George and Sarah Green
WHO weeps for strangers? Many wept
For George and Sarah Green;
Wept for that pair's unhappy fate,
Whose grave may here be seen.
By night, upon these stormy fells,
Did wife and husband roam;
Six little ones at home had left,
And could not find that home.
For 'any' dwelling-place of man
As vainly did they seek.
He perish'd; and a voice was heard--
The widow's lonely shriek.
Not many steps, and she was left
A body without life--
A few short steps were the chain that bound
The husband to the wife.
Now do those sternly-featured hills
Look gently on this grave;
And quiet now are the depths of air,
As a sea without a wave.
But deeper lies the heart of peace
In quiet more profound;
The heart of quietness is here
Within this churchyard bound.
And from all agony of mind
It keeps them safe, and far
From fear and grief, and from all need
Of sun or guiding star.
O darkness of the grave! how deep,
After that living night--
That last and dreary living one
Of sorrow and affright?
O sacred marriage-bed of death,
That keeps them side by side
In bond of peace, in bond of love,
That may not be untied!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Related quotes
Peace be with you (Latin-Pax Vobiscum)
Oh God! I need a quiet place,
Where flows the nectar of peace,
Not that kind of dead peace,
In the grave, one finds with ease.
I went to the Himalayas Mountain,
But peace there was no certain,
As the solitude tore my mind,
A little peace when I tried to find.
I heard good spiritual lectures,
Those from eminent preachers,
For peace, I left no place unturned,
But with a perturbed mind I returned.
Tell me, oh God, that unknown place,
Where lies that elusive peace,
What I need, now I can find,
So, I’ll have peace of mind.
God answered, “Hey you fool,
First learn to keep yourself cool,
Don’t search elsewhere out,
But dive deep into your heart.”
“Peace isn’t an object that lies outside,
But it’s a feeling that’s generated inside.
Learn to cultivate peace in your heart.
To enjoy this peace, better you now start.”
“Know this I’m in your heart.
I fill it up with peace quite a lot.
This divine peace when you merit,
No need to go elsewhere for it.”
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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Bound For Glory
Out on the trans-canada highway
There was a girl hitchhiking with her dog
Fireflies buzzin round her head
Like candles in the fog.
He was three miles down the road
Tryin to stay up, but he knew that he couldnt
She was looking for a ride through the night
But out there, who wouldnt.
They were bound for glory
Bound for living on the edge
They were bound for each other
Like two comets heading for a bed.
She had a new way of living
New way of looking at life
He had an 84 international and two kids
He left back home with his wife.
He was tired of writin letters to himself
And living in the dark
She was open to suggestions
And some say she had a broken heart.
He had everything he wanted
til it all turned out to be a job
One fallen asleep trucker
And a girl hitchhiking with her dog.
They were bound for glory
Bound for living on the edge
They were bound for each other
Like two comets heading for a bed.
She had a new way of living
New way of looking at life
He had an 84 international and two kids
He left back home with his wife.
Out on the trans-canada highway
The sun came climbing up the cab
By the time it hit the window they were wakin up
From what little sleep they had.
When that heat hit the blankets
They were looking for love at second sight
Just starin in each others eyes
Findin it in the mornin light.
They were bound for glory
Bound for living on the edge
They were bound for each other
Like two blankets layin on a bed.
She had a new way of living
New way of looking at life
He had an 84 international and two kids
He left back home with his wife.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife
TO these whom death again did wed
This grave 's the second marriage-bed.
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,
Because they both lived but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that love could tie.
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
Till the stormy night be gone,
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they wake into a light
Whose day shall never die in night.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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The Soldier's Grave
THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb,
Beneath is a soldier lying -
The death-wound came, amid sword and plume,
When banner and ball were flying.
Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded;
The church shadow falls o'er the place of his rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
There were tears, that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping,
And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave, where he lies sleeping.
He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing;
He stood with the valiant, side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.
He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over;
One heart, that, in secret, had kept his name,
Was claimed by the soldier lover.
But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;-
He left his sweet home for battle;
Left his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry,
And the cannon's long death-rattle.
He came again - but an altered man:
The path of the grave was before him,
And the smile, that he wore, was cold and wan,
For the shadow of death hung o'er him.
He spoke of victory - spoke of cheer:-
These are the words, that are vainly spoken
To the childless mother, or orphan's ear,
Or the widow, whose heart is broken.
A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone,
Half hidden by yonder willow;
There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won,
But he died on his own home pillow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Family life
At home
Husband
And wife...
Some time fighting...
Word's to words...
With bad words...
Sometime hit
The husband wife
Mistakes...
Wife was crying...
Husband was woory...
Wife also
Lovingely hit...
Husband also take easy...
At night husband
Wanted wife
For sex...
Wife will say
Backpain acting
Going for
Hear with life
Every day
At familylife...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Marriage.
A bond which is sensitive-
In which we share a lot.
Leaving our homeland-
We expect a lot.
Marriage is something-
Where we give in a lot.
At the sametime in return-
We want a lot.
Both, husband and wife-
Need to mingle a lot.
Priorites of life-
Change a lot.
Life revolves now-
Near husband a lot.
Lots of expenses-
To buy gifts a lot.
Time is short-
But dreams are lot.
Both, husband and wife-
Work a lot.
As evening arrives-
They talk a lot.
As time pass by-
Family is lot.
Even with grudges-
Love is lot.
And you see-
Marriage is loved a lot.
poem by Anju Addanki
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The husband’s link
She shed no tears
For the death of her lover
She lusted and slept with.
She wept by heart
On the arrest of her husband
She deceived while living with.
She kept her heart
Intact for her husband
Though locked to the paramour.
One can still count on
The love of one’s wife,
Who had strayed out.
07.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife Who died and were buried together
TO these whom death again did wed
This grave 's the second marriage-bed.
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,
Because they both lived but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that love could tie.
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
Till the stormy night be gone,
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they wake into a light
Whose day shall never die in night.
TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As thou too shalt adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.
poem by Richard Crashaw
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At The Cafe Des 2 Moulins
it is right here from this cafe des 2 moulins
where one day she decided to find a way
to make others happy
she is in a quandary
for in here there are always lonely men and women
and even children
she takes note of each of them
a child lonely because he lost his toy car
a woman whose marriage is on the verge of a collapse
and she has nowhere to go
a man whose wife left her for another younger man
they sip coffee here
there gazes as far as the farthest distance of the star
she is a very unhappy woman herself
but for now
she does not care
she finds a way for them to be happy
she found the lost toy, the wife came back to be reunited with the husband
the husband realized that he loved her more
she does not tell what caused her sadness
but she does not really care about herself now
at night she goes to her bed
soundly sleeping after
tomorrow, she will find another lonely soul again
she has become an angel
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We too shall Sleep
Not, not for thee,
Belovèd child, the burning grasp of life
Shall bruise the tender soul. The noise, and strife,
And clamor of midday thou shalt not see;
But wrapped for ever in thy quiet grave,
Too little to have known the earthly lot,
Time's clashing hosts above thine innocent head,
Wave upon wave,
Shall break, or pass as with an army's tread,
And harm thee not.
A few short years
We of the living flesh and restless brain
Shall plumb the deeps of life and know the strain,
The fleeting gleams of joy, the fruitless tears;
And then at last when all is touched and tried,
Our own immutable night shall fall, and deep
In the same silent plot, O little friend,
Side by thy side,
In peace that changeth not, nor knoweth end,
We too shall sleep.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Togetherness Is Gone
My wife,
Stop cleaning the house
Please come here
To accompany me
My husband,
The house is dirty
We aren't able to pay the maid
You've already retired
My wife,
Don't cook
It's a holiday
Let us eat outside the home
My husband,
Don't eat outdoors
We need efficient
You've already retired
My wife,
Let's keep me company
Why the rush to sleep
It's still early
My husband,
I have to get up early
To clean the house
And prepare breakfast
My wife,
I have to go this morning
My friends were waiting
Long we don't meet
My husband,
Be careful on the road
Greetings for your friends
But, why not breakfast?
My wife,
You have fallen asleep last night
I see you sleeping soundly all
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I'm sorry
I don't welcome you home
But, why should sleep on the sofa?
My wife,
I have to go again
I have social activities
With my old friends
My husband,
Don't forget dinner at home
You look very dapper
Although not wear perfume
My wife,
sorry, we were very busy
I had dinner with friends
Happy dinner, dear
My husband,
I woke up too early
But you're not at home
Where are you?
My wife,
I came home at midnight
I have to go early in the morning
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I just finished washing clothes
I've found the clothes that you wear today
But, why the smell of perfume?
poem by Hasanudin Sofyan
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The Color of the Grave is Green
411
The Color of the Grave is Green—
The Outer Grave—I mean—
You would not know it from the Field—
Except it own a Stone—
To help the fond—to find it—
Too infinite asleep
To stop and tell them where it is—
But just a Daisy—deep—
The Color of the Grave is white—
The outer Grave—I mean—
You would not know it from the Drifts—
In Winter—till the Sun—
Has furrowed out the Aisles—
Then—higher than the Land
The little Dwelling Houses rise
Where each—has left a friend—
The Color of the Grave within—
The Duplicate—I mean—
Not all the Snows could make it white—
Not all the Summers—Green—
You've seen the Color—maybe—
Upon a Bonnet bound—
When that you met it with before—
The Ferret—cannot find—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Husband's exit
Widow comes in existence with husband's exit
Painful memories to last with shaky feet
Whole life is in dark with no solution in sight
Life becomes burden and nothing goes right
Woman has some satisfaction if husband has gone away
He may return one day even if found another way
Widow is strictly not called with his exit from life
She stands legally as his estranged wife
Widower stage to felt if something is committed in excess
If husband is beating daily and provides no access
Sexual harassment followed by cruel treatment
Husband is buried alive in mind with resentment
It is living hell for woman to accept status of widow
No option is left for her to think of another window
It is dark future and unbelievable forecast for tomorrow
Nothing to think of world but keep quiet and lie low
Woman has tolerance power and world has acknowledged
She has come out of dark and at least without him managed
No one has dared to defy his womanhood for simple reason
That she is symbol of courage and well understood person
If men ever thinks that women can be played around
And desert them at will to be no where found
It is grave mistake and to be taken into count
Without woman it is almost difficult to mount
If woman is encouraged to show some guts
She may prove exceptionally talented figure, but
She has to be equally respected for her weak character
Now at least time has changed for her to show as formidable character
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Southern Star
Oh, southern star, how I wish you would shine
And show me the way to get home
Well I'm blue-collar branded, and stuck in a mill
Hard work is a way of life for me
Well I'm too young to live like I'm over the hills
And too old to be wild and free.
My heart is onward bound.
I'm rolling with the feeling and I can't slow down
I need a guiding light.
Shining down to lead me through the night
Oh, southern star, how I wish you would shine
And show me the way to get home.
Oh, hey my D.J. friend, would you play me one more song
And let my mind just go and drift away
Now we all have a dream....and a place where we belong
Somewhere we can go and escape.
My heart is onward bound.
I'm rolling with the feeling and I can't slow down
....I need a guiding light.
Shining down to lead me throught the night
Oh, southern star, how I wish you would shine
And show me the way to get home.
Oh, southern star, how I wish you would shine
And show me the way to get home...
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Grieving Widow
From the cemetery in Cameron Street she's a short walk away
And often at her husband's grave for his soul she does pray
An old miner of the black coal two years ago he died
Soon she will go to join him to lay forever by his side.
Her husband in his mid seventies when the Reaper for him came
And without her one true soul mate life for her not the same
They migrated to Wonthaggi in their early twenties in nineteen fifty three
He was her childhood sweetheart back home in Italy.
The saddest time of her life has been the last two years
She still grieves for her husband for him she still shed tears
Even at the mention of his name the tears come to her eyes
The stonger the bond of love is the sadder the goodbyes
Her son and daughter in Wonthaggi to her they live quite near
And stories of her old Homeland her grand kids love to hear
She tells them of the happy times their grand dad and her did know
When they were young in Italy so many years ago.
At her husband's grave in Cameron Street she says a silent prayer
A woman in her mid seventies with a silvery head of hair
And tears are welling in her eyes at her memories of the past
But no one lives forever and nothing ever last.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Song of Arda: (From “Annatanam”.)
LOW as a lute, my love, beneath the call
Of storm, I hear a melancholy wind;
The memorably mournful wind of yore
Which is the very brother of the one
That wanders, like a hermit, by the mound
Of Death, in lone Annatanam. A song
Was shaped for this, what time we heard outside
The gentle falling of the faded leaf
In quiet noons: a song whose theme doth turn
On gaps of Ruin and the gay-green clifts
Beneath the summits haunted by the moon.
Yea, much it travels to the dens of dole;
And in the midst of this strange rhyme, my lords,
Our Desolation like a phantom sits
With wasted cheeks and eyes that cannot weep
And fastened lips crampt up in marvellous pain.
A song in whose voice is the voice of the foam
And the rhyme of the wintering wave,
And the tongue of the things that eternally roam
In forest, in fell or in cave;
But mostly ’tis like to the Wind without home
In the glen of a desolate grave—
Of a deep and desolate grave.
The torrent flies over the thunder-struck clift
With many and many a call;
The leaves are swept down, and a dolorous drift
Is hurried away with the fall.
But mostly ’tis like the Wind without home
In the glen of a desolate grave—
Of a deep and desolate grave.
Whoever goes thither by night or by day
Must mutter, O Father, to Thee,
For the shadows that startle, the sounds that waylay
Are heavy to hear and to see;
And a step and a moan and a whisper for aye
Have made it a sorrow to be—
A sorrow of sorrows to be.
Oh! cover your faces and shudder, and turn
And hide in the dark of your hair,
Nor look to the Glen in the Mountains, to learn
Of the mystery mouldering there;
But rather sit low in the ashes and urn
Dead hopes in your mighty despair—
In the depths of your mighty despair.
poem by Henry Kendall
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The Nagging Wife
The Nagging Wife
She nagged and nagged till the husband couldn't take it no longer
He packed his bags and left his wife
Now hes living with the girl next door
If you want to keep your husband nag no more you know the score
He came back she was worse than his wife
All he wants is a quiet life
By David Stuart Jones
poem by David Stuart Jones
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No Not Everything In Life Does Go To Plan
No not every thing in life does go to plan
And to other women many lose their man
And we hear of marriage breakups every day
But nothing lasts for forever so they say.
Some women they have lost their men to war
And others through accident like motor car
And others through cancer or heart disease
And through many other ways as well as these.
With three Primary school going children Jane the fisherman's widowed wife
Know all about the harder side of life
Her story is as sad as sad can be
Her husband taken from her by the sea.
And though the remains of his two mates in the sunken boat were found
The frogmen searched the waters all around
Without finding the body of her Dave
He lay forever in his watery grave.
In life we have our good days and our bad
And at their marriage end some feel quite glad
And others feel as sad as sad can be
Like Jane who lost her husband to the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Essence of Azhaki (a tamil movie)
Thangamony and Shanmughom,
A loving pair diverged to suffer.
He had fortune and she, misfortune.
He had lovely spouse and she, a drunkard.
He met her, felt her and wept for her.
From the bed of rose, he thought of
thorn.
She ekes out; He weeps out.
She is coolly; He is gloomy
As a maid, she is hit, he doubly.
As her son is denied food,
He resolves to forgo his food.
She is more than his wife.
Her son is more than his.
Her humiliation is his humiliation.
As a widow, she is undisturbed
As a lover, he is perturbed.
He is not an ex-lover to her
But she is so, to him.
Her identity unfolds.
As his wife sulks
She flees their home.
He is upset.
Doubts are cleared.
His wife is reconciled.
He finds her son back
The son is backing home.
He is his foster father.
He cannot be the foster husband.
Her son and his daughter
Grow together
He could not live for her.
He wanted to live for her son.
His love for her
Is subtly sublimated on her son.
He does it with the hope
That she will return once
And see his gratitude.
If I were in his shoes
I would give her son my girl.
The love of
Thangamony and Shanmughom
Is the perfect example
For every ex-love pair.
31.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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People of the Living God
People of the living God,
I have sought the world around;
Paths of sin and sorrow trod,
Peace and comfort nowhere found:
Now to you my spirit turns—
Turns a fugitive unblest;
Brethren, where your altar burns,
Oh, receive me into rest.
Lonely I no longer roam
Like the cloud, the wind, the wave;
Where you dwell shall be my home,
Where you die shall be my grave;
Mine the God Whom you adore;
Your Redeemer shall be mine;
Earth can fill my soul no more—
Every idol I resign.
Tell me not of gain and loss,
Ease, enjoyment, pomp, and pow’r;
Welcome poverty and cross,
Shame reproach, affliction’s hour.
“Follow Me”—I know Thy voice;
Jesus, Lord, Thy steps I see;
Now I take Thy yoke by choice,
Light Thy burden now to me.
poem by James Montgomery
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