Related quotes: A stream to mingle with...

To Lady Eleanor Butler and the Honourable Miss Ponsonby,

A stream to mingle with your favorite Dee
Along the Vale of Meditation flows;
So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see
In Nature's face the expression of repose,
Or, haply there some pious Hermit chose
To live and die -- the peace of Heaven his aim,
To whome the wild sequestered region owes
At this late day, its sanctifying name.
Glyn Cafaillgaroch, in the Cambrian tongue,
In ourse the Vale of Friendship, let this spot
Be nam'd, where faithful to a low roof'd Cot
On Deva's banks, ye have abode so long,
Sisters in love, a love allowed to climb
Ev'n on this earth, above the reach of time.

poem by William Wordsworth
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Love Abused

What is there in the vale of life
Half so delighted as a wife,
When friendship, love, and peace combine
To stamp the marriage bond divine?
The stream of pure and genuine love
Derive its current from above;
And earth a second Eden shows,
Where'er the healing water flows;
But ah, if from the dikes and drains
Of sensual Nature's feverish veins,
Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood,
Impregnated with ooze and mud,
Descending fast on every side
Once mingles with the sacred tide,
Farewell the soul-enlivening scene!
The banks that wore a smiling green,
With rank defilement overspread,
Bewail their flowery beauties dead;
The stream polluted, dark, and dull,
Diffused into a Stygian pool,
Through life's last melancholy years
Is fed with overflowing tears,
Complaints supply the zephyr's part,
And sighs that heave a breaking heart.

poem by William Cowper
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Introductory Verses

OH! blest art thou, whose steps may rove
Through the green paths of vale and grove,
Or, leaving all their charms below,
Climb the wild mountain's airy brow;

And gaze afar o'er cultured plains,
And cities with their stately fanes,
And forests, that beneath thee lie,
And ocean mingling with the sky.

For man can show thee nought so fair,
As Nature's varied marvels there;
And if thy pure and artless breast
Can feel their grandeur, thou art blest!

For thee the stream in beauty flows,
For thee the gale of summer blows,
And, in deep glen and wood-walk free,
Voices of joy still breathe for thee.

But happier far, if then thy soul
Can soar to Him who made the whole,
If to thine eye the simplest flower
Portray His bounty and His power.

If, in whate'er is bright or grand,
Thy mind can trace His viewless hand,
If Nature's music bid thee raise
Thy song of gratitude and praise;

If heaven and earth, with beauty fraught,
Lead to His throne thy raptured thought,
If there thou lov'st His love to read,
Then, wanderer, thou art blest indeed.

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Evaluate

Evaluate, Eve, at, eat, ate, tea, vat, vet, vale, veal, ale, let, late, leave;
Love is in the air and you have to be ready for it!
But many around are full of hate because of the very way that they wer brought up.

Evaluate, Eve, at, eat, ate, tea, vat, vet, vale, veal, ale, let, late, leave;
But try to evaluate yourself and don't be a wanderer on this earth!
For the heavens know who you are and you have to do the right things always,
Because, the days ahead of us are now full of the troubles of mankind! !

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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How Many Times Have You Kissed The Earth?

How many times have you kissed the Earth?
And wished it peace?
When you last walked quietly in the forest...
Did you connect with the trees?
Or communicated in silent meditation.
Were you there wanting nature to be pleased?
And you desired to prove you could do it!
How many times have you kissed the Earth?

If you fed on me.
Sat and complained...
Like you do.
And not expressed a gratefulness?
And...
I am here showing and giving my support to you too?
Which one of us do you think,
Would be better off if left to live independently?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Reaching Out

Reaching out is part of our lives.
We reach out for love and friendship.
We reach out for a great many things
and some of those things we reach out for
fall within our grasp.
While other things we reach out for are unattainable,
but we reach out for them
just the same again and again.
It is up to us to choose which is which.
Love and friendship
are always within our grasp
if we reach out for them long enough.
It is some of the other things
we reach out forever for,
which we can never attain.
Riches and that peace of mind
that seem to elude our grasp,
still we reach out for them
time and time again.

17 February 2009

poem by David Harris
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Birth-Day Ode 03

And wouldst thou seek the low abode
Where PEACE delights to dwell?
Pause Traveller on thy way of life!
With many a snare and peril rife
Is that long labyrinth of road:
Dark is the vale of years before
Pause Traveller on thy way!
Nor dare the dangerous path explore
Till old EXPERIENCE comes to lend his leading ray.

Not he who comes with lanthorn light
Shall guide thy groping pace aright
With faltering feet and slow;
No! let him rear the torch on high
And every maze shall meet thine eye,
And every snare and every foe;
Then with steady step and strong,
Traveller, shalt thou march along.

Tho' POWER invite thee to her hall,
Regard not thou her tempting call
Her splendors meteor glare;
Tho' courteous Flattery there await
And Wealth adorn the dome of State,
There stalks the midnight spectre CARE;
PEACE, Traveller! does not sojourn there.

If FAME allure thee, climb not thou
To that steep mountain's craggy brow
Where stands her stately pile;
For far from thence does PEACE abide,
And thou shall find FAME'S favouring smile
Cold as the feeble Sun on Heclas snow-clad side,

And Traveller! as thou hopest to find
That low and loved abode,
Retire thee from the thronging road
And shun the mob of human kind.
Ah I hear how old EXPERIENCE schools,
"Fly fly the crowd of Knaves and Fools
"And thou shalt fly from woe;
"The one thy heedless heart will greet
"With Judas smile, and thou wilt meet
"In every Fool a Foe!"

So safely mayest thou pass from these,
And reach secure the home of PEACE,
And FRIENDSHIP find thee there.
No happier state can mortal know,
No happier lot can Earth bestow
If LOVE thy lot shall share.
Yet still CONTENT with him may dwell
Whom HYMEN will not bless,
And VIRTUE sojourn in the cell
Of HERMIT HAPPINESS.

poem by Robert Southey
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Lilydale

Three hills lead on to Lilydale,
Where runs the White Horse Road.
Three slopes dip down into the vale
The placid vale of Lilydale,
That somnolent abode
Of dreams that compass olden days,
Of tranquil life and easy ways,
Where transient beauty tints her trees
With golden Autumn's harmonies.

For Lilydale is now a dame
Unhurried and content.
Traditions that attend her name
Serve her from all she needs of fame,
Who scorns the brandishment
Of modern haste and modern show.
And, as the speeding motors go
Down thro' her street, to hasten by,
She marks them with a sleepy sigh.

Amid her grazing kine she goes
The 'milkers', 'stores' and 'fats.'
A cow she venerates, and knows
How well to hoard the wealth that flows
From her rich river flats
One passion lures her from her course;
Her great love for a likely horse.
Tempting to revels now and then
With her twin dreamer, Yarra Glen.

Three hills lead on to Lilydale,
Three slopes dip down below.
And every hill, and every vale
Tell once more the olden tale
Of days when life moved slow;
Save when the dashing fours-in-hand
Came clattering to this new-found land,
And wakened this bucolic spot
To life's high fever - long forgot.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Sonnet 03

Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale
Of days departed. Time in his career
Arraigns not thee that the neglected year
Has past unheeded onward. To the vale
Of years thou journeyest. May the future road
Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend
Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend,
'Till full of days he reach the calm abode
Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age
Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold
The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old
That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage
Now like the monument of strength decayed
With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.

poem by Robert Southey
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The well [Fântâna]

I
I know a small well in the shadowy vale
A chirping gold starling has urged me to sleep
Beneath the high poplars, with green foliage veil,
Forgetting the city where my sigh was deep.

I know a small well in the shadowy vale
A blackbird I talked to down there, for it pried,
When learned that I suffered and heard my sad wail,
Laughed loudly and deeply, but I only sighed...

I know a small well in the shadowy vale

II
In foliage lies hidden the white-looking vale
And what have I wanted in this passing world?
I pity myself, the sad folks who prevail...
O, you, finely chirping and nice golden bird

In foliage lies hidden the white-looking vale
Its spring in the morning is kissed by the sky,
With it flows my fate, beginning to fail,
O, blackbird whose laughter is not gonna die!

The small hidden well turns white in the vale.

poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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May Nature’s Fury Soon Abate!

The Hurricanes are back with renewed force;
The sea is rough and wind is blowing fierce;
The battered houses could be wrecked some more;
The shattered homes can’t start life once again.

Yet, Nature does her work incessantly;
She’s guided by the laws of Universe;
Man cannot learn her secrets anytime;
So, Nature’s furious nature, man must bear.

And no one is to blame for what happens;
These things are bound to just occur sometime;
Precautionary measures help a lot;
But none can prevent natural disasters.

Displaced are millions people every time?
Their misery cannot be ev’r fathomed;
Their brothers in the safer zones must help;
Their sisters must comfort these depressed souls.

Remember that such things can affect all;
Ones safe today could be the next victims;
So, hurry up to help the distressed souls,
And plead to God with prayers for mercy.

Implore the Master of the Universe;
His heart of love can make matters better;
Pray that His angry face must smile again;
Let mankind live in peace on planet earth.

If not for God, who can control Nature?
The Maker must protect His creature man;
But man must be more faithful to his God;
“Take care of soul and escape His just rod! ”
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-21-2005

poem by John Celes
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In the spirit of Rumi - 80 - Meditation

To the Lord, my Beloved, I said,
my Beloved: often I pray to You,
but more often, I confess,
it is to ask from You;
less often, to thank You or to praise You…

teach me, then, about meditation,
which men say to be a way
to be near You,
even beyond thanks or praise…

the Lord, my Beloved, said,
O you whom I love dearly as Myself,
whose praise and thanks are dear to Me
in ways that only I may know…
such is My nature, and is that of yours,
that only meditation may teach you meditation…

but this is all I ask of you:
that twice a day – and best,
at dawn and dusk, which are
the times I can be known to walk
in My garden of the world,
in the stillness of the morning,
in the stillness of the evening,
when My nature wakes or sleeps in peace…

that twice a day, you spend some time
saying – as if it were only once, and always once –
My name for you; your name for Me;
this will be our time of love;
this will be My test of your true love for Me:

and if at any time, your thoughts
stray away from Me, wandering in
the byways of the world –
that will not diminish My eternal love for you;
it will only mean, that you have forgotten
for the time not being, My love for you –

but if you truly love Me, then you will return
as a straying son returns,
and if you truly love Me,
you will then, know My love’s increase..

this will be our daily time together,
you and I; that is all I ask of you;

yet if, in all the other hours of the day,
I seem to you to stay
so much the nearer to you, close to you –
then that is but the mark of My love for you,
O you whom I love dearly as Myself;

so, together, let us speak each other’s name,
as lovers always shall.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Nancy of the Vale

The western sky was purpled o'er
With every pleasing ray;
And flocks reviving felt no more
The sultry heats of day;

When from an hazel's artless bower
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue;
He blest the scene, he blest the hour,
While Nancy's praise he sung.

'Let fops with fickle falsehood range
The paths of wanton love,
While weeping maids lament their change,
And sadden every grove:

'But endless blessings crown the day
I saw fair Esham's dale!
And every blessing find its way
To Nancy of the Vale.

''Twas from Avona's banks the maid
Diffused her lovely beams,
And every shining glance display'd
The Naiad of the streams.

'Soft as the wild-duck's tender young,
That float on Avon's tide;
Bright as the water-lily, sprung,
And glittering near its side

'Fresh as the bordering flowers her bloom,
Her eye all mild to view;
The little halcyon's azure plume
Was never half so blue.

'Her shape was like the reed so sleek,
So taper, strait, and fair;
Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek,
How charming sweet they were!

'Far in the winding vale retired,
This peerless bud I found,
And shadowing rocks and woods conspired
To fence her beauties round.

'That Nature in so lone a dell
Should form a nymph so sweet!
Or Fortune to her secret cell
Conduct my wandering feet!

'Gay lordlings sought her for their bride,
But she would ne'er incline:
'Prove to your equals true,' she cried,
'As I will prove to mine.

''Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow,
Has won my right good will;
To him I gave my plighted vow,
With him I'll climb the hill.'

'Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
I clasp'd the constant fair;
To her alone I gave my youth,
And vow my future care.

'And when this vow shall faithless prove,
Or I those charms forego;
The stream that saw our tender love,
That stream shall cease to flow.'

poem by William Shenstone
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The Future

A wanderer is man from his birth.
He was born in a ship
On the breast of the river of Time;
Brimming with wonder and joy
He spreads out his arms to the light,
Rivets his gaze on the banks of the stream.

As what he sees is, so have his thoughts been.
Whether he wakes,
Where the snowy mountainous pass,
Echoing the screams of the eagles,
Hems in its gorges the bed
Of the new-born clear-flowing stream;
Whether he first sees light
Where the river in gleaming rings
Sluggishly winds through the plain;
Whether in sound of the swallowing sea--
As is the world on the banks,
So is the mind of the man.

Vainly does each, as he glides,
Fable and dream
Of the lands which the river of Time
Had left ere he woke on its breast,
Or shall reach when his eyes have been closed.
Only the tract where he sails
He wots of; only the thoughts,
Raised by the objects he passes, are his.

Who can see the green earth any more
As she was by the sources of Time?
Who imagines her fields as they lay
In the sunshine, unworn by the plough?
Who thinks as they thought,
The tribes who then roam'd on her breast,
Her vigorous, primitive sons?

What girl
Now reads in her bosom as clear
As Rebekah read, when she sate
At eve by the palm-shaded well?
Who guards in her breast
As deep, as pellucid a spring
Of feeling, as tranquil, as sure?

What bard,
At the height of his vision, can deem
Of God, of the world, of the soul,
With a plainness as near,
As flashing as Moses felt
When he lay in the night by his flock
On the starlit Arabian waste?
Can rise and obey
The beck of the Spirit like him?

This tract which the river of Time
Now flows through with us, is the plain.
Gone is the calm of its earlier shore.
Border'd by cities and hoarse
With a thousand cries is its stream.
And we on its breast, our minds
Are confused as the cries which we hear,
Changing and shot as the sights which we see.

And we say that repose has fled
For ever the course of the river of Time.
That cities will crowd to its edge
In a blacker, incessanter line;
That the din will be more on its banks,
Denser the trade on its stream,
Flatter the plain where it flows,
Fiercer the sun overhead.
That never will those on its breast
See an ennobling sight,
Drink of the feeling of quiet again.

But what was before us we know not,
And we know not what shall succeed.

Haply, the river of Time--
As it grows, as the towns on its marge
Fling their wavering lights
On a wider, statelier stream--
May acquire, if not the calm
Of its early mountainous shore,
Yet a solemn peace of its own.

And the width of the waters, the hush
Of the grey expanse where he floats,
Freshening its current and spotted with foam
As it draws to the Ocean, may strike
Peace to the soul of the man on its breast--
As the pale waste widens around him,
As the banks fade dimmer away,
As the stars come out, and the night-wind
Brings up the stream
Murmurs and scents of the infinite sea.

poem by Matthew Arnold
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Imitated From Ossian

The stream with languid murmur creeps,
In Lumin's flowery vale:
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps
Slow-waving to the gale.

'Cease, restless gale! 'it seems to say,
'Nor wake me with thy sighing!
The honours of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.

Tomorrow shall the Traveller come
Who late beheld me blooming:
His searching eye shall vainly roam
The dreary vale of Lumin.'

With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts along,
Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek
The Youth of simplest song.

But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;
And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul,
In Slumber's nightly hour.

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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And the flower smiled

A nameless virgin flower just bloom in the thick jungle.
The hermit sniffs the fragrance and breaks his inner peace.
The flower invites him to her kingdom
And the hermit forgets his chants.
He mutters;
'I practice my way of life since a long time with great principles.
But I feel now that I cannot move any further and I became a weaker.'
'Master! I'll teach you just a simple chant,
Love the flowers before they wither
And do meditation after they perished.' The flower smiled.

* I dedicate this poem to the poetess Sue Ann Simar in gratitude.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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India’s Kashmir

The valley is so beautiful;
No words can describe best;
The mountains are so wonderful –
A feast to eyes of guest.

The apples grown are tasty too;
The snow-fall’s lovely sight;
The fronds and twigs have drops of dew –
A vale of much delight!

But peace is something rarely seen;
Militants are the cause;
The rill is swathed in shades of green,
As Nature is the boss!

But dangers lurk in various hues,
Unknown to man and beast;
For, terrorists create the news,
Especially from the west!

The halcyon days are by-gone dreams,
That people’s hearts long for;
But what is heard is gun-noise, screams
From terrorists afar!

When will peace come back to this vale?
Can time really tell?
Yet, people live with hopeful wail
Though life turns into hell!

The pride of India is envy
Of neighbor countries all;
Will God then cure this malady?
–The people’s clarion call!

poem by John Celes
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There is a Little Peice of Heaven

there is a little peice of heaven,
a peice for everyone,
a peice that is safe,
a place that is yours,
a place that brings you peace,
a place that gives you happiness,
a little peice of heaven.

there is a little peice of heaven,
on earth,
on the seas,
in tears,
in eyes,
in loneliness,
in love,
in hatred,
in death,
in life,
in everything,
is that little peice of heaven.

there is a little peice of heaven,
in a soul,
for so many people,
a spot that everyone deserves,
a spot that everyone on earth needs,
a spot where hunger vanishes,
a little peice of heaven.

there is a little peice of heaven,
over roads,
through trees,
in forests,
in the seas,
under waterfalls,
on rooves,
between rocks,
between booz,
a little peice of heaven.

there is a little peice of heaven,
in towns,
in cities,
on isleands,
on boats,
in boxes,
in cars,
in vans,
in trucks,
there is this little peice of heaven.

there is this little peice of heaven,
we all know well.

this little peice of heaven,
is actually...

this little place called...HOME.

poem by Sindal Benson
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At the Mid Hour of Night

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye;
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,
And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky.

Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear!
When our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear;
And, as Echo far off through the vale my said orison rolls,
I think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls,
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.

poem by Thomas Moore
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Nature And Poet

Nature is the diet of a poet,
from natural beauty
poet derives immense pleasure,
drinks the nectar from the flowing down
Himalayan hilly stream, fulfils the long cherished
desire, translates into reality
the sweet lovely dream;
The tiny brook dazzles with the morn’s Sun beam.
Oh Lord Siva! Ye reside on ‘Kailash Mountain’;
Beside Ye flows down the magnificent
alluring mysterious
transparent water of the fountain.
Devotees pray thee for a bliss;
from the ‘Abode of peace’
Ye fulfil their desire and wish;
they sleep in the lap of Nature,
receive Nature’s kiss.
Poet is a worshipper, preacher
in the temple of Nature;
With indomitable enthusiasm
pens verses with tranquillity,
serenity, sanctity, being pure.
Man comes and goes;
poet’s verses remain for ever;
As a brook flows down eternally
in the lap of Nature.
Poet’s poem dazzles in golden letters
on the pages of history;
Depicts the Eternal Truth of Earth,
the beauty of Nature,
and the mystery.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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The Meeting of the Waters

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh! no, -- it was something more exquisite still.

'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the best charms of nature improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best,
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease,
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.