget.
I was forced to follow the sound.
Although I know he can’t be found.
Unless he chooses to reveal
he is alive and well and real.
To tell the truth I found it odd
For Pan is a forgotten God.
He has the power to overrule
with music as his only tool.
My hardened shell of disbelief
and in some way grant me relief.
From all the woes which trouble me.
So for a little while I’m free,
to leave reality behind.
For long enough to still my mind.
I might be only fantasy.
I’m well ware that it could be
Although I try I can’t explain
the forest is till Pans domain.
Then suddenly the music ceased.
I knew that I had been released.
I still cherish the memory
Of the night Pan played pipes for me..
28-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Well's Secret
I KNEW it all my boyhood: in a lonesome valley meadow,
Like a dryad's mirror hidden by the wood's dim arches near;
Its eye flashed back the sunshine, and grew dark and sad with shadow;
And I loved its truthful depths where every pebble lay so clear.
I scooped my hand and drank it, and watched the sensate quiver
Of the rippling rings of silver as the beads of crystal fell;
I pressed the richer grasses from its little trickling river,
Till at last I knew, as friends know, every secret of the well.
But one day I stood beside it on a sudden, unexpected,
When the sun had crossed the valley and a shadow hid the place;
And I looked in the dark water—saw my pallid cheek reflected—
And beside it, looking upward, met an evil reptile face:
Looking upward, furtive, startled at the silent, swift intrusion;
Then it darted toward the grasses, and I saw not where it fled;
But I knew its eyes were on me, and the old-time sweet illusion
Of the pure and perfect symbol I had cherished there was dead.
O, the pain to know the perjury of seeming truth that blesses!
My soul was seared like sin to see the falsehood of the place;
And the innocence that mocked me, while in dim unseen recesses
There were lurking fouler secrets than the furtive reptile face.
And since then,—O, why the burden?—when the joyous faces greet me,
With their eyes of limpid innocence, and words devoid of art,
I cannot trust their seeming, but must ask what eyes would meet me
Could I look in sudden silence at the secrets of the heart!
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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God's Garden
God looked around his garden
And found an empty place,
He then looked down upon the earth
And saw your tired face.
He put his arms around you
And lifted you to rest.
God’s garden must be beautiful
He always takes the best.
He knew that you were suffering
He knew you were in pain.
He knew that you would never
Get well on earth again.
He saw the road was getting rough
And the hills were hard to climb.
So he closed your weary eyelids
And whispered, ‘Peace bethine’.
It broke our hearts to lose you
But you didn’t go alone,
For part of us went with you
The day God called you home.
poem by Katie Evans
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Follow Me 'Ome
There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot,
Nor any o' the Guns I knew;
An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died,
Which is just what the best men do.
So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!
An' it's finish up your swipes an' follow me!
Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin',
Follow me -- follow me 'ome!
'Is mare she neighs the 'ole day long,
She paws the 'ole night through,
An' she won't take 'er feed 'cause o' waitin' for 'is step,
Which is just what a beast would do.
'Is girl she goes with a bombardier
Before 'er month is through;
An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the beggar hooked,
Which is just what a girl would do.
We fought 'bout a dog -- last week it were --
No more than a round or two;
But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't now,
Which is just what a man can't do.
'E was all that I 'ad in the way of a friend,
An' I've 'ad to find one new;
But I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar back,
Which it's just too late to do.
So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!
An' it's finish off your swipes an' follow me!
Oh, 'ark to the fifes a-crawlin'!
Follow me -- follow me 'ome!
Take 'im away! 'E's gone where the best men go.
Take 'im away! An' the gun-wheels turnin' slow.
Take 'im away! There's more from the place 'e come.
Take 'im away, with the limber an' the drum.
For it's 'Three rounds blank' an' follow me,
An' it's 'Thirteen rank' an' follow me;
Oh, passin' the love o' women,
Follow me -- follow me 'ome!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Amaranth
ONCE a poet—long ago—
Wrote a song as void of art
As the songs that children know,
And as pure as a child’s heart.
With a sigh he threw it down,
Saying, “This will never shed
Any glory or renown
On my name when I am dead.
“I will sing a lordly song
Men shall hear, when I am gone,
Through the years sound clear and strong
As a golden clarion.”
So this lordly song he sang
That would gain him deathless fame—
When the death-knell o’er him rang
No man even knew its name.
Ay, and when his way he found
To the place of singing souls,
And beheld their bright heads crowned
With song-woven aureoles,
He stood shame-faced in the throng,
For his brow of wreath was bare,
And, alas! his lordly song
Sere had grown in that sweet air;
Then, all sudden, a divine
Light fell on him from afar,
And he felt the child-song shine
On his forehead like a star.
So for ever. Each and all
Songs of passion or of mirth
That are not heart-pure shall fall
As a sky-lark’s—to the earth;
But the soul’s song has no bounds—
Like the voice of Israfel,
From the heaven of heavens it sounds
To the very hell of hell.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Lamplight Symphony
On a winter's night, stars are cold and bright in the sky,
The slumber of the earth is pure and deep
From a distant wood, drifts the echo of a beast
The old man stirs and wakens in the night
He stands before his window gazing at the grave
Forgotten dreams are flashing through his weary mind
And though his life is empty, he pretends that she's still there
With hunger in his soul, he yearns for life and love gone by,
With memories his one and only joy
All he has to give, he would give to bring back the life,
And raise the one who lies beneath the snow
He lights a lamp and looks at pictures of the past
The faces of their youth still glow with new-found love,
But the picture's faded, and time has stolen youth away
With a spoken word that he thought he heard from her lips,
He felt another presence in the room,
He was filled with fear but filled with joy he arose
And turned to face the image that he knew
She stood before him and her hand reached out for his
A peaceful light shone in her eyes
She said she'd come to soothe him, and someday they'd be as one
She began to fade and her image disappeared,
So he was left alone to face the night,
Never in his life, had he been so held in awe,
As he faced the apparition of his wife
He stood before the window gazing at the grave,
And with a lightened heart he saw the first of dawn,
He knew that she was waiting, that someday they'd be as one
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Excerpt From Lamplight Symphony
On a winter's night, stars are cold and bright in the sky,
The slumber of the earth is pure and deep
From a distant wood, drifts the echo of a beast
The old man stirs and wakens in the night
He stands before his window gazing at the grave
Forgotten dreams are flashing through his weary mind
And though his life is empty, he pretends that she's still there
With hunger in his soul, he yearns for life and love gone by,
With memories his one and only joy
All he has to give, he would give to bring back the life,
And raise the one who lies beneath the snow
He lights a lamp and looks at pictures of the past
The faces of their youth still glow with new-found love,
But the picture's faded, and time has stolen youth away
With a spoken word that he thought he heard from her lips,
He felt another presence in the room,
He was filled with fear but filled with joy he arose
And turned to face the image that he knew
She stood before him and her hand reached out for his
A peaceful light shone in her eyes
She said she'd come to soothe him, and someday they'd be as one
She began to fade and her image disappeared,
So he was left alone to face the night,
Never in his life, had he been so held in awe,
As he faced the apparition of his wife
He stood before the window gazing at the grave,
And with a lightened heart he saw the first of dawn,
He knew that she was waiting, that someday they'd be as one
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Guardian Angels
A Ballad
Father John in the green lane went
And he drew his robe full tight,
'I would,' quoth he, 'I were home again
For there's evil in the night.
'I would,' quoth he, 'the gold I bear
Were safe with the poor and old,
For strange the fear that follows me
That my eyes cannot behold.'
He looked him left and there he saw
A white rose climb and cling,
He looked him right and in the brake
A wild bird shook his wing.
He looked him back and far there stood
The old church tall and dim,
Yet on the lonely path there came
A terror strange to him.
Without the shadow of the trees
That bent above his way,
Where lost the moon her silver light,
He stood at last at bay.
And on his gown, from his pale brow
Fell great tears of his fright;
His shaking hands held close the gold
Wrapped in its cloth so white.
He knelt him down upon his knee
And prayed the Lord to hear,
'Christ, loosen Thou these laggard feet
That hold me slow in fear.
'Oh, strengthen Thou this childish heart
That trembles all afraid,
In pity for the calling sick
Who die without my aid.
'And let me bring all safely through
The shadows of the night,
The gold I bear for old and poor,
Still Thou this strange affright.'
And as he prayed from off his heart
Fear's clutching fingers fell,
A holy joy grew in his heart
He knew that all was well.
He turned him left and stayed to take
A white rose from her tree,
He turned him right and lilted low
A wild bird melody.
He looked him back and smiling saw
The tall church guarding him,
And then all fearless laughing sped
Through shadows strange and dim.
When but a year had passed away
There came before his gate,
A dying man who 'Succour,' cried
'Before it be too late.'
'Oh, shrive me, Father, ere I die,'
The moaning stranger said;
He took him to his own hearth side
And laid him on his bed.
'Oh, Father! Father! hear me now
And let me rest in peace.'
'Now speak, my son, and tell your sin
To give your soul release.'
'It was one night a year ago—
Sweet Mary, ease my pain—
I followed far your toiling feet
Within a lonely lane.
'The red gold for the old and poor
You had beneath your gown,
I hid within a darksome place
Where I could strike you down.'
Now Father John he smiled and leant
In pity by the bed,
'I did disarm you by my prayer,
I thank the Lord,' he said.
'I went in fear upon my path
I knew some danger lay,
And lone I knelt upon the road
A little while to pray.'
The dying man he raised his head
And laughed both long and loud,
'Oh, ne'er a prayer would hold my hand
Or keep you from your shroud.
'But by you went two mighty men
To guard you either side,
Else had my dagger reached your heart
And surely you had died.'
Then Father John upon his knees
Bent low his holy head,
'God's angels walked beside me there
Lest you my blood should shed
My guardian angels walked by me,
I thank Thee, Lord,' he said.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lines written in the Belief that the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead was called Ambarvalia
Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
And all the world's a song;
'She's far,' it sings me, 'but fair,' it rings me,
'Quiet,' it laughs, 'and strong!'
Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,
Spite of your chosen part,
I do remember; and I go
With laughter in my heart.
So above the little folk that know not,
Out of the white hill-town,
High up I clamber; and I remember;
And watch the day go down.
Gold is my heart, and the world's golden,
And one peak tipped with light;
And the air lies still about the hill
With the first fear of night;
Till mystery down the soundless valley
Thunders, and dark is here;
And the wind blows, and the light goes,
And the night is full of fear,
And I know, one night, on some far height,
In the tongue I never knew,
I yet shall hear the tidings clear
From them that were friends of you.
They'll call the news from hill to hill,
Dark and uncomforted,
Earth and sky and the winds; and I
Shall know that you are dead.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread;
For the kin of you will surely do
Their duty by the dead.
Their little dull greasy eyes will water;
They'll paw you, and gulp afresh.
They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep
Like flies on the cold flesh.
They will put pence on your grey eyes,
Bind up your fallen chin,
And lay you straight, the fools that loved you
Because they were your kin.
They will praise all the bad about you,
And hush the good away,
And wonder how they'll do without you,
And then they'll go away.
But quieter than one sleeping,
And stranger than of old,
You will not stir for weeping,
You will not mind the cold;
But through the night the lips will laugh not,
The hands will be in place,
And at length the hair be lying still
About the quiet face.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
And dim and decorous mirth,
With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury
The lordliest lass of earth.
The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving
Behind lone-riding you,
The heart so high, the heart so living,
Heart that they never knew.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread,
Nor with smug breath tell lies of death
To the unanswering dead.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
The folk who loved you not
Will bury you, and go wondering
Back home. And you will rot.
But laughing and half-way up to heaven,
With wind and hill and star,
I yet shall keep, before I sleep,
Your Ambarvalia.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Alone
Wind blew, light drew them all.
New songs revive their mornings.
Only I, small bird, am forsaken
under the Shekhina’s wing.
Alone. I remain alone.
The Shekhina’s broken wing
trembled over my head. My heart knew hers:
her fear for her only son.
Driven from every ridge –
one desolate corner left –
in the House of Study she hides in shadow,
and I alone share her pain.
Imprisoned beneath her wing
my heart longed for the light.
She buried her face on my shoulder
and a tear fell on my page.
Dumbly she clung and wept.
Her broken wing sheltered me:
“scattered to the four winds of heaven;
they are gone, and I am alone”.
It was an ancient lament
a suppliant cry I heard
in that lost and silent weeping,
and in that scalding tear.
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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