En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Louisa: After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion

I MET Louisa in the shade,
And, having seen that lovely Maid,
Why should I fear to say
That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong,
And down the rocks can leap along
Like rivulets in May?

She loves her fire, her cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;
And, when against the wind she strains,
Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek.

Take all that's mine 'beneath the moon,'
If I with her but half a noon
May sit beneath the walls
Of some old cave, or mossy nook,
When up she winds along the brook
To hunt the waterfalls.

poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song XXX. The Lovely Brown Maid

When May--scented zephyrs breathe gladness around,
Enliv'ning the meadow and grove,
And in each mossy cottage Contentment is found,
Crown'd with health, peace, retirement, and love;
Then far from the village the swains they retire,
At noon to the lonely sweet shade;
Grant me Health, rosy Health, all I ask and desire,
With a smile from my lovely brown maid.

When my flocks bleat around me upon the wide plain,
Contented I lie at my ease;
And at eve I retire, free from sorrow and pain,
To enjoy the soft fragrant breeze:
When music and gladness are heard thro' the grove,
By moonlight I steal from the shade,
And o'er hills and deep valleys unheeded I rove,
For a smile from my lovely brown maid.

Each morn I rise happy, each night I lie down
With a heart free from envy and care;
In my plain humble cottage, far from the gay town
With my neighbours each comfort I share:
I envy no monarch, I boast not of wealth,
No troubles my cot e'er invade:
All the blessings I ask is the blessing of health,
And a smile from my lovely brown maid.

poem by Robert Anderson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mary's Tryst

Young Mary stole along the vale,
To keep her tryst with Ulnor's lord;
A warrior clad in coat of mail
Stood darkling by the brawling ford.

'O let me pass; O let me pass,
Dark falls the night on hill and lea;
Flies, flies the bright day swift and fast,
From lordly bower and greenwood tree.
The small birds twitter as they fly
To dewy bough and leaf-hid nest;
Dark fold the black clouds on the sky,
And maiden terrors throng my breast!'

'And thou shalt pass, thou bonnie maid,
If thou wilt only tell to me--
Why hiest thou forth in lonesome shade;
Where may thy wish'd-for bourne be?'
'O let me by, O let me by,
My granddam dwells by Ulnor's shore;
She strains for me her failing eye--
Beside her lowly ivied door.'

'I rode by Ulnor's shore at dawn,
I saw no ancient dame and cot;
I saw but startl'd doe and fawn--
Thy bourne thou yet hast told me not.'
'O let me pass--my father lies
Long-stretch'd in coffin and in shroud,--
Where Ulnor's turrets climb the skies,
Where Ulnor's battlements are proud!'

'I rode by Ulnor's walls at noon;
I heard no bell for passing sprite;
And saw no henchman straik'd for tomb;
Thou hast not told thy bourne aright.'
'O let me pass--a monk doth dwell
In lowly hut by Ulnor's shrine;
I seek the holy friar's cell,
That he may shrive this soul of mine.'

'I rode by Ulnor's shrine this day,
I saw no hut--no friar's cowl;
I heard no holy hermit pray--
I heard but hooting of the owl!'
'O let me pass--time flies apace--
And since thou wilt not let me be;
I tryst with chief of Ulnor's race,
Beneath the spreading hawthorn tree!'

'I rode beside the bonnie thorn,
When this day's sun was sinking low;
I saw a damsel like the morn,
I saw a knight with hound and bow;
The chief was chief of Ulnor's name,
The maid was of a high degree;
I saw him kiss the lovely dame,
I saw him bend the suitor's knee!

'I saw the fond glance of his eye
To her red cheek red roses bring;
Between them, as my steed flew by,
I saw them break a golden ring.'
'O wouldst thou know, thou curious knight,
Where Mary's bourne to-night will be?
Since thou has seen such traitor sight,
Beneath the blooming hawthorn tree.'

Fair shone the yellow of her locks,
Her cheek and bosom's drifted snow;
She leap'd adown the sharp grey rocks,
She sought the sullen pool below.
The knight his iron vizard rais'd,
He caught young Mary to his heart;
She lifted up her head and gaz'd--
She drew her yellow locks apart.

* * * * *

The roses touch'd her lovely face;
The lilies white did faint and flee;
The knight was chief of Ulnor's race,--
His only true love still was she!

poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Autumn Tints

Coral.coloured yew-berries
Strew the garden ways,
Hollyhocks and sunflowers
Make a dazzling blaze
In these latter days.

Marigolds by cottage doors
Flaunt their golden pride,
Crimson-punctured bramble leaves
Dapple far and wide
The green mountain-side.

Far away, on hilly slopes
Where fleet rivulets run,
Miles on miles of tangled fern,
Burnished by the sun,
Glow a copper dun.

For the year that's on the wane,
Gathering all its fire,
Flares up through the kindling world
As, ere they expire,
Flames leap high and higher.

poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonely In Your Nightmare

Even on the darkest night when empty promise means empty hand
And soldiers coming home like shadows turning red
When the lights of hope are fading quickly then look to me
Ill be your homing angel,Ill be in your head.
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
And theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
I see the delta traces living lonely out on the limb.
And a passing glimmer warm beneath your skin
Please tread gently on the ground when all around you earth
Turns to fire
Only get a second chance when dangers on the wind.
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
-
Must be lucky weather when you find the kind of wind that you need
Cmon show me all the light and shade that made your name
I know youve got it in your head, Ive seen that look before
Youve built your refuge turns you captive all the same
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
And its barren in your garden let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in..
Because youre so lonely in your nightmare let me in..
And its cold out on your stone range let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
Do, do-do, do do do do
Do, do-do, do do do do

song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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September

1 The golden-rod is yellow;
2 The corn is turning brown;
3 The trees in apple orchards
4 With fruit are bending down.

5 The gentian's bluest fringes
6 Are curling in the sun;
7 In dusty pods the milkweed
8 Its hidden silk has spun.

9 The sedges flaunt their harvest,
10 In every meadow nook;
11 And asters by the brook-side
12 Make asters in the brook,

13 From dewy lanes at morning
14 The grapes' sweet odors rise;
15 At noon the roads all flutter
16 With yellow butterflies.

17 By all these lovely tokens
18 September days are here,
19 With summer's best of weather,
20 And autumn's best of cheer.

21 But none of all this beauty
22 Which floods the earth and air
23 Is unto me the secret
24 Which makes September fair.

25 'T is a thing which I remember;
26 To name it thrills me yet:
27 One day of one September
28 I never can forget.

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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The Adieu

We part, and thou art mine no more!
I go through seas never sought before,
Where stars unknown to our native skies
Startle the mariner's watchful eyes.
Our bark shall over the waters sweep,
And rouse the children of the deep:
Around us, 'midst the silvery spray,
With glittering scales shall the dolphins play.
When scarcely flutters the snowy sail,
Gently waved by the whispering gale,
I shall gaze in the ocean's liquid glass,
And mark the hidden treasures we pass:
The amber and coral groves that glow
In the sparkling sunbeams that dart below,
Whose lucid and spreading boughs between
Countless flitting forms are seen.
Oh! could I beneath the billows dive,
And in that world of splendour live!
Were there a cave for thee and me
Beneath that bright and silent sea,
Which waves conceal and rocks surround,
Like that the Island loves found*.
Strange and solemn was the hour
That saw them reach that secret bower;—
Some love-lorn seamaid's deep abode,
Or palace of the ocean god.
Long had Hoonga's inmost cells
Echoed to the mournful tone
Of the waves among the shells,
And the winds that feebly moan:
But never to music so sad, so sweet,
As the vows they breathed in that lone retreat.
But, ah! our bark glides swiftly on,
And my vision of that cave is gone,

poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Boola-Boola Maid

In the wilds of Madagascar, Dwelt a Boola-boola maid;
For her hand young men would ask her, But she always was afraid.
Oh that Boola-boola maid She was living in the shade Of a spreading Yum-yum tree;
And - when the day was done At the setting of the sun, She would make this melodee:

As this ditty she was cooing, Came a Boola-boola man;
And he lost no time in wooing; For he punched her on the pan.
Oh that Boola-boola maid She was terribly afraid So he punched her on the eye;
And - then he laugh'd with glee As beneath the Yum-yum tree He - heard that maiden cry:

Then with shrieks of ribald laughter, Said the Boola-boola man;
"If it's only socks you're after, I will do the best I can.
I have handed you a pair, And I've plenty more to spare," So he socked her on the nose;
And a woeful maid was she, As beneath the Yum-yum tree, This - lamentation 'rose:

Now the wedding tom-tom's over, for this Boola-boola maid;
And when ev'ning shadows hover, She no longer is afraid.
For she weasrs a palm-leaf pinny And she rocks a pickaninny In the shade of the Yum-yum tree,
And she's happy with her he-man, Though she still dreams of a She-man, As she sings this song with glee:

Chorus:
Oh - I don't want my cave-man to caress me,
Oh I don't want no coal-black heads to press me.
All I want is a fellow who wears suspenders,
That'll be the coon to whom this babe surenders.
For the man I wed must have a proper trouseau.
On none of your fig-leaf dudes will make me do so.
For it's funny how I feel, But I'm crazy for socks appeal
And my dream is to marry a man with a pair of socks.

poem by Robert William Service
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My Cottage Home

1.

My home, my home, my cottage home,
Thou fair and lovely spot,
How sad and lonely is my soul,
When I can view thee not;
The vines may blossom in my path,
And flowers I most adore,
But what are all their charm to me,
If not beside my door.

2.

Home is a name ne'er forget,
Like other names of earth;
We never grow old to love
The spot that gave us birth;
And when in dreams of faded years;
Of all our youthful pride,
How sweet to dwell beneath the roof,
Where our dear parents died.

3.

My home, my home, my cottage home,
I'll love thee evermore,
And evry heart that greets me when
I reach thy humble door;
And though my mother's smile be gone;
My mother's watchful care,
I love to dwell beneath the roof,
For home was always there.

poem by Septimus Winner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home, Sweet Home

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gayly, that come at my call --
Give me them -- and the peace of mind, dearer than all!
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,
And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,
As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door
Thro' the woodbine, whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,
And the caress of a mother to soothe and beguile!
Let others delight mid new pleasures to roam,
But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

To thee I'll return, overburdened with care;
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there;
No more from that cottage again will I roam;
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet, home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

poem by John Howard Payne
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The Destroying Spirit

I sit upon the rocks that frown

Above the rapid Nile;

And on the toil of man look down

With bitter and scornful smile.

My rocks are inaccessible,

And few return their terrors to tell.

My subjects are the birds, whose wings

Never soar'd into other air;

To whose shrill cries each echo rings—

For their nests are hidden there:

They dip their plumes in that mighty river,

Whose course is onward—onward, for ever.

I see the deluge come sweeping on

Where waving corn-fields gleam;

And forests, and cities, and herds are gone,

Like the shadows of a dream:

The rushing tide is an ocean now;

And islands of ruin darken its brow.

But the waters sink, and earth again

Smiles under Nature's gentlest reign:

Where, from scenes of bliss, shall I go?

I—whose existence is terror and woe.

Now I hide in the burning breast

Of some mountain, whose fires are never at rest,

And urge the torrents that downward flow,

Crashing and swallowing all below.

Then, through the air—away!—away!

Till I check my course on the dread Himmaleh:

Down to its deepest valleys I dive,

Which no mortal can ever see and live,

To visit the evil spirits who dwell

In the ceaseless gloom of that murky dell.

With them, from their rocky temples I roam,

To lure the traveller from his home:

When he rests beneath some charmed tree

With dreams we vex his mind;

And he wakes our hideous forms to see,

As we hover upon the wind;

And our voices howl in the hurrying blast,

Till in frantic fear he breathes his last:

Then we bear him to our dismal cave,

And his tortured spirit we claim as our slave!

I dwell where tempests are loud and dread—

I ride on the billow's foam;

And wherever terror is widest spread

There is the Spirit's home.

poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Curlew Song

The viewless blast flies moaning past,
Away to the forest trees,
Where giant pines and leafless vines
Bend 'neath the wandering breeze!
From ferny streams, unearthly screams
Are heard in the midnight blue;
As afar they roam to the shepherd's home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!
As afar they roam
To the shepherd's home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!

The mists are curled o'er a dark-faced world,
And the shadows sleep around,
Where the clear lagoon reflects the moon
In her hazy glory crowned;
While dingoes howl, and wake the growl
Of the watchdog brave and true;
Whose loud, rough bark shoots up in the dark,
With the song of the lone Curlew!
Whose loud, rough bark
Shoots up in the dark,
With the song of the lone Curlew!

Near herby banks the dark green ranks
Of the rushes stoop to drink;
And the ripples chime, in a measured time,
On the smooth and mossy brink;
As wind-breaths sigh, and pass, and die,
To start from the swamps anew,
And join again o'er ridge and plain
With the wails of the sad Curlew!
And join again
O'er ridge and plain
With the wails of the sad Curlew!

The clouds are thrown around the cone
Of the mountain bare and high,
(Whose craggy peak uprears to the cheek -
To the face of the sombre sky)
When down beneath the foggy wreath,
Full many a gully through,
They rend the air, like cries of despair,
The screams of the wild Curlew!
They rend the air,
Like cries of despair,
The screams of the wild Curlew!

The viewless blast flies moaning past,
Away to the forest trees;
Where giant pines and leafless vines
Bend 'neath the wandering breeze!
From ferny streams, unearthly screams
Are heard in the midnight blue;
As afar they roam to the shepherd's home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!
As afar they roam
To the shepherd's home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!

poem by Henry Kendall
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The Seal

The ocean cold is it's home

Swimming all day it's livelihood

Slick fur black and mottled

Tossing and turning beneath the salty waves

Dark eyes glossy as chrome

Rolling and playing, making waves and foam

Laying in the sun on a raft of driftwood

Amongst the forest of seaweed they mingled

Exploring every nook of of a sea-cave

The ocean wide it's free to roam

poem by Benjamin Louter
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Rosy Hannah

A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r,
The grey sand dancing in its bed,
Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower,
Sent forth its waters near my head:
A rosy Lass approach'd my view;
I caught her blue eye's modest beam:
The stranger nodded 'How d'ye do!'
And leap'd across the infant stream.

The water heedless pass'd away:
With me her glowing image stay'd.
I strove, from that auspicious day,
To meet and bless the lovely Maid.
I met her where beneath our feet
Through downy Moss the Wild-Thyme grew;
Nor Moss elastic, flow'rs though sweet,
Match'd Hannah's cheek of rosy hue.

I met her where the dark Woods wave,
And shaded verdure skirts the plain;
And when the pale Moon rising gave
New glories to her cloudy train.
From her sweet Cot upon the Moor
Our plighted vows to Heaven are flown;
Truth made me welcome at her door,
And rosy Hannah is my own.

poem by Robert Bloomfield
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song of the Shingle-Splitters

IN dark wild woods, where the lone owl broods
And the dingoes nightly yell—
Where the curlew’s cry goes floating by,
We splitters of shingles dwell.
And all day through, from the time of the dew
To the hour when the mopoke calls,
Our mallets ring where the woodbirds sing
Sweet hymns by the waterfalls.
And all night long we are lulled by the song
Of gales in the grand old trees;
And in the breaks we can hear the lakes
And the moan of the distant seas.
For afar from heat and dust of street,
And hall and turret, and dome,
In forest deep, where the torrents leap,
Is the shingle-splitter’s home.

The dweller in town may lie upon down,
And own his palace and park:
We envy him not his prosperous lot,
Though we slumber on sheets of bark.
Our food is rough, but we have enough;
Our drink is better than wine:
For cool creeks flow wherever we go,
Shut in from the hot sunshine.
Though rude our roof, it is weather-proof,
And at the end of the days
We sit and smoke over yarn and joke,
By the bush-fire’s sturdy blaze.
For away from din, and sorrow and sin,
Where troubles but rarely come,
We jog along, like a merry song,
In the shingle-splitter’s home.

What though our work he heavy, we shirk
From nothing beneath the sun;
And toil is sweet to those who can eat
And rest when the day is done.
In the Sabbath-time we hear no chime,
No sound of the Sunday bells;
But yet Heaven smiles on the forest aisles,
And God in the woodland dwells.
We listen to notes from the million throats
Of chorister birds on high,
Our psalm is the breeze in the lordly trees,
And our dome is the broad blue sky,
Oh! a brave frank life, unsmitten by strife,
We live wherever we roam,
And our hearts are free as the great strong sea,
In the shingle-splitter’s home.

poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sparkle

Maurice white, eddie delbarrio & philip bailey
On a golden sky, you my sparkle flying high
My vibration start to rhyme and it chimes
With loves direction
Now, Im traveling my cares unraveling,
Flying high, just you and me
Feeling free along loves highway
Lover forever unfolds magical moments together
And the fire to ignite melodies tonight
Birds can only sing the song we write
Harmonies in tune that reflect the moon
Sparkle youre so rare and lovely in my sight
Just give me a sign, and be my valentine
Let the arrow full of light, pierce the nigght
With loves affection
Sharing blissfully making history
Fragrants of you loving smile
A little while will last forever
Lover forever unfolds magical moments together
And the fire to ignite melodies tonight
Birds can only sing the song we write
Harmonies in tune that reflect the moon
Sparkle youre so rare and lovely in my sight
Youre my valentine
You create a rhyme all the birds can sing
Our song divine
Sparkle like a star, sparkling you are
Glistening in my heart
You light my sky
Love forever unfolds magical moments together
And the fire to ignite melodies tonight
Birds can only sing the song we write
Harmonies in tune that reflect the moon
Sparkle youre so rare and lovely in my sight

song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Sonnet XXII: Heart's Haven

Sometimes she is a child within mine arms,
Cowering beneath dark wings that love must chase,—
With still tears showering and averted face,
Inexplicably filled with faint alarms:
And oft from mine own spirit's hurtling harms
I crave the refuge of her deep embrace,—
Against all ills the fortified strong place
And sweet reserve of sovereign counter-charms.
And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,
Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away
All shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.
Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune;
And as soft waters warble to the moon,
Our answering spirits chime one roundelay.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of Life: 22. Heart's Haven

Sometimes she is a child within mine arms,
Cowering beneath dark wings that love must chase,--
With still tears showering and averted face,
Inexplicably fill'd with faint alarms:
And oft from mine own spirit's hurtling harms
I crave the refuge of her deep embrace,--
Against all ills the fortified strong place
And sweet reserve of sovereign counter-charms.

And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,
Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away
All shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.
Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune;
And as soft waters warble to the moon,
Our answering spirits chime one roundelay.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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XXIX Heart's Heaven

Sometimes she is a child within mine arms,
Cowering beneath dark wings that love must chase,--
With still tears showering and averted face,
Inexplicably fill'd with faint alarms:
And oft from mine own spirit's hurtling harms
I crave the refuge of her deep embrace,--
Against all ills the fortified strong place
And sweet reserve of sovereign counter-charms.

And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,
Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away
All shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.
Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune;
And as soft waters warble to the moon,
Our answering spirits chime one roundelay.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Songs Of The Sky

In a sky of layered clouds,
dawn becomes a rainbow,
moving through the spectrum
toward the day.

In a sky of always blue,
no clouds ride the wind:
the sun burns brightly,
high and hot and long.

In a sky of may grays,
clouds crash, explode and roar;
rain-filled winds sweep across the prairie.

In a sky of many blues,
clouds dance on the wind;
and endless and quixotic
Rohrschach test.

In a sky of always gray,
no clouds seem to move;
overcast blots out imagination.

In a sky of cold, cold blue,
gray clouds scrape the treetops;
harbingers of winter storms to come.

Beneath a sky of darkening gray,
the prairie grasses rustle
on the small, forgotten farms
of what could've been
and was.

In a sky of mottled gray,
cold rains fall, now and then;
the seasons struggle
for control of April.

In a sky of broken gray,
cold winds precede the rains;
and before long
the darkened clouds re-gather.

In a sky as clear as glass,
and blue from top to bottom,
sultry days of August
slowly drift into September.

In a twi-lit noon-time sky,
this annular eclipse
leaves us just a
ring around the moon.

In a sky of many clouds,
sunset's an inferno;
ablaze, in this,
my father's final twilight.

In a sky that slowly burns,
the clouds of fire fade
and leave a darker beauty
to hold the night.

poem by William Kruse
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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