The Blind Caravan
1 I am a slave, both dumb and blind,
2 Upon a journey dread;
3 The iron hills lie far behind,
4 The seas of mist ahead.
5 Amid a mighty caravan
6 I toil a sombre track,
7 The strangest road since time began,
8 Where no foot turneth back.
9 Here rosy youth at morning's prime
10 And weary man at noon
11 Are crooked shapes at eventime
12 Beneath the haggard moon.
13 Faint elfin songs from out the past
14 Of some lost sunset land
15 Haunt this grim pageant drifting, vast,
16 Across the trackless sand.
17 And often for some nightward wind
18 We stay a space and hark,
19 Then leave the sunset lands behind,
20 And plunge into the dark.
21 Somewhere, somewhere, far on in front,
22 There strides a lonely man
23 Who is all strength, who bears the brunt,
24 The battle and the ban.
25 I know not of his face or form,
26 His voice or battle-scars,
27 Or how he fronts the haunted storm
28 Beneath the wintry stars;
29 I know not of his wisdom great
30 That leads this sightless host
31 Beyond the barren hills of fate
32 Unto some kindlier coast.
33 But often 'mid the eerie black
34 Through this sad caravan
35 A strange, sweet thrill is whispered back,
36 Borne on from man to man.
37 A strange, glad joy that fills the night
38 Like some far marriage horn,
39 Till every heart is filled with light
40 Of some belated morn.
41 The way is long, and rough the road,
42 And bitter the night, and dread,
43 And each poor slave is but a goad
44 To lash the one ahead.
45 Evil the foes that lie in wait
46 To slay us in the pass,
47 Bloody the slaughter at the gate,
48 And bleak the wild morass;
49 And I am but a shriveled thing
50 Beneath the midnight sky;
51 A wasted, wan remembering
52 Of days long wandered by.
53 And yet I lift my sightless face
54 Toward the eerie light,
55 And tread the lonely way we trace
56 Across the haunted night.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Doubting
A Brother wandered forth with me,
Beside a barren beach:
He harped on things beyond the sea,
And out of reach.
He hinted once of unknown skies,
And then I would not hark,
But turned away from steadfast eyes,
Into the dark.
And said — “an ancient faith is dead
And wonder fills my mind:
I marvel how the blind have led
So long the blind.
“Behold this truth we only know
That night is on the land!
And we a weary way must go
To find God’s hand.”
I wept — “Our fathers told us, Lord,
That Thou wert kind and just,
But lo! our wailings fly abroad
For broken trust.
“How many evil ones are here
Who mocking go about,
Because we are too faint with fear
To wrestle Doubt!
“Thy riddles are beyond the ken
Of creatures of the sod:
Remember that we are but men,
And Thou art God!
“O, doting world, methinks your stay
Is weaker than a reed!
Our Father turns His face away;
‘Tis dark indeed.”
The evening woods lay huddled there,
All wrapped in silence strange:
A sudden wind — and lo! the air
Was filled with change.
“Your words are wild,” my brother said,
“For God’s voice fills the breeze;
Go — hide yourself, as Adam did,
Amongst the trees.
“I pluck the shoes from off my feet,
But dare to look around;
Behold,” he said, “my Lord I greet,
On holy ground!”
And God spake through the wind to me —
“Shake off that gloom of Fear,
You fainting soul who could not see
That I was near.
“Why vex me crying day and night? —
You call on me to hark!
But when I bless your world with light,
Who makes it dark?
“Is there a ravelled riddle left
That you would have undone?
What other doubts are there to sift?”
I answered — “None.”
“My son, look up, if you would see
The Promise on your way,
And turn a trustful face to me.”
I whispered — “Yea.”
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Every Road Leads Me Back To You
Every road leads me back to you.
My destiny is mapped out
for every step I take
and every road I travel
leads me back to you.
Some are guided by the morning sun,
some by the moon and stars at night,
but every road I travel
leads me back to you.
Our home maybe far away
in the snow tipped mountaintops
or under the big city lights.
It does not matter where it lies,
every road I take the end will be the same,
for every road leads me back to you,
and you are there to shelter me
from any given storm.
You lead me away from temptations
that plague my life.
You are always there
when my foes I have to fight.
Each night when I am weary
tis, you I come to at night,
for every road I travel, Lord
always leads me back to you
for my faith to be renewed.
11 August 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Suicide
Last was the wealth I carried in life's pack-
Youth, health, ambition, hope and trust but Time
And Fate, those robbers fit for any crime
Stole all, and left me but the empty sack.
Before me lay a long and lonely track
Of darkling hills and barren steeps to climb;
Behind me lay in shadows the sublime
Lost lands of Love's delight. Alack! Alack!
Unwearied, and with springing steps elate,
I had conveyed my wealth along the road.
The empty sack proved now a heavier load:
I was borne down beneath its worthless weight.
I stumbled on, and knocked at Death's dark gate.
There was no answer. Stung by sorrow's goad
I
forced
my way into that grim abode,
And laughed, and flung Life's empty sack to Fate
Unknown and uninvited I passed in
To that strange land that hangs between two goals,
Round which a dark and solemn river rolls-
More dread its silence than the loud earth's din.
And now, where was the peace I hoped to win?
Black-masted ships slid past me in great shoals,
Their bloody decks thronged with mistaken souls.
(God punishes mistakes sometimes like sin.)
Not rest and not oblivion I found.
My suffering self dwelt with me just the same;
But here no sleep was, and no sweet dreams came
To give me respite. Tyrant Death, uncrowned
By my own hand, still King of Terrors, frowned
Upon my shuddering soul, that shrank in shame
Before those eyes where sorrow blent with blame,
And those accusing lips that made no sound.
What gruesome shapes dawned on my startled sight!
What awful sighs broke on my listening ear!
The anguish of the earth, augmented here
A thousand-fold, made one continuous night.
The sack I flung away in impious spite
Hung yet upon me, filled. I saw in fear,
With tears that rained from earth's adjacent sphere,
And turned to stones in falling from that height.
And close about me pressed a grieving throng,
Each with his heavy sack, which bowed him so
His face was hidden. One of these mourned: 'Know
Who enters here but finds the way more long
To those fair realms where sounds the angels' song
There is no man-made exit out of woe;
Ye cannot dash the locked door down and go
To claim thy rightful joy through paths of wrong.'
He passed into the shadows dim and gray,
And left me to pursue my path alone.
With terror greater than I yet had known.
Hard on my soul the awful knowledge lay,
Death had not ended life nor found God's way;
But, with my same sad sorrows still my own,
Where by-roads led to by-roads, thistle-sown,
I had but wandered off and gone astray.
With earth still near enough to hear its sighs,
With heaven afar and hell but just below,
Still on and on my lonely soul must go
Until I earn the right to Paradise.
We cannot force our way into God's skies,
Nor rush into the rest we long to know;
But patiently, with bleeding steps and slow,
Toil on to where selfhood in Godhood dies.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dreamers
THEY lingered on the middle heights
Betwixt the brown earth and the heaven;
They whispered, 'We are not the night's,
But pallid children of the even.'
They muttered, 'We are not the day's,
For the old struggle and endeavour,
The rugged and unquiet ways
Are dead and driven past for ever.'
They dreamed upon the cricket's tune,
The winds that stirred the withered grasses:
But never saw the blood-red moon
That lit the spectre mountain-passes.
They sat and marked the brooklet steal
In smoke-mist o'er its silvered surges:
But marked not, with its peal on peal,
The storm that swept the granite gorges.
They dreamed the shimmer and the shade,
And sought in pools for haunted faces:
Nor heard again the cannonade
In dreams from earth's old battle-places.
They spake, 'The ages all are dead,
The strife, the struggle, and the glory;
We are the silences that wed
Betwixt the story and the story.
'We are the little winds that moan
Between the woodlands and the meadows;
We are the ghosted leaves, wind-blown
Across the gust-light and the shadows.'
Then came a soul across those lands
Whose face was all one glad, rapt wonder,
And spake: 'The skies are ribbed with bands
Of fire, and heaven all racked with thunder.
'Climb up and see the glory spread,
High over cliff and 'scarpment yawning:
The night is past, the dark is dead,
Behold the triumph of the dawning!'
Then laughed they with a wistful scorn,
'You are a ghost, a long-dead vision;
You passed by ages ere was born
This twilight of the days elysian.
'There is no hope, there is no strife,
But only haunted hearts that hunger
About a dead, scarce-dreamed-of life,
Old ages when the earth was younger.'
Then came by one in mad distress,
'Haste, haste below, where strong arms weaken,
The fighting ones grow less and less!
Great cities of the world are taken!
'Dread evil rolls by like a flood,
Men's bones beneath his surges whiten,
Go where the ages mark in blood
The footsteps that their days enlighten.'
Still they but heard, discordant mirth,
The thin winds through the dead stalks rattle,
While out from far-off haunts of earth
There smote the mighty sound of battle.
Now there was heard an awful cry,
Despair that rended heaven asunder,
White pauses when a cause would die,
Where love was lost and souls went under,
The while these feebly dreamed and talked
Betwixt the brown earth and the heaven,
Faint ghosts of men who breathed and walked,
But deader than the dead ones even.
And out there on the middle height
They sought in pools for haunted faces,
Nor heard the cry across the night
That swept from earth's dread battle-places.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Caravan
Night and stars above that shine so bright
The myst'ry of their fading light
That shines upon our caravan
Sleep upon my shoulder as we creep
Across the sand so I may keep
The mem'ry of our caravan
This is so exciting
You are so inviting
Resting in my arms
As I thrill to the magic charms
Of you beside me here beneath the blue
My dream of love is coming true
Within our desert caravan!
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Caravan
Moses went into the desert
Moses came back with the law
Jesus went into the desert
God only knows what he saw
Hitch up your ass and your camel
Fill up your skin at the well
Roll up your tent, whisper your prayers
Are you ready to ride through hell
Caravan moving through the night
Sleeping in the light of day
Caravan spinning through the void
On our way to anywhere
Caravan time is just a joke change is all we
Understand
Caravan life is a mirage,
Only a mirage dancing on the desert sand
How I recall all the mountains
How I remember the farm
Oh how I miss the big city
With a pretty girl on my arm
Sell my best friend for some water
Cut off my leg for some shade
Sunburn these thoughts from my memory
If I live I will be remade
The sand is like a razor
Slashing at my face
Everyones in panic but you cant see any place
Its a sand storm, taken by surprise
Hide beneath your wrappings and cover up your eyes
Well I lost my kit and camel
Maybe I will die
Feel so lost and helpless and I think Im gonna cry
Its a sand storm, nothing you can do
No one knows if it will last
No one knows if you will make it through
Its been so long without water
Vultures are filling the air
Where is that bloody oasis
Must be around here somewhere
Time for some strong meditation
Time for the ultimate change
Time to make peace with your maker
Everything has been prearranged
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When I Was Yours
(emmylou harris/paul kennerley)
In a lonely room waiting for the night to fall
I hear your voice in every whip-poor-will that calls
And it takes me back to a better place and a sweeter time
When I was yours and you were mine
As the shadows fall and the light grows dim I see your face
I close my eyes and feel the warmth of your embrace as I long for you
And for all those days when hearts entwined
When I was yours and you were mine
When I was yours and you were mine
When I was yours and you were mine
A truer love in caroline
Ever waltzed across these hills and danced beneath the stars
Life was sweeter than the flowers blooming on the vine
When I was yours and you were mine
So I lay my head
On a pillow soft and stained with tears
I cry for you through all the long and lonely years
But when I dream till the morning sun comes to shine
Then Ill be yours and youll be mine
Yes I will go back to a better place and a sweeter time
When I was yours and you were mine
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Road to Old Man's Town
The fields of youth are filled with flowers,
The wine of youth is strong:
What need have we to count the hours?
The summer days are long.
But soon we find to our dismay
That we are drifting down
The barren slopes that fall away
Towards the foothills grim and grey
That lead to Old Man's Town.
And marching with us on the track
Full many friends we find:
We see them looking sadly back
For those who've dropped behind
But God forfend a fate so dread --
Alone to travel down
The dreary road we all must tread,
With faltering steps and whitening head,
The road to Old Man's Town!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dread Voyage
1 Trim the sails the weird stars under—
2 Past the iron hail and thunder,
3 Past the mystery and the wonder,
4 Sails our fated bark;
5 Past the myriad voices hailing,
6 Past the moaning and the wailing,
7 The far voices failing, failing,
8 Drive we to the dark.
9 Past the headlands grim and sombre,
10 Past the shores of mist and slumber,
11 Leagues on leagues no man may number,
12 Soundings none can mark;
13 While the olden voices calling,
14 One by one behind are falling;
15 Into silence dread, appalling,
16 Drift we to the dark.
17 Far behind, the sad eyes yearning,
18 Hands that wring for our returning,
19 Lamps of love yet vainly burning:
20 Past the headlands stark!
21 Through the wintry snows and sleeting,
22 On our pallid faces beating,
23 Through the phantom twilight fleeting,
24 Drive we to the dark.
25 Without knowledge, without warning,
26 Drive we to no lands of morning;
27 Far ahead no signals horning
28 Hail our nightward bark.
29 Hopeless, helpless, weird, outdriven,
30 Fateless, friendless, dread, unshriven,
31 For some race-doom unforgiven,
32 Drive we to the dark.
33 Not one craven or unseemly;
34 In the flare-light gleaming dimly,
35 Each ghost-face is watching grimly:
36 Past the headlands stark!
37 Hearts wherein no hope may waken,
38 Like the clouds of night wind-shaken,
39 Chartless, anchorless, forsaken,
40 Drift we to the dark.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Death Of Admiral Blake
(August 7th, 1657)
Laden with spoil of the South, fulfilled with the glory of achievement,
And freshly crowned with never-dying fame,
Sweeping by shores where the names are the names of the victories of England,
Across the Bay the squadron homeward came.
Proudly they came, but their pride was the pomp of a funeral at midnight,
When dreader yet the lonely morrow looms;
Few are the words that are spoken, and faces are gaunt beneath the torchlight
That does but darken more the nodding plumes.
Low on the field of his fame, past hope lay the Admiral triumphant,
And fain to rest him after all his pain;
Yet for the love that he bore to his own land, ever unforgotten,
He prayed to see the western hills again.
Fainter than stars in a sky long gray with the coming of the daybreak,
Or sounds of night that fade when night is done,
So in the death-dawn faded the splendour and loud renown of warfare,
And life of all its longings kept but one.
'Oh! to be there for an hour when the shade draws in beside the hedgerows,
And falling apples wake the drowsy noon:
Oh! for the hour when the elms grow sombre and human in the twilight,
And gardens dream beneath the rising moon.
'Only to look once more on the land of the memories of childhood,
Forgetting weary winds and barren foam:
Only to bid farewell to the combe and the orchard and the moorland,
And sleep at last among the fields of home!'
So he was silently praying, till now, when his strength was ebbing faster,
The Lizard lay before them faintly blue;
Now on the gleaming horizon the white cliffs laughed along the coast-line,
And now the forelands took the shapes they knew.
There lay the Sound and the Island with green leaves down beside the water,
The town, the Hoe, the masts with sunset fired----
Dreams! ay, dreams of the dead! for the great heart faltered on the threshold,
And darkness took the land his soul desired.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Drought
My road is fenced with the bleached, white bones
And strewn with the blind, white sand,
Beside me a suffering, dumb world moans
On the breast of a lonely land.
On the rim of the world the lightnings play,
The heat-waves quiver and dance,
And the breath of the wind is a sword to slay
And the sunbeams each a lance.
I have withered the grass where my hot hoofs tread,
I have whitened the sapless trees,
I have driven the faint-heart rains ahead
To hide in their soft green seas.
I have bound the plains with an iron band,
I have stricken the slow streams dumb!
To the charge of my vanguards who shall stand?
Who stay when my cohorts come?
The dust-storms follow and wrap me round;
The hot winds ride as a guard;
Before me the fret of the swamps is bound
And the way of the wild-fowl barred.
I drop the whips on the loose-flanked steers;
I burnt their necks with the bow;
And the green-hide rips and the iron sears
Where the staggering, lean beasts go.
I lure the swagman out of the road
To the gleam of a phantom lake;
I have laid him down, I have taken his load,
And he sleeps till the dead men wake.
My hurrying hoofs in the night go by,
And the great flocks bleat their fear
And follow the curve of the creeks burnt dry
And the plains scorched brown and sere.
The worn men start from their sleepless rest
With faces haggard and drawn;
They cursed the red Sun into the west
And they curse him out of the dawn.
They have carried their outposts far, far out,
But - blade of my sword for a sign! -
I am the Master, the dread King Drought,
And the great West Land is mine!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On a windy night (in answer to T.S. Eliot)
I. It’s Midnight
It’s Midnight
and the wind brushes softly though my hair,
there are long drawn out shadows everywhere
under the street lamps and the bright light
is stringed out in white
beacon after beacon leading for some to somewhere
but to me it feels as if they are going nowhere,
as if this dark night
is endless without form or shape
and one lonely shadow is following me
while branches are caught in a macabre dance
and there’s a chill at the nape
of my neck and darkness wherever I see
while I walk as if in a trance.
II. Half past one
Half past one
and the spluttering street lump did mutter
“so you had your fun, ”
and no single word did I utter
and at my back fear was crawling
as if in the past night
I had done a unpardonable sin and wind was the singing
“do not look back” and above me the stars was bright
but a strange feeling was in me
as if something evil was following,
as if from it I would never be free
and I glimpsed back, in my daring caught a glance
of something without shadow sneaking behind
and I believed that it as a trick of the mind.
III. It was half-past two
It was half-past two
and while walking through the park
I did not have a clue
where I was going and the night was very dark
and a black thinned out cat sneaked past
with green glowing eyes
as if the tranquillity could not last
and all of the past goodbyes
where coming to my mind
of loved animals, friends and you
as if I was blind and never again to find
the place in the world where I belonged to
and with a leap of delight
the cat found something to eat in that night.
IV. The darkness washed over me
The darkness washed over me
falling like a old worn out cloak
and there were known stars that I could see
but with feelings wanted to choke
and it was half-past three
with a strange familiar howl in the wind
and the cat was eying me
as if in me it had find
a close compatriot
who is also a dweller in the night,
but in life I felt like a idiot
watching the bright
lights of cars passing in the distance,
praying for some kind of deliverance.
V. At four I was chilly
At four I was chilly
and did not want to wait in the park anymore,
the cat was still with me
purring much more in love with me than before
and I carried it while stroking it
as if I had found a new friend
and bit by tiny bit
I liked it and it was no fiend
but a tiny living thing
with shiny bright eyes burning
right through me and the wind did sing
the leaves on branches were still churning
and for a time I had company,
and it was great to be alive with something that loved me.
VI. The memory was crowding me
The memory was crowding me,
as if there was no escape
that on a similar night I did see
a glance of beauty peering from beneath a cape
and then it was somewhat chilly
not like now a summer night
and a strange passion did fill me
to see her full face in the bright light
but into the night she did disappear
with white cheeks and the fire of a eye
as if she was not meant to be near
and now with the sun in a bright sky
with a bird calling on its mate
I see her standing at the garden gate.
[Reference: Rhapsody on a Windy Night by T. S. Eliot.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Here Comes The Night
Listen up, this is how the story goes
Here comes the night
It's gonna be a long and lonely night
Oh Lord, I pray it's gonna be alright
As I walk down this dusty road
My heart weights down like a heavy load
My spirit finds its way across the ocean
And my soul cries out for leaving now
I have got to get back home somehow
She stole my heart, oh how my spirit cried
cause I had to leave and it broke me up inside
Here comes the night
It's gonna be a long and lonely night
Oh Lord, I pray it's gonna be alright
this long and lonely night
I've got a weary head and worn out shoes
a bottle of rum and as I sing the blues
the bitter wind sends shivers down my spine
I'm a ramblin' man with a ramblin' mind
I left my loved ones far behind
She stole my heart, oh how my spirit cried
Cause I had to leave and it broke me up inside
Here comes the night
It's gonna be a long and lonely night
Oh Lord, I pray it's gonna be alright
This long and lonely night
Oh bless my soul, what have I done
I'm bound to face this world alone
a drifter I was meant to be
With noone there for company
But if one day down there road I can,
Would you look my way
Would you take me back again
Here comes the night
It's gonna be a long and lonely night
Oh Lord, I pray it's gonna be alright
this long and lonely night
As my souls cries out for leaving
song performed by by Europe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Song of the Pilgrims, The
(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.)
What light of unremembered skies
Hast thou relumed within our eyes,
Thou whom we seek, whom we shall find? . . .
A certain odour on the wind,
Thy hidden face beyond the west,
These things have called us; on a quest
Older than any road we trod,
More endless than desire. . . .
Far God,
Sigh with thy cruel voice, that fills
The soul with longing for dim hills
And faint horizons! For there come
Grey moments of the antient dumb
Sickness of travel, when no song
Can cheer us; but the way seems long;
And one remembers. . . .
Ah! the beat
Of weary unreturning feet,
And songs of pilgrims unreturning! . . .
The fires we left are always burning
On the old shrines of home. Our kin
Have built them temples, and therein
Pray to the Gods we know; and dwell
In little houses lovable,
Being happy (we remember how!)
And peaceful even to death. . . .
O Thou,
God of all long desirous roaming,
Our hearts are sick of fruitless homing,
And crying after lost desire.
Hearten us onward! as with fire
Consuming dreams of other bliss.
The best Thou givest, giving this
Sufficient thing -- to travel still
Over the plain, beyond the hill,
Unhesitating through the shade,
Amid the silence unafraid,
Till, at some sudden turn, one sees
Against the black and muttering trees
Thine altar, wonderfully white,
Among the Forests of the Night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Song of the Pilgrims
(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.)
What light of unremembered skies
Hast thou relumed within our eyes,
Thou whom we seek, whom we shall find? . . .
A certain odour on the wind,
Thy hidden face beyond the west,
These things have called us; on a quest
Older than any road we trod,
More endless than desire. . . .
Far God,
Sigh with thy cruel voice, that fills
The soul with longing for dim hills
And faint horizons! For there come
Grey moments of the antient dumb
Sickness of travel, when no song
Can cheer us; but the way seems long;
And one remembers. . . .
Ah! the beat
Of weary unreturning feet,
And songs of pilgrims unreturning! . . .
The fires we left are always burning
On the old shrines of home. Our kin
Have built them temples, and therein
Pray to the Gods we know; and dwell
In little houses lovable,
Being happy (we remember how!)
And peaceful even to death. . . .
O Thou,
God of all long desirous roaming,
Our hearts are sick of fruitless homing,
And crying after lost desire.
Hearten us onward! as with fire
Consuming dreams of other bliss.
The best Thou givest, giving this
Sufficient thing - to travel still
Over the plain, beyond the hill,
Unhesitating through the shade,
Amid the silence unafraid,
Till, at some sudden turn, one sees
Against the black and muttering trees
Thine altar, wonderfully white,
Among the Forests of the Night.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1907)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
A Noon Song
There are songs for the morning and songs for the night,
For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon;
But who will give praise to the fulness of light,
And sing us a song of the glory of noon?
Oh, the high noon, the clear noon,
The noon with golden crest;
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
With his face to the way of the west!
How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength;
How slowly he crept as the morning wore by;
Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length
To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky.
Oh, the long toil, the slow toil,
The toil that may not rest,
Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown,
To the wonderful way of the west!
Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill,
The wings of the wind in the forest are furled,
The river runs softly, the birds are all still,
The workers are resting all over the world.
Oh, the good hour, the kind hour,
The hour that calms the breast!
Little inn half-way on the road of the day,
Where it follows the turn to the west!
There's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade,
The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune,
The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid,
To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon.
Oh, the deep noon, the full noon,
Of all the day the best!
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
To his home by the way of the west.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Storm.
I can hear the great boughs swing
Through the stormy night,
Each a dryad-haunted thing
With its dark delight,
As within an old-world air
When the Gods were everywhere.
All the wood seems to be up
At some eerie play,
Wild as Bacchanals whose sup
Had all through the day
Been a deep one, as they roar
With the waves upon the shore.
'Tis in sooth as Pan, too, mad
For fair Syrinx fled,
Had from Hades come, and had
Brought with him the dead
Who of old had worshipped him
To a midnight revel grim.
Or is it that Syrinx too,
From the reed restored,
Romps it as the satyrs do
With her now-loved lord?
And is this the night of nights,
And are these their marriage rites?
Who shall say? The great boughs swing,
As Time in a whirl
Did to the dark forest bring
The goat-god and his girl,
With the earth-enamoured crew
For a mystic hour or two.
Till amid the tumult I
Fall asleep, like one
Who had put the ages by
In a dream begun
Far back in another sphere,
Ere my 'wildered soul came here!
Ah! the dream that may indeed
Outlive all I know,
When like one whom Fate has freed
I through Hades go,
And see the great vision cast
On the future by the past.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Haunted By Your Memory
You pushed me aside
a long time ago
but you didn’t account
that your memory would grow.
Now you’re a face in every crowd that I see.
You are everywhere just to haunt me.
How long must I go on
keep remembering you?
Will my mind ever let you go
or will you always be
the ghost in my memory
that will never let me be.
My heart belongs to another,
but your image will not let me be.
I am like a prisoner
who can never get free
from being a slave
to your memory.
You are a face in a crowd
wherever I go.
I am haunted by you
and what will never be.
I am haunted day and night
by your memory.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Thought
Into the skies, one summer's day,
I sent a little Thought away;
Up to where, in the blue round,
The sun sat shining without sound.
Then my Thought came back to me.—
Little Thought, what did you see
In the regions whence you come?
And when I spoke, my Thought was dumb.
But she breathed of what was there,
In the pure bright upper air;
And, because my Thought so shone,
I knew she had been shone upon.
Next, by night a Thought I sent
Up into the firmament;
When the eager stars were out,
And the still moon shone about.
And my Thought went past the moon
In between the stars, but soon
Held her breath and durst not stir,
For the fear that covered her;
Then she thought, in this demur:
'Dare I look beneath the shade,
Into where the worlds are made;
Where the suns and stars are wrought?
Shall I meet another Thought?
'Will that other Thought have wings?
Shall I meet strange, heavenly things?
Thought of Thoughts, and Light of Lights,
Breath of Breaths, and Night of Nights?'
Then my Thought began to hark
In the illuminated dark,
Till the silence, over, under,
Made her heart beat more than thunder.
And my Thought, came trembling back,
But with something on her track,
And with something at her side;
Nor till she has lived and died,
Lived and died, and lived again,
Will that awful thing seem plain.
poem by William Brighty Rands
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Can Make The Morning
(words & music by j. ramsey)
I just thought I heard a small voice crying
Looked again and saw that it was me
I feel like a little boy denying
That he fears the night cause he cant see
Then a larger thought said stop your crying
Dont be scared to search cause you may find
Fate holds out a candle for your footsteps
Time rolls back the shadows of your mind
Its a long, long lonely night
You can make the morning if you try
Its a long, long lonely night
Oh, we can make the morning if we try
Girl, we can make the morning you and i
Together, together, together
Loneliness is darkness first companion
Spend the night alone and faith may bend
Share it all and see how fear starts fading
Chase away the shadows with a friend
Dawns elusive light is just beginning
Now the day can push away the night
Dreams can make the sun feel much brighter
Hope creates a foothold for the light
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Girl, we can make the morning you and i, oh
Together
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!