A Song Of Impossibilities
LADY, I loved you all last year,
How honestly and well --
Alas! would weary you to hear,
And torture me to tell;
I raved beneath the midnight sky,
I sang beneath the limes --
Orlando in my lunacy,
And Petrarch in my rhymes.
But all is over! When the sun
Dries up the boundless main,
When black is white, false-hearted one,
I may be yours again!
When passion's early hopes and fears
Are not derided things;
When truth is found in falling tears,
Or faith in golden rings;
When the dark Fates that rule our way
Instruct me where they hide
One woman that would ne'er betray,
One friend that never lied;
When summer shines without a cloud,
And bliss without a pain;
When worth is noticed in a crowd,
I may be yours again!
When science pours the light of day
Upon the lords of lands;
When Huskisson is heard to say
That Lethbridge understands;
When wrinkles work their way in youth
Or Eldon's in a hurry;
When lawyers represent the truth
Or Mr. Sumner Surrey;
When aldermen taste eloquence
Or bricklayers champagne;
When common law is common sense,
I may be yours again!
When learned judges play the beau,
Or learned pigs the tabor;
When traveller Bankes beats Cicero,
Or Mr. Bishop Weber;
When sinking funds discharge a debt,
Or female hands a bomb;
When bankrupts study the Gazette,
Or colleges Tom Thumb;
When little fishes learn to speak,
Or poets not to feign;
When Dr. Geldart construes Greek,
I may be yours again!
When Pole and Thornton honour cheques,
Or Mr. Const a rogue;
When Jericho's in Middlesex,
Or minuets in vogue;
When Highgate goes to Devonport,
Or fashion to Guildhall;
When argument is heard at Court,
Or Mr. Wynn at all;
When Sydney Smith forgets to jest,
Or farmers to complain;
When kings that are are not the best,
I may be yours again!
When peers from telling money shrink,
Or monks from telling lies;
When hydrogen begins to sink,
Or Grecian scrip to rise;
When German poets cease to dream,
Americans to guess;
When Freedom sheds her holy beam
On Negroes, and the Press;
When there is any fear of Rome,
Or any hope of Spain;
When Ireland is a happy home,
I may be yours again!
When you can cancel what has been,
Or alter what must be,
Or bring once more that vanished scene,
Those withered joys to me;
When you can tune the broken lute,
Or deck the blighted wreath,
Or rear the garden's richest fruit,
Upon a blasted heath;
When you can lure the wolf at bay
Back to his shattered chain,
To-day may then be yesterday --
I may be yours again!
poem by Winthrop Mackworth Praed
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Related quotes
Fundamental of Liar Chapter XLII: What Lies Beneath
beauty lies beneath
sense lies beneath
secret lies beneath
character lies beneath
rule lies beneath
mind lies beneath
past lies beneath
foundation lies beneath
root lies beneath
dark hole lies beneath
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Beneath The Skin
Beneath the Skin a caustic red river
Beneath the Skin corrosive abuser
Beneath the Skin genetic in rupture
Beneath the Skin all cold and hungered
Beneath the Skin a still born forgiveness
Beneath the Skin cell transfer in whispers
Beneath the Skin a lover cries murder
Beneath the Skin all cold and hungered
Beneath the Skin i wasted this moment
Beneath the Skin old undiscovered
Beneath the Skin another lies ruptured
Beneath the Skin all cold and hungered
song performed by by Queen Adreena
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love’s Serenade
I’ve just got to know her better
and there’s one thing I can do.
I’ll sing beneath her window
of my love, so real and true.
She may not know me well,
but I’ll soon put that to right
when I’m beneath her window
with the moon shining bright.
With my guitar, heart and voice,
and a fresh rose of red,
I’ll be beneath her window
to serenade her from her bed.
When she hears me singing
she’ll beam down a smile
and blow me a kiss to prove
its been worthwhile.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Honestly
This poem is dedicated to Kimberly Ashley Evans.♥
Honestly I know I love you
Honestly I hope you know thats true
Honestly you are the one
Honestly I hope we are never done
Honestly your my life
Honestly I hope you will be my wife
Honestly I know Im yours
Honestly I hope you dont open any other doors
Honestly your mine
Honestly I hope that is fine
Honestly you are so pretty
Honestly I hope you know that Kimi
Honestly do you know what to do?
Honestly I hope you have a clue
Honestly will you marry me?
Honestly I hope you know I wont deceive
Honestly without you I would die
Honestly that is not a lie
Honestly do you know what I see?
Honestly I see someone that deserves glee
Honestly you are amazing
Honestly you are my craving
Honestly God loves you
Honestly I cant blame him because I do too
Honestly your always right
Honestly I hope your always in my sight
Honestly lets spend out lives together
Honestly Forever
poem by Bryan Hammond
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When Underneath the Brown Dead Grass
When underneath the brown dead grass
My weary bones are laid,
I hope I shall not see the glass
At ninety in the shade.
I trust indeed that, when I lie
Beneath the churchyard pine,
I shall not hear that startling cry
“‘Thermom’ is ninety-nine!”
If one should whisper through my sleep
“Come up and be alive,”
I’d answer—No, unless you’ll keep
The glass at sixty-five.
I might be willing if allowed
To wear old Adam’s rig,
And mix amongst the city crowd
Like Polynesian “nig”.
Far better in the sod to lie,
With pasturing pig above,
Than broil beneath a copper sky—
In sight of all I love!
Far better to be turned to grass
To feed the poley cow,
Than be the half boiled bream, alas,
That I am really now!
For cow and pig I would not hear,
And hoof I would not see;
But if these items did appear
They wouldn’t trouble me.
For ah! the pelt of mortal man
Weighs less than half a ton,
And any sight is better than
A sultry southern sun.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Fragment
Moon of leaves,
Moon of the falling leaves,
To you I bring the slippers
of the sun.
That you may dance upon the
floor of sun,
My lady carries sun within her eyes.
Moon of the Unrevealed,
Moon of the gold-encrusted shield,
To you I bring the fragment
of my prayer.
Moon of the crinkled hair,
Tell me, will my lady yield
Eyes and mouth and breasts unsealed?
Will my lady yield?
Moon of the yellow streaked with red,
Moon that the sun would lead to bed,
Moon with the death's head
More than dead,
Why do you frighten the Goddess of Love,
Whose frail white fingers are moving above
The lover's white body lost in his love?
Moon, you are more than dead.
Moon of the ermine loist in the snow,
Moon of the frozen furbelow,
Moon of the nothingness here below,
Moon, you must go.
It is the Sun that tells you so-
Moon, you must go.
And I was dark beneath the moon,
And you were dark beneath the moon,
And we were dark beneath the moon.
Now I am gold beneath the sun,
Now you are gold beneath the sun,
Now we are gold beneath the Sun.
poem by Harry Crosby
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Stranded (Lyrics)
Your waves come crashing down
Like a semi-auto trailer
I dive so deep in the sea
To avoid killer whales
A perfect moment here and gone
It has sailed
I'll use a hammerhead to drive
Rusty nail inside
I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me
Imagine if our world was blue and weightless
I never meant to do wrong to you
You're my starfish
You moan a tone so low beyond me
A telepathic sub-sonic frequency
I need a little air for emergency
You have to understand this urgency
I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
White sand beneath my feet
No brain between my ears
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me
I know that if I had one
I'd spare us both these years
I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
White sand beneath my feet
No brain between my ears
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me
I know that if I had one
I'd spare us both these years
A sea anemone, you're my enemy
poem by Satan's Sibling
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It Came Upon Midnight Clear (Babys In Black)
===============================
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
===============================
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold:
"Peace on the earth, good will to men,
From heaven's all-gracious King."
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o'er its Babel-sounds
The blessed angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the heavenly strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The tidings which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!
O ye, beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
O rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing!
For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years
Shall come the time foretold,
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world give back the song
Which now the angels sing.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Sit Beneath This Tree
I sit beneath this tree,
Bared beneath the moon,
I'm touched by it's coolness,
I'm loved by it's light,
I sit beneath the tree,
The world can see my scars,
The hollow where my heart layed,
And where my soul escaped,
Then in my hand the dagger,
In your hands my heart,
As it quickly slows,
The necklace round my throat,
Slowly drips down my chest,
I sit beneath this tree,
As you hold onto my hand,
My soul it tries to fly,
With wongs broken from guilt,
I sit upon the earth,
As you hold my hands and plea,
Plea for my forgiveness,
Before the darkness takes control,
Plea for my love,
Before I journey to my grave,
I sit beneath this tree,
As you pain my death,
With your guilt and no forgiveness,
I sit beneath this tree,
As my soul it walks away,
Towards loved gates of Hell.
poem by Holly Heron
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Beneath All Else...
beneath my feet
i hide my shadows and
they escape like
fugitives
under the guises
of their
sad stories
beneath my hands
i clasp my emptiness
and shaped like a ball
you mistake it for
fullness
you are confused
and i look amazed
still unfazed by your
feigned confidences
beneath my hair
i hide my thoughts
beneath my skull
i hide my soul
beneath my beliefs
i hide a number of faces
beneath my heart
i tell love stories
beneath all these
are the shallowness of them all
something that nobody expects
for i am simple
as a yellow paper
where you list
your bad debts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Honestly
I believe
I believe
I believe
I believe the love you talk about with me
Is it true, do I care
Honestly, you can try to wipe the memories aside
But its you that you erase
cause theres no place that I could be without you
Its too far to discard the life I once knew
Honestly, all the weather storms are bringing
Are just a picture of my dreams
cause when I think of you as mine
And allow myself with time
To lead into the life we want
I feel loved, honestly
I feel loved, this honestly
I believe you mean the best that life can bring
I believe in it all
Honestly, you can try
Your heart is just as long as mine
Is it ours to let go
cause theres not place that I could be without you
Its too dark to discard the life I once knew
Honestly, a single wrong is not enough
To cover up the pain in us
cause when I think of you as mine
And allow myself with time
To lead into the life we want
I feel loved, honestly
Ill make a joke so you must laugh
Ill break your heart so you must ask
Is this the way to get us back
I dont know, honestly
I dont know, this honestly
Theres no place that I could be without you
Honestly
Theres no place that I could be without you
Theres no place that I could gleam without you
Theres no place that I could dream without you
Theres no place that I could be without you
Honestly
song performed by by Zwan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Keith Of Ravelston
The murmur of the mourning ghost
That keeps the shadowy kine,
'O Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!'
Ravelston, Ravelston,
The merry path that leads
Down the golden morning hill,
And thro' the silver meads;
Ravelston, Ravelston,
The stile beneath the tree,
The maid that kept her mother's kine,
The song that sang she!
She sang her song, she kept her kine,
She sat beneath the thorn,
When Andrew Keith of Ravelston
Rode thro' the Monday morn.
His henchman sing, his hawk-bells ring,
His belted jewels shine;
O Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
Year after year, where Andrew came,
Comes evening down the glade,
And still there sits a moonshine ghost
Where sat the sunshine maid.
Her misty hair is faint and fair,
She keeps the shadowy kine;
O Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
I lay my hand upon the stile,
The stile is lone and cold,
The burnie that goes babbling by
Says naught that can be told.
Yet, stranger! here, from year to year,
She keeps her shadowy kine;
O Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
Step out three steps, where Andrew stood -
Why blanch thy cheeks for fear?
The ancient stile is not alone,
'Tis not the burn I hear!
She makes her immemorial moan,
She keeps her shadowy kine;
O Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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A Lazy Afternoon
Beneath a blue summer’s sky
I lay in a thick carpet of grass
looking at the wispy clouds,
as they slowly drifted pass.
I became lost in that moment
and was absorbed by the day.
A warm breeze kissed my body,
which took me further away.
I was floating in the heavens
whilst birds sang their song.
This was a vision of paradise,
as sure as the day was long.
poem by Orlando Belo
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A Nupial Eve (excerpt)
The murmur of the mourning ghost
That keeps the shadowy kine,
"Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!"
Ravelston, Ravelston,
The merry path that leads
Down the golden morning hill,
And thro' the silver meads;
Ravelston, Ravelston,
The stile beneath the tree,
The maid that kept her mother's kine,
The song that sang she!
She sang her song, she kept her kine,
She sat beneath the thorn,
When Andrew Keith of Ravelston
Rode thro' the Monday morn.
His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring,
His belted jewels shine!
Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
Year after year, where Andrew came,
Comes evening down the glade,
And still there sits a moonshine ghost
Where sat the sunshine maid.
Her misty hair is faint and fair,
She keeps the shadowy kine;
Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
I lay my hand upon the stile,
The stile is lone and cold,
The burnie that goes babbling by
Says nought that can be told.
Yet, stranger! here, from year to year,
She keeps her shadowy kine;
Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
Step out three steps, where Andrew stood--
Why blanch thy cheeks for fear?
The ancient stile is not alone,
'Tis not the burn I hear!
She makes her immemorial moan,
She keeps her shadowy kine;
Oh, Keith of Ravelston,
The sorrows of thy line!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Song III
She sat and sang alway
By the green margin of a stream,
Watching the fishes leap and play
Beneath the glad sunbeam.
I sat and wept alway
Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam,
Watching the blossoms of the May
Weep leaves into the stream.
I wept for memory;
She sang for hope that is so fair:
My tears were swallowed by the sea;
Her songs died on the air.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Meet Me Under The Mistletoe
Chorus:
Meet me under the the mistletoe
Midnight Christmas eve
Your sweet kiss is the first gift
I'd like to receive.
The presents that we bought
Will have to wait beneath the tree
Meet me under the the mistletoe
Midnight Christmas eve.
There's frost on all the windows
Candles burnin' bright
Stockings on the mantel
Everything's just right.
Soon the house will come alive
With family and friends
I'd love some time alone with you
Before it all begins.
Chorus:
Meet me under the the mistletoe
Midnight Christmas eve
Your sweet kiss is the first gift
I'd like to receive.
The presents that we bought
Will have to wait beneath the tree
Meet me under the the mistletoe
Midnight Christmas eve.
It seems I've hardly seen you
We've had so much to do
With the holiday approaching
I've sure been missin' you.
I can't want til Christmas morn
To hold you in my arms
I'm feelin' like a kid again
Waitin' on Santa Claus.
Chorus:
Meet me under the the mistletoe
Midnight Christmas eve
Your sweet kiss is the first gift
I'd like to receive.
The presents that we bought
Will have to wait beneath the tree
Meet me under the the mistletoe
Midnight Christmas eve.
Meet me under the the mistletoe
Midnight Christmas eve...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fair Ines
O saw ye not fair Ines?
She 's gone into the West,
To dazzle when the sun is down,
And rob the world of rest:
She took our daylight with her,
The smiles that we love best,
With morning blushes on her cheek,
And pearls upon her breast.
O turn again, fair Ines,
Before the fall of night,
For fear the Moon should shine alone,
And stars unrivall'd bright;
And blessèd will the lover be
That walks beneath their light,
And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write!
Would I had been, fair Ines,
That gallant cavalier,
Who rode so gaily by thy side,
And whisper'd thee so near!
Were there no bonny dames at home,
Or no true lovers here,
That he should cross the seas to win
The dearest of the dear?
I saw thee, lovely Ines,
Descend along the shore,
With bands of noble gentlemen,
And banners waved before;
And gentle youth and maidens gay,
And snowy plumes they wore:
It would have been a beauteous dream,—
If it had been no more!
Alas, alas! fair Ines,
She went away with song,
With Music waiting on her steps,
And shoutings of the throng;
But some were sad, and felt no mirth,
But only Music's wrong,
In sounds that sang Farewell, farewell,
To her you've loved so long.
Farewell, farewell, fair Ines!
That vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck,
Nor danced so light before,—
Alas for pleasure on the sea,
And sorrow on the shore!
The smile that bless'd one lover's heart
Has broken many more!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Subconciously
at the surface is a roy
could be roy something else
you face him
beneath a roy could be a jerry something
that you have met but could not fully
remember
you are determined not to be confused
and so you focus on the road that the the yellow bus is taking you
it is nothing but imagination
you are in the house
doing nothing because writing is actually nothing
beneath you is someone else and it
(a thing or something) is telling you what to write
you are not alarmed
it is nothing it is nothing but words and words are nothing
as a matter of familiarity
beneath your mind is the heart
beneath that heart are so many things
you try to enumerate names
and more names
and places
until you reach a certain marker, shades of red,
pathways of veins, flowing blood, all kept and contained
within the sound system
and then you look at your hands
beneath it
someone so lovely and beautiful
someone you desired for long
beneath you
and then you stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sister Midnight
Pop/bowie/alomar
Calling sister midnight
Youve got me reaching for the moon
Calling sister midnight
Youve got me playing the fool
Calling sister midnight
Calling sister midnight
Can you hear me call
Can you hear me well
Can you hear me at all
Calling sister midnight
Im an idiot for you
Calling sister midnight
Im a breakage inside
Calling sister midnight
Calling sister midnight
You know I had a dream last night
Mother was in my bed
And I made love to her
Father he gunned for me
Hunted me with his six gun
Calling sister midnight
What can I do about my dreams
Listen to me sister midnight
You put a beggar in my heart
Calling sister midnight
Youve got me walking in rags
Hey where are you sister midnight
Can you hear me call
Can you hear me well
Can you hear me at all
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To be costly is also a beauty.
Not for the cheek, which is not sleek,
I loved you.
Not for the bosom, which is not buxom,
I loved you.
Not for the hip, which is not ripe,
I loved you.
But, for your passion and mute love
I loved you
Because you dared and braved to love
I loved you.
Because you were far and high from me
I loved you.
Because I found beneath you a spring
I loved you.
No matter if you proclaim it or not
I cease not loving you.
11.09.2000, Pklmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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