Composed After A Journey Across The Hambleton Hills, Yorkshire
DARK and more dark the shades of evening fell;
The wished-for point was reached--but at an hour
When little could be gained from that rich dower
Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell.
Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power
Salute us; there stood Indian citadel,
Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower
Substantially expressed--a place for bell
Or clock to toll from! Many a tempting isle,
With groves that never were imagined, lay
'Mid seas how steadfast! objects all for the eye
Of silent rapture; but we felt the while
We should forget them; they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Guardians Of The Sky
To what is this orb that toward earth shines,
Illuminating the many dark corners of the night,
Piercing through the dark and lonely wilderness,
To show the innocent the way home.
There’s nothing in the dark the orb can’t spy,
No mission or secret a man can hide,
Try as you might,
Futile your attempt would be.
But does the orb hide secrets of its own,
Things stationary, concealed behind it’s glowing face,
Mysteries that yet hold the key to a new life,
A life of living in the dark and realm of shadow.
But fear not the dark at night,
The dark may be overpowering but its might is short lived,
With the downfall of night a new power arrives,
The power of light and warmth.
The orb of day has power beyond measure,
Power to rid the world of darkness and fear,
When the orb of day cometh the orb of night retreat,
The unrelenting assault taking its toll.
Yet the next night and every night approaching,
We will see the orb of night glowing in the sky,
This if nothing else proves to us that,
Darkness is a part of the day, just as much as light.
poem by Thomas Vaudin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
1,000,000 Watts Of Love
There comes a time when
You need a good friend
But all that you have
Is that glowing screen
You know you could fly
Your hate a run high
But youve been squeezed in
To that same old scene
You know what I mean
Turn up the power
This is the hour
From every tower
Shout it from above
Turn up the power
This is the hour
From every tower
A million watts of love
By turning that switch
Youre finding your niche
And you could tell then
Where to put the advice
You should get back in
Its time to jack in
Well help you hack in
To that glowing life
You wont have to think twice
song performed by by Information Society
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For In Ages Past As Knights Did Toll
for in ages past as knights did toll
onward came the night
the darkness of fear
alone they stood
alone against the dark
the fear
alone against there greatest fear
and at their darkest hour
did one stride forth
one of might and valor
alone amongst his kin
alone against the dark cold fear
against his might did the dark attack
with fang and claw
with wing and beak
yet still he stood
alone in the dark
against there greatest fear
even as his back did break
his shield rent and sword asunder
did hope come to him
a simple smile
a simple voice
of hope
for even in this great dark
this greatest depth of his fear
he knew
alone
he was not
poem by Dragon Heart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Little Clock
Why in pensive ticking, silent thoughts
You wile your time away
When all around huge swelling bells
Toll the days away!
Every hour that announced may go
Your silent hands take hold
And though the ages chimed in ears
Yours they never behold.
If all the clocks the world had known
Had struck one strong big note,
They would never still your plodding tone
Nor the working hearth you alert.
Do you wonder, wonder, little clock
What makes the grandfather tick!
Or his aching belly in the depth of sorrow
Cries to the world it's sick!
Thirty million years and Pleistocene dark,
They are one split second short!
And whimpering suns that rise and flop
Have scarce stolen your tick or thought!
So, my little clock, my faithful clock
When I hear the tall town bell,
I'll shrug my shoulders, one tiny moment
And know that all is well.
Dedicated to Gertrud Widmayer, my landlady at Heidelberg
(©: T. Wignesan,1957 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
poem by T. Wignesan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Alternative Song For The Severd head In "The King Of The Great Clock Tower"
SADDLE and ride, I heard a man say,
Out of Ben Bulben and Knocknarea,
i{What says the Clock in the Great Clock Tower?}
All those tragic characters ride
But turn from Rosses' crawling tide,
The meet's upon the mountain-side.
i{A slow low note and an iron bell.}
What brought them there so far from their home.
Cuchulain that fought night long with the foam,
i{What says the Clock in the Great Clock Tower?}
Niamh that rode on it; lad and lass
That sat so still and played at the chess?
What but heroic wantonness?
i{A slow low note and an iron bell.}
Aleel, his Countess; Hanrahan
That seemed but a wild wenching man;
i{What says the Clock in the Great Clock Tower?}
And all alone comes riding there
The King that could make his people stare,
Because he had feathers instead of hair.
i{A slow low note and an iron bell.}
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stanzas
If thou be in a lonely place,
If one hour's calm be thine,
As Evening bends her placid face
O'er this sweet day's decline;
If all the earth and all the heaven
Now look serene to thee,
As o'er them shuts the summer even,
One moment--think of me!
Pause, in the lane, returning home;
'Tis dusk, it will be still:
Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom
Its breezeless boughs will fill.
Look at that soft and golden light,
High in the unclouded sky;
Watch the last bird's belated flight,
As it flits silent by.
Hark! for a sound upon the wind,
A step, a voice, a sigh;
If all be still, then yield thy mind,
Unchecked, to memory.
If thy love were like mine, how blest
That twilight hour would seem,
When, back from the regretted Past,
Returned our early dream!
If thy love were like mine, how wild
Thy longings, even to pain,
For sunset soft, and moonlight mild,
To bring that hour again!
But oft, when in thine arms I lay,
I've seen thy dark eyes shine,
And deeply felt their changeful ray
Spoke other love than mine.
My love is almost anguish now,
It beats so strong and true;
'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou
Such anguish ever knew.
I have been but thy transient flower,
Thou wert my god divine;
Till checked by death's congealing power,
This heart must throb for thine.
And well my dying hour were blest,
If life's expiring breath
Should pass, as thy lips gently prest
My forehead cold in death;
And sound my sleep would be, and sweet,
Beneath the churchyard tree,
If sometimes in thy heart should beat
One pulse, still true to me.
poem by Charlotte Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
In That Dark Silent Hour
In that dark silent hour
When the wind wants power,
And in the black height
The sky wants light,
Stirless and black
In utter lack,
And not a sound
Escapes from that untroubled round:--
To wake then
In the dark, and ache then
Until the dark is gone--
Lonely, yet not alone;
Hearing another's breath
All the quiet beneath,
Knowing one sleeps near
That day held dear
And dreams held dear; but now
In this sharp moment--how
Share the moment's sweetness,
Forgo its completeness,
Nor be alone
Now the dark is grown
Spiritual and deep
More than in dreams and sleep?
O, it is pain, 'tis need
That so will plead
For a little loneliness.
If it be pain to miss
Loved touch, look and lip,
Companionship
Yet is verier pain
Then, then
In that dark silent hour
When the wind wants power,
And you, near or far, sleep,
And your released thoughts toward me creep
While I, imprisoned, awake,
Ache--ache
To be for one
Long, little moment with myself alone.
poem by John Freeman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In a Greek Amphitheatre: George Seferis, poet
Noon here in hot summer in this quarter-sphere of stepped stone;
the smell of herbs rolling down from the mountainside,
the light so strong that it seems to have bleached away all thought;
time is taking a siesta.
come sit with me here in this almost deserted amphitheatre
which has stood for more than two thousand years,
only the bees are quietly moving,
searching the flowers which grow between these huge blocks of stone
which someone quarried, someone brought here,
someone acted out the world upon, some many sat
and were moved to fear and tears;
someone ate olives, spat the pits between the blocks of stone;
now an olive tree bears witness,
its bleached roots like an arthritic climber,
splitting the stone blocks with the insistence of history.
‘Memory, wherever you touch it,
hurts’…
merciful gods might have removed these stones
with two thousand years of rain, of wind, of searing sun,
so that the insistence of history might not be
so painful to a Greek.
The only other figure in this huge amphitheatre -
you see him down there? In the white hat
and dark suit of summer cloth? He’s a poet;
but is his mind too, sitting in the audience? Or is he
on the stage? Is he
living the play; the hero with a tragic flaw,
the chorus commenting, the tragedy unfolding?
In Greek, the same word means martyr
and means witness.
He was born a Greek in a Greek colony;
at 22, the Turks flung them out;
he sailed in wine-dark seas of wars and occupations;
and when the sailor sailed into the port to take his place in his immortal court,
found Greece, not celebrating peace, but Greek fighting Greek;
the cruellest of wars.
It was not Odysseus but Greece itself
that wandering, had not yet come home;
the harbours boatless; silent the shepherd's flute;
the olive groves untended; hives deserted;
grapes that never tasted wine; figs that burst uneaten;
Olympia's grass, all silent and untrodden;
temples empty, marble columns
their cool beauty empty-armed without their worshippers.
Here at noon, the summer heat pressing and intense,
the air still, a bee passing across our laps
as we sit here on the higher tier;
a dark-suited poet, witness, martyr,
like an olive tree between hard stone,
suffers the playing out, the painful beauty
like a dark thought at noon,
the insistence of history.
‘Memory, wherever
you touch it, hurts.’
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Tower Standing Tall
A dark tower standing tall,
Amoung the open plane,
Mocks the understanding,
But wallows in the pain,
What life is known of this,
What stories can be told,
Of this dark towers life,
And what his sights behold
The tower can see everything,
From land, to sky, to moon,
What dark gestures show in this,
That we will know soon,
For god saw,
But does not always see,
What the dark tower has,
But soon,
That is what things will be.
poem by Jessica Patenaude
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Eight O'Clock
He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.
Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fairest, Brightest, Hues Of Ether Fade
The fairest, brightest, hues of ether fade;
The sweetest notes must terminate and die;
O Friend! thy flute has breathed a harmony
Softly resounded through this rocky glade;
Such strains of rapture as the Genius played
In his still haunt on Bagdad's summit high;
He who stood visible to Mirza's eye,
Never before to human sight betrayed.
Lo, in the vale, the mists of evening spread!
The visionary Arches are not there,
Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas:
Yet sacred is to me this Mountain's head,
Whence I have risen, uplifted, on the breeze
Of harmony, above all earthly care.
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
St. Irvyne's Tower
I.
How swiftly through Heaven's wide expanse
Bright day's resplendent colours fade!
How sweetly does the moonbeam's glance
With silver tint St. Irvyne's glade!
II.
No cloud along the spangled air,
Is borne upon the evening breeze;
How solemn is the scene! how fair
The moonbeams rest upon the trees!
III.
Yon dark gray turret glimmers white,
Upon it sits the mournful owl;
Along the stillness of the night,
Her melancholy shriekings roll.
IV.
But not alone on Irvyne's tower,
The silver moonbeam pours her ray;
It gleams upon the ivied bower,
It dances in the cascade's spray.
V.
'Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal
The hour, when man must cease to be?
Why may not human minds unveil
The dim mists of futurity?--
VI.
'The keenness of the world hath torn
The heart which opens to its blast;
Despised, neglected, and forlorn,
Sinks the wretch in death at last.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Howling At The Moon
Sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la-la-la sha-la-la-la-la-la
Ships are docking planes are landing
A never ending supply
No more narco no more gangster
Conservatives can cry
I took the law and threw it away
'cause there's nothing wrong it's just for play
There's no law, no law any more
I want to steal from the rich and give to the poor
Sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la-la-la
Sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la-la-la
It was glowing, glowing, glowing, glowing in the dark
It was sparkling, sparkling, sparkling, sparkling in the dark
I took the law and threw it away
'cause there's nothing wrong it's just for play
There's no law, no law any more
I want to steal from the rich and give to the poor
Winter turns to summer sadness turns to fun
Keep the faith, baby you broke the rules and won
Sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la-la-la
Sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la-la-la
Keep it glowing, glowing, glowing
I'm not hurting any one keep it glowing, smoking, glowing
I'm howling at the moon
I took the law and threw it away
'cause there's nothing wrong it's just for play
There's no law, no law any more
I want to steal from the rich and give to the poor
Oh baby oh baby oh baby oh baby
I took the law and threw it away
'cause there's nothing wrong it's just for play
I'm smoking, baby
I'm smoking, oh baby
There's no law, no law any more
I want to steal from the rich and give to the poor
Sha-la-la-la sha-la-la-la-la-la
song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
To Lady Jane
Romance was always young.
You come today
Just eight years old
With marvellous dark hair.
Younger than Dante found you
When you turned
His heart into the way
That found the heavenly stair.
Perhaps we must be strangers.
I confess
My soul this hour is Dante's,
And your care
Should be for dolls
Whose painted hands caress
Your marvellous dark hair.
Romance, with moonflower face
And morning eyes,
And lips whose thread of scarlet prophesies
The canticles of a coming king unknown,
Remember, when you join him
On his throne,
Even me, your far off troubadour,
And wear
For me some trifling rose
Beneath your veil,
Dying a royal death,
Happy and pale,
Choked by the passion,
The wonder and the snare,
The glory and despair
That still will haunt and own
Your marvellous dark hair.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How I Wish The Bell Tolls For Me
for whom the bell tolls?
i ask that
it must toll for me,
but the bell never really
toll for me,
always, it tolls for someone else,
a friend for 15 years
a relative close to the family,
a baby newly born in town,
a man conscious of his health,
the non-smoker and non-drinker alike,
the successful politician,
the wife of an expatriate,
the rich gambler, oh, the bell tolls for all of them
and there were banquets and city lights
and eulogies
and expensive garments of the priest
i wish the bell tolls for me,
but who am i to really say?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Glow
a white duck
glowing in the dark
donning dark shades
to dim the light
its purple lips
pursed
mocking the night
a child's toy
and nothing more
poem by Faith Elizabeth Brigham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Battery Moving Up to a New Position from Rest Camp:Dawn
Not a sign of life we rouse
In any square close-shuttered house
That flanks the road we amble down
Toward far trenches through the town.
The dark, snow-slushy, empty street....
Tingle of frost in brow and feet....
Horse-breath goes dimly up like smoke.
No sound but the smacking stroke
As a sergeant flings each arm
Out and across to keep him warm,
And the sudden splashing crack
Of ice-pools broken by our track.
More dark houses, yet no sign
Of life....And axle's creak and whine....
The splash of hooves, the strain of trace....
Clatter: we cross the market place.
Deep quiet again, and on we lurch
Under the shadow of a church:
Its tower ascends, fog-wreathed and grim;
Within its aisles a light burns dim....
When, marvellous! from overhead,
Like abrupt speech of one deemed dead,
Speech-moved by some Superior Will,
A bell tolls thrice and then is still.
And suddenly I know that now
The priest within, with shining brow,
Lifts high the small round of the Host.
The server's tingling bell is lost
In clash of the greater overhead.
Peace like a wave descends, is spread,
While watch the peasants' reverent eyes....
The bell's boom trembles, hangs, and dies.
O people who bow down to see
The Miracle of Cavalry,
The bitter and the glorious,
Bow down, bow down and pray for us.
Once more our anguished way we take
Towards our Golgotha, to make
For all our lovers sacrifice.
Again the troubled bell tolls thrice.
And slowly, slowly, lifted up
Dazzles the overflowing cup.
O worshipping, fond multitude,
Remember us too, and our blood.
Turn hearts to us as we go by,
Salute those about to die,
Plead for them, the deep bell toll:
Their sacrifice must soon be whole.
Entreat you for such hearts as break
With the premonitory ache
Of bodies, whose feet, hands, and side,
Must soon be torn, pierced, crucified.
Sue for them and all of us
Who the world over suffer thus,
Who have scarce time for prayer indeed,
Who only march and die and bleed.
The town is left, the road leads on,
Bluely glaring in the sun,
Toward where in the sunrise gate
Death, honour, and fierce battle wait.
poem by Robert Nichols
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Emigrant’s Address To America
All hail to thee, noble and generous Land!
With thy prairies boundless and wide,
Thy mountains that tower like sentinels grand,
Thy lakes and thy rivers of pride!
Thy forests that hide in their dim haunted shades
New flowers of loveliness rare—
Thy fairy like dells and thy bright golden glades,
Thy warm skies as Italy’s fair.
Here Plenty has lovingly smiled on the soil,
And ’neath her sweet, merciful reign
The brave and long suff’ring children of toil
Need labor no longer in vain.
I ask of thee shelter from lawless harm,
Food—raiment—and promise thee now,
In return, the toil of a stalwart arm,
And the sweat of an honest brow.
But think not, I pray, that this heart is bereft
Of fond recollections of home;
That I e’er can forget the dear land I have left
In the new one to which I have come.
Oh no! far away in my own sunny isle
Is a spot my affection worth,
And though dear are the scenes that around me now smile,
More dear is the place of my birth!
There hedges of hawthorn scent the sweet air,
And, thick as the stars of the night,
The daisy and primrose, with flow’rets as fair,
Gem that soil of soft verdurous light.
And there points the spire of my own village church,
That long has braved time’s iron power,
With its bright glitt’ring cross and ivy wreathed porch—
Sure refuge in sorrow’s dark hour!
Whilst memory lasts think not e’er from this breast
Can pass the fond thoughts of my home:
No! I ne’er can forget the land I have left
In the new one to which I have come!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Happiest Day, the Happiest Hour
The happiest day- the happiest hour
My sear'd and blighted heart hath known,
The highest hope of pride and power,
I feel hath flown.
Of power! said I? yes! such I ween;
But they have vanish'd long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been-
But let them pass.
And, pride, what have I now with thee?
Another brow may even inherit
The venom thou hast pour'd on me
Be still, my spirit!
The happiest day- the happiest hour
Mine eyes shall see- have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power,
I feel- have been:
But were that hope of pride and power
Now offer'd with the pain
Even then I felt- that brightest hour
I would not live again:
For on its wing was dark alloy,
And, as it flutter'd- fell
An essence- powerful to destroy
A soul that knew it well.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!