To A Sexton
Let thy wheel-barrow alone--
Wherefore, Sexton, piling still
In thy bone-house bone on bone?
'Tis already like a hill
In a field of battle made,
Where three thousand skulls are laid;
These died in peace each with the other,--
Father, sister, friend, and brother.
Mark the spot to which I point!
From this platform, eight feet square,
Take not even a finger-joint:
Andrew's whole fire-side is there.
Here, alone, before thine eyes,
Simon's sickly daughter lies,
From weakness now, and pain defended,
Whom he twenty winters tended.
Look but at the gardener's pride--
How he glories, when he sees
Roses, lilies, side by side,
Violets in families!
By the heart of Man, his tears,
By his hopes and by his fears,
Thou, too heedless, art the Warden
Of a far superior garden.
Thus then, each to other dear,
Let them all in quiet lie,
Andrew there, and Susan here,
Neighbours in mortality.
And, should I live through sun and rain
Seven widowed years without my Jane,
O Sexton, do not then remove her,
Let one grave hold the Loved and Lover!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Related quotes
To Avoid Rejection
take a part of your
pelvic bone
close your eyes
let someone take
the flesh
and bone to bone
of your own bone
let it grow
smoothly
to get rid of the pain
and start anew
bone to bone
of my contention
following yours
nothing
opposing
blood following
the flow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Avoiding A Rejection
take a part of your
pelvic bone
close your eyes
let someone take
the flesh
and bone to bone
of your own bone
let it grow
smoothly
to get rid of the pain
and start anew
bone to bone
of my contention
following yours
nothing
opposing
blood following
the flow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bone Of The House
in the house
he is a bone,
not a flesh on
the side
dogs outside are
waiting
he is not the
kind of bone
that any dog
wants,
the useless bone
in the kitchen
mere shadow of
the soup-stock
left-over of the flesh
inside the garbage can.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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ALZHEIMER'S ZONG(for my old pal Al)
'The soul bone's
connected to the heart bone! '
'The heart bone's
connected to the mind bone! '
'The mind bone's
connected to the bone bone! '
'The bone bone's
connected to the thought bone! '
'The Thought bone's
connected to the Time bone! '
'The Time bone's
connected to the memory bone! '
'The memory bone's...'
'The memory bones...'
'... memory's bones...'
'Now where have all
the words
...gone! '
*******
I used to look after someone with Alzheimer's and she used to sing this over and over and chuckle to herself until the wordsand she gradually faded away and there was no enough memory and wit to sustain the song or her any longer.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Given The Dog A Bone
She take you down easy
Going down to her knees
Going down to the devil
Down down to ninety degrees
Oh, shes blowing me crazy
Till my ammunition is dry
Oh, shes using her head again
Shes using her head
Oh, shes using her head again
Chorus:
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Yeow
Shes no mona lisa
No, shes no playboy star
But shell send you to heaven
Then explode you to mars
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head again
Shes using her head
Using her head again
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head
Chorus
Lets go
Oooh, oh, oh, oh
She got the power of union
Yeah, she only hits when its hot
And if she likes what youre doing
Yeah, shell give you alot
(given everything she got)
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a given a dog
Givin a dog
Givin a dog
Ooooh
Im just a givin a dog a bone
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shall Not Burn
I have done with love and lust,
I reck not for gold or fame;
I await familiar dust
These frail fingers to reclaim:
Not for me the tiger flame.
Not for me the furnace glow,
Rage of fire and ashen doom;
To sweet earth my bones bestow
Where above a lowly tomb
January roses bloom.
Fools and fools and fools are you
Who your dears to fires confide;
Give to Mother Earth her due:
Flesh may waste but bone will bide,--
Let loved ones lie side by side.
Let God's Acre ever dream;
Shed your tears and blossoms bring;
On age-burnished bone will gleam
Crucifix and wedding ring:
Graves are for sweet comforting.
Curst be those who my remains
Hurl to horror of the flames!
poem by Robert William Service
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Religious Table
A table wooden to the bone cushions my side of the bone,
Tables and chairs, chairs and tables work hands and feet.
My real furnished appearance stages a welcome,
By talismans so religious and bold, and also stronger than the furniture.
The bones of a skeleton are brittle when time takes time,
Bone is sacred, bone is like a table of splendid nature.
My body is furnished with eyes and ears, faces so dear,
Letting light be knightly on the skin, with skin and skin.
The bones of religion collect by night and day,
Relics of the past demand recollection, everyday.
poem by Naveed Akram
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On His Father's Side
On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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William House and Family
Come all kind friends, both far and near,
Come listen to me and you shall hear --
It's of a family and their fate,
All about them I will relate.
They once did live at Edgerton,
They once did live at Muskegon,
From there they went to Chicago,
Which proved their fatal overthrow.
It was William House's family,
As fine a family as you see --
His family was eleven in all,
I do not think it was very small.
Two children died some years ago,
Before they went to Chicago,
Five children there he had with him,
When death his home there enters in.
The small-pox then was raging there,
And Oh! it would not their house spare,
For all but one was sick of them,
A dreadful house it must have been.
The eldest girl was married then,
The eldest boy was in Michigan,
The second boy he was at home,
And took care of them all alone.
His father and his mother dear,
And dear sister, too, I hear,
Were very sick and in his care,
And no kind friends to help him there:
Two little brothers, and a baby too,
Made six in all -- what could he do,
He had to take care of them all,
The baby, too, was very small.
As he would go to his father's bed,
And try to soothe his aching head,
"My son, I pray you leave me, do
Go take care of poor mother, too."
"Your mother and sister need your care,
And your little infant brother there;
Oh! Charlie, Charlie, take care of them,
My son, do all for them you can."
It seemed as though he did not know
That his poor soul so soon must go,
And leave his little ones he loved,
To go to that bright world above.
But God he called his soul away,
It had to leave, it could not stay --
He never more on earth will be,
His soul is from sin and sorrow free.
Charles helped the sexton, I am told,
To lay his form in the coffin cold --
How sad, how sad, poor soul was he,
When last his father's form did see.
Minnie May House she had to go,
And leave her friends that loved her so --
She was a girl in her teens,
A lovely flower as e'er was seen.
Minnie and her mother lay on one bed,
And when Charles said, "our Minnie is dead,"
His mother then she did grow wild,
And early after knew her child.
They buried Minnie by her father's side,
And left them there where they had died --
Charles took his mother and brothers then
And brought them back to Michigan.
For the mother and the baby too,
Kind friends did all that they could do,
But those poor souls they could not save,
For now they're sleeping in their grave.
Oh! what a noble son was he,
His age was then only sixteen --
Charles House's name I have told before
God bless his soul forever more.
poem by Julia A Moore
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The Sister's Appeal.
You remember--don't you, brother--
In our early years,
The counsels of our poor, dear mother,
And her hopes and fears?
She told us to love one another--
Brother, dry your tears!
We are only two, dear brother,
In his babel wide!
In the churchyard sleeps poor mother,
By our father's side!--
Then let us cherish one another
Till in death we bide.
poem by George Pope Morris
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The Thorn That Grows
The thorn that grows beside the rose
can let its prick be felt.
It also is a sharp reminder
of the pain that can be dealt
to the lover of beauty
that takes no care
to adore the rose
but not beware.
For all the beauty in the world
lies side by side with pain.
And all the glories of what you love
cannot always remain.
I do not languish myself with pity
nor do I live with pride.
But to live in fear of pain that comes
is to believe that beauty has died.
The thorn that grows protects the rose
as love protects the heart.
But if the thorn is missing
might not the rose depart?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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No Distant Lord Have I
No distant Lord have I,
Loving afar to be;
Made flesh for me, He cannot rest
Until He rests in me.
Brother in joy and pain,
Bone of my bone was He;
More intimate and closer still—
He dwells Himself in me.
I need not journey far
This dearest Friend to see;
Companionship is always mine;
He makes His home with me.
poem by Maltbie Davenport Babcock
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tomb of Evrion
In this tomb—ornately designed,
the whole of syenite stone,
covered by so many violets, so many lilies—
lies handsome Evrion,
an Alexandrian, twenty-five years old.
On his father's side, he was of old Macedonian stock,
on his mother's side, descended from a line of magistrates.
He studied philosophy with Aristokleitos,
rhetoric with Paros, and at Thebes
the sacred scriptures. He wrote a history
of the province of Arsinoites. That at least will survive.
But we've lost what was really precious: his form—
like a vision of Apollo.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Rurin
I fear the closeness of theiy heart,
Come to close to the heaven’s hark,
To beautiful is this lonely lark,
For one that brings a bloody mark,
Listen my friend of the ones whom run,
Free and wild within the sun,
Listen closely,
Side by side,
Ear to ear,
I heed my warning loud and clear,
‘Come no further to my soul,
Afraid that I might lose it all.’
‘To precious for my skin and bone,
Ashes tossed upon theiy throne.’
Listen closely,
Side by side,
Ear to ear,
I heed my warning loud and clear....
poem by Ashley Fortin
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We are Seven
--------A Simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."
Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."
"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.
"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
poem by William Wordsworth
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On The Lonely Side Of Town
On the lonely side of town
When no one else is around
Her brown eyes cry those tears
Over her loves from the past years
Her heart is breaking without a sound
On the lonely side of town
She feels just like a clown
With tears pouring from her eyes
With no rhymn or reason why
But life has turned her upside down
On the lonely side of town
Her head is hanging down
Shaking from side to side
With not much left of her pride
There on that lonely side of town
On the lonely side of town
She is lost behind her frown
But in ways she may never know
Her love fine it's way to show
And by her love she is bound
On the lonely side of town
You can hear the old train sound
Reminding her of those days
When life glowed with brighter rays
Even on that lonely side of town
On the lonely side of town
She is loved by leaps and bounds
Even though she may not see
Love'S the only thing that's free
And it creaps up on her without a sound
poem by Norman Hale
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Born with Pride
Born with pride
When she was born,
She never cried
Born with dreams
Pretty eyes open wide
Born without tears
No lies to seek or hide
Born without fears,
On her beautiful little mind
Born to live
to love to give
To suffer to loose
Everything
Born with pride
Died in vain
Agony and pain
Hurt and shame
The lady had died
Her baby was born
With no pride
And with nothing
On his side
poem by Mitwaly Osman
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Little Susan
Air -- "The Pride of Caldair"
Once there was a little girl
And her friends loved her dear --
Her parents loved their little one,
She did their hearts cheer.
They loved their little darling,
As with them she did roam,
They called her little Susan,
The pride of their home.
Blue eyes had little Susan,
And light flaxen hair,
And she was a pleasant child to see,
So beautiful and fair.
With her parents she will never more
On earth with them roam --
They loved their little Susan,
The pride of their home.
Her parents had more children,
There were nine of them all --
There are eight of them living,
For God but one called.
The flower of their family
God called to his home,
It was their little Susan,
The pride of their home.
Her friends will not forget her,
Though she died years ago --
It was John H. Moore's daughter,
Her age was four years old.
She is waiting in heaven,
Waiting for her friends to come
And be with their little Susan,
The pride of their home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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The Dying Soldier
Yes! raise me on your arm, Dick Dale,
My comrade old and true.
And let me of the glad earth take
One last and lingering view.
When yet a few brief moments more
Of this flittering hour have fled,
You’ll shed an old friend's tear, Dick Dale,
Above your comrade's head.
We fought together, side by side,
In many a bloody fray,
From Malvern Hill's dark hour of strife,
To fierce Antietam's day.
And when again the 'long roll' calls,
For battle to prepare,
You will not fail the flag, Dick Dale,
But I shall not be there.
You will not soon forget me, Dick!
I know it by that sigh;
I know it by those tears that shine
In your half averted eye.
But my dear old comrade's heart will swell,
I know with honest pride,
When he thinks that for the grand old flag,
His old companion died.
Cut off this light brown lock, Dick Dale,
For the girl that waits at home.
Yes! Hoping waits her soldier love,
Who never more can come.
'Twill soothe perhaps her bleeding heart
To know that watched by you,
The boy she loved, at least has died,
With one who loved him too.
You'll visit all the quaint old nooks
We sought when we were boys,
And thoughts of me will come, Dick Dale,
With thoughts of childhood's joys;
And when you reach the old playground
Where once you used to play,
You’ll not forget your friend, Dick Dale,
In his lone grave far away.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Father, Son
Father, son
Locked as one
In this empty room
Spine against spine
Yours against mine
Till the warmth comes through
Remember the breakwaters down by the waves
I first found my courage
Knowing daddy could save
I could hold back the tide
With my dad by my side
Dogs, plows and bows
We move through each pose
Struggling in our seperate ways
Mantras and hymns
Unfolding limbs
Looking for release through the pain
And the yogi's eyes are open
Looking up above
He too is dreaming of his daddy's love
With his dad by his side
Got his dad by his side
Can you recall
How you took me to school
We couldn't talk much at all
It's been so many years
And now these tears
Guess I'm still a child
Out on the moors
We take a pause
See how far we have come
You're moving quite slow
How far can we go
Father and son
With my dad by my side
With my dad by my side
Got my dad by my side
With me
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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