William And Nancy
AS on the transport's dusky side
Young William stood with folded arms,
Silent he watch'd the rising tide,
The loud wind fill'd him with alarms.
Not for himself he knew to fear,
But for one dearer far than life;
Nancy, in parting doubly dear,
His tender bride, his faithful wife.
She still had hop'd to share his fate,
To sooth him in affliction's hour;
On all his wand'ring steps to wait,
And give the comfort in her power.
But chance denied the wish'd-for prize,
The envied lot another drew;
Now sorrow dim'd her sleepless eyes,
And to despair her sorrow grew.
But when the shouting seamen strove
To tow the vessel on its way,
Wak'd from despair by anxious love,
She rush'd along the crowded quay.
The sails unfurl'd, as gliding round,
The parting cheers still louder grew,
She flew, and with a fearful bound
Drop'd in her William's arms below.
poem by Anne Hunter
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Related quotes
Surprised by Joy
Surprised By Joy
Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport--Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Wait For Me
Wait for me; oh, wait for me
I cried out as I sailed away.
My words were lost to the wind
for you didn’t wait for me.
Years passed on so quickly by,
we grew up, got married,
but my heart still cried.
Wait for me, oh, wait for me.
Our lives moved on in directions
of which we had no control.
Our circumstances changed
within every passing year
and every so often in the wind
my plaintive cries could be heard.
Wait for me; oh. wait for me
as I had so long waited
for you to fill my empty arms.
Finally as we grew older
and all hope seemed fading fast
we met up again by chance.
My heart still sang its song,
wait for me, oh wait for me.
We met one sunny day
and as our glances caught,
we knew right away
across that crowded room.
Our love was to be again
as it was so long before.
My heart now sings a different song.
I waited for you; oh, I waited for you,
now I can sing our September song.
18 December 2008
poem by David Harris
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Desideria
SURPRISED by joy--impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport--O! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recall'd thee to my mind--
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Sorrow’s insomnia
In her parting, my sorrow never sleeps
Though in others’ eyes she is none to me.
At tether end, new episode is beyond hope.
Seeing her anew will never lull the sorrow.
Not by her parting was my sorrow up
But was by her exit from a vivid sojourn,
For one aborted is never resurrected.
With her parting, went my resurrected youth.
‘Every action has equal and opposite reaction’
the law says. Is it true in her part?
07.05.99, Palakkad.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer
Tune - "Go from my window, Love, do."
The sun he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retired to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset,
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
The prosperous man is asleep,
Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch
The surly tempest blow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
There lies the dear partner of my breast;
Her cares for a moment at rest:
Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
There lie my sweet babies in her arms;
No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;
But for their sake my heart does ache,
With many a bitter throe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
I once was by Fortune carest:
I once could relieve the distrest:
Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd
My fate will scarce bestow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
No comfort, no comfort I have!
How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear-
O, wither would they go!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
O whither, O whither shall I turn!
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!
For, in this world, Rest or Peace
I never more shall know!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
poem by Robert Burns
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Watch Me
Both now…and then, I set the pace
I’m time itself. I am the truth
My arms reach wide, there’s no escape
I give you age, but rob thy youth
Each moment spent, I waste on those
Who’d squander minutes, rape its hour
I raise the sun, I draw its warmth
I trace its path, then track its power
Just watch me now, I come and go
Alarms ring loud whenever I’m near
My heart runs wild, yet beats for none
Your soul on fire, I sense its fear
How cruel is fate? In time, we’ll know
poem by James Papastamos
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Forget-Me-Not
A gallant knight and his betroth'd bride,
Were walking one day by a river side,
They talk'd of love, and they talk'd of war,
And how very foolish lovers are.
At length the bride to the knight did say,
'There have been many young ladies led astray
By believing in all their lovers said,
And you are false to me I am afraid.'
'No, Ellen, I was never false to thee,
I never gave thee cause to doubt me;
I have always lov'd thee and do still,
And no other woman your place shall fill.'
'Dear Edwin, it may be true, but I am in doubt,
But there's some beautiful flowers here about,
Growing on the other side of the river,
But how to get one, I cannot discover.'
'Dear Ellen, they seem beautiful indeed,
But of them, dear, take no heed;
Because they are on the other side,
Besides, the river is deep and wide.'
'Dear Edwin, as I doubt your love to be untrue,
I ask one favour now from you:
Go! fetch me a flower from across the river,
Which will prove you love me more than ever.'
'Dear Ellen! I will try and fetch you a flower
If it lies within my power
To prove that I am true to you,
And what more can your Edwin do?'
So he leap'd into the river wide,
And swam across to the other side,
To fetch a flower for his young bride,
Who watched him eagerly on the other side.
So he pluck'd a flower right merrily
Which seemed to fill his heart with glee,
That it would please his lovely bride;
But, alas! he never got to the other side.
For when he tried to swim across,
All power of his body he did loss,
But before he sank in the river wide,
He flung the flowers to his lovely bride.
And he cried, 'Oh, heaven! hard is my lot,
My dearest Ellen! Forget me not:
For I was ever true to you,
My dearest Ellen! I bid thee adieu!'
Then she wrung her hands in wild despair,
Until her cries did rend the air;
And she cried, 'Edwin, dear, hard is out lot,
But I'll name this flower Forget-me-not.
'And I'll remember thee while I live,
And to no other man my hand I'll give,
And I will place my affection on this little flower,
And it will solace me in a lonely hour.'
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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But Don't Despair
Despair, if you must –
But how's it going to pull you through?
Despair, when you trust
Naught since then there's naught to do.
Despair, should you thrust
Aside your pride, your self-esteem.
And so despair, if it's dust,
The only substance that you deem.
Despair, when a gust
Of slightly breeze can break your stance.
And do despair, when lust
Is your interpretation of romance.
But don't despair, if you can care
About the plight of any other being.
And you can focus on the help,
Support, and altruistic further actions
For the seeing. Be believing,
As despair will start receding
All around – simply since you found
A way to steer you clear
From this: the very cause of your despair!
So give to others; give them all a helping lift:
Despair, you'll find will disappear –
And that has got to be a well-deserved
And saintly gift!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Rain of despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
despair despair despair despair despair despair despair
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Mother's Funeral
Then died, lamented, in the strength of life,
A valued mother, and a faithful wife:
Call'd not away, when time had loosed each hold
On the fond heart, and each desire grew cold;
But when, to all that knit us to our kind,
She felt fast bound, as charity can bind; -
Not when the ills of age, its pain, its care,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare;
And, each affection failing, leaves the heart
Loosed from life's charm, and willing to depart; -
But all her ties the strong invader broke,
In all their strength, by on tremendous stroke!
Sudden and swift the eager pest came on,
And terror grew, till every hope was gone;
Still those around appear'd for hope to seek:
But view'd the sick, and were afraid to speak.
Slowly they bore, with solemn step, the dead;
When grief grew loud, and bitter tears were shed,
My part began: a crowd drew near the place,
Awe in each eye, alarm in every face;
So swift the ill, and of so fierce a kind,
That fear with pity mingled in each mind;
Friends with the husband came, their griefs to blend;
For good-man Frankford was to all a friend.
The last-born boy they held above the bier;
He knew not grief, but cries express'd his fear;
Each different age and sex reveal'd its pain,
In now a louder, now a lower strain!
While the meek father, listening to their tones,
Swell'd the full cadence of the grief by groans.
The elder sister strove her pangs to hide,
And soothing words to younger minds applied:
'Be still, be patient;' oft she strove to say,
But fail'd as oft, and weeping turn'd away.
Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill,
The village lads stood melancholy still;
And idle children, wandering to and fro,
As nature guided, took the tone of woe.
Arrived at home, how then they gazed around,
In every place - where she - no more was found: -
The seat at table she was wont to fill;
The fireside chair, still set, but vacant still;
The garden-walks, a labour all her own;
The latticed bower, with trailing shrubs o'ergrown;
The Sunday pew she fill'd with all her race, -
Each place of hers was now a sacred place:
That, while it call'd up sorrows in the eyes,
Pierced the full heart, and forced them still to rise.
poem by George Crabbe
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Spectres
How terrible these nights are when alone
With our scarred hearts, we sit in solitude,
And some old sorrow, to the world unknown,
Does suddenly with silent steps intrude.
After the guests departed, and the light
Burned dimly in my room, there came to me,
As noiselessly as shadows of the night,
The spectre of a woe that used to be.
Out of the gruesome darkness and the gloom
I saw it peering; and, in still despair,
I watched it gliding swift across the room,
Until it came and stood beside my chair.
Why, need I tell thee what its shape or name?
Thou hast thy secret hidden from the light:
And be it sin or sorrow, woe or shame,
Thou dost not like to meet it in the night.
And yet it comes. As certainly as death,
And far more cruel since death ends all pain,
On lonesome nights we feel its icy breath,
And turn and face the thing we fancied slain.
With shrinking hearts, we view the ghastly shape;
We look into its eyes with fear and dread,
And know that we can never more escape
Until the grave doth fold us with the dead.
On the swift maelstrom of the eddying world
We hurl our woes, and think they are no more.
But round and round by dizzy billows whirled,
They reach out sinewy arms and swim to shore.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Song. Despair
Ask not the pallid stranger's woe,
With beating heart and throbbing breast,
Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow,
As though the body needed rest.--
Whose 'wildered eye no object meets,
Nor cares to ken a friendly glance,
With silent grief his bosom beats,--
Now fixed, as in a deathlike trance.
Who looks around with fearful eye,
And shuns all converse with man kind,
As though some one his griefs might spy,
And soothe them with a kindred mind.
A friend or foe to him the same,
He looks on each with equal eye;
The difference lies but in the name,
To none for comfort can he fly.--
'Twas deep despair, and sorrow’s trace,
To him too keenly given,
Whose memory, time could not efface--
His peace was lodged in Heaven.--
He looks on all this world bestows,
The pride and pomp of power,
As trifles best for pageant shows
Which vanish in an hour.
When torn is dear affection's tie,
Sinks the soft heart full low;
It leaves without a parting sigh,
All that these realms bestow.
JUNE, 1810.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Host Of The Air
O'DRISCOLL drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.
And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.
He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.
And he saw young men and young girls
Who danced on a level place,
And Bridget his bride among them,
With a sad and a gay face.
The dancers crowded about him
And many a sweet thing said,
And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.
But Bridget drew him by the sleeve
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards
With a twinkling of ancient hands.
The bread and the wine had a doom,
For these were the host of the air;
He sat and played in a dream
Of her long dim hair.
He played with the merry old men
And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride
Away from the merry dance.
He bore her away in his atms,
The handsomest young man there,
And his neck and his breast and his arms
Were drowned in her long dim hair.
O'Driscoll scattered the cards
And out of his dream awoke:
Old men and young men and young girls
Were gone like a drifting smoke;
But he heard high up in the air
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Young William And Young April
Young William and young April
Met in the park one day.
Young William said to April,
'Why did you come this way? '
Young April said to William,
'I thought I might see you.'
Young William, then to April,
'It's funny, what you do.'
Young April gave to William
A sweet, young childhood kiss.
Young William said to April,
'Don't bother me like this.'
Young April stood in silence,
Not knowing what to do.
Then young William turned away.
Young April, torn in two.
Young William said, 'Don't follow me.'
Away from her he fled.
April then, sat down and cried,
And wished that she was dead.
William never came again.
At least, for many years.
Fearful that young April still,
Might be there shedding tears.
William walked the park again.
It seemed just like before.
Wondering if he might see her.
Young April, there once more.
Young William never noticed.
The roses hid it well.
The place they found Young April.
The place she used to dwell.
poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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Dearer Than Dear
Dearer than dear
O my dear
Make me bold
So that I can bear
The atrocities of the world
Without shedding tear
And uttering a word
Word of grief
Agony and pain
O my dear
Make me smile
So that sadness get disappeared
And there is happiness
All along mile and mile
On the path of life
Like a wife
Be a part of my life
O my dear
Come and see
And help me
When I am in despair
Show me the ray of hope
In me develop
Strengths and grit
So that I can face defeat
And take life easy
Make me busy
Leave no time for tear
Despair and fear
Make it clear
You are dearer than dear
poem by Shashikant Nishant Sharma
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Despair in Love, Love in Despair
Why do i find solace in my loneliness
But find sorrow with those wit whom i share the same blood
Why do i hide behind these fake smiles of happiness
When this sorrow and unrest washes over my soul like a flood
Its pathetic how i'm laughing on the outside
Laughing at how everyting is all right
While i'm crying and dying on the inside
Not wanting anyone to see my sad sad plight
Why is it that i continuosly distance myself
from those who are or try to get close
I see love as nothing more than a drug
that people are addicted to the point of overdose
I am one who finds solace in despair
in sorrow, in sadness, in darkness
I am one who feels pain in love
I see it as evil like a vulture, instead of pure like a dove
Love can build, but it can also destroy
It takes away everything, all of the joy
Despair may seem like incarnated bitterness
But its there to comfort in the face of loneliness
I find myself wishing for the company of the feeling of melancoly
Its as if i can't function without it
Like a flower without an ounce of water
Could this feeling be, truly be love
I see that in the end, that i find myself in a paradox
A large cell with many locks
Two sides of the same coin
Love and Despair, Despair and Love
Despair in Love, Love in Despair
I can't make it disappear
Don't want to make it disappear
poem by Harrison Fairchild
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The Night of Death
Twas a night of dreadful horror, --
Death was sweeping through the land;
And the wings of dark destruction
Were outstretched from strand to strand
Strong men's hearts grew faint with terror,
As the tempest and the waves
Wrecked their homes and swept them downward,
Suddenly to yawning graves.
'Mid the wastes of ruined households,
And the tempest's wild alarms,
Stood a terror-stricken mother
With a child within her arms.
Other children huddled 'round her,
Each one nestling in her heart;
Swift in thought and swift in action,
She at least from one must part.
Then she said unto her daughter,
"Strive to save one child from death."
"Which one?" said the anxious daughter,
As she stood with bated breath.
Oh! the anguish of that mother;
What despair was in her eye!
All her little ones were precious;
Which one should she leave to die?
Then outspake the brother Bennie:
"I will take the little one."
"No," exclaimed the anxious mother;
"No, my child, it can't be done."
"See! my boy, the waves are rising,
Save yourself and leave the child!"
"I will trust in Christ," he answered;
Grasped the little one and smiled.
Through the roar of wind and waters
Ever and anon she cried;
But throughout the night of terror
Never Bennie's voice replied.
But above the waves' wild surging
He had found a safe retreat,
As if God had sent an angel,
Just to guide his wandering feet.
When the storm had spent its fury,
And the sea gave up its dead
She was mourning for her loved ones,
Lost amid that night of dread.
While her head was bowed in anguish,
On her ear there fell a voice,
Bringing surcease to her sorrow,
Bidding all her heart rejoice.
"Didn't I tell you true?" said Bennie,
And his eyes were full of light,
"When I told you God would help me
Through the dark and dreadful night?"
And he placed the little darling
Safe within his mother's arms,
Feeling Christ had been his guardian,
'Mid the dangers and alarms.
Oh! for faith so firm and precious,
In the darkest, saddest night,
Till life's gloom-encircled shadows
Fade in everlasting light.
And upon the mount of vision
We our loved and lost shall greet,
With earth's wildest storms behind us,
And its cares beneath our feet.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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My Spouse Nancy
'Husband, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, Sir;
Tho' I am your wedded wife
Yet I am not your slave, Sir.'
'One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;
Is it Man or Woman, say,
My spouse Nancy?'
'If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,
And so, good bye, allegiance!'
'Sad shall I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy;
Yet I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse Nancy.'
'My poor heart, then break it must,
My last hour I am near it:
When you lay me in the dust,
Think how you will bear it.'
'I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse Nancy.'
'Well, Sir, from the silent dead,
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you!'
'I'll wed another like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;
Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse Nancy.'
poem by Robert Burns
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The Musicians
The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,
And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,
For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,
And they played so loud that I could not hear
The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary -
The strains of sorrow that floated around,
For my heart's notes rang out loud and cheery,
And I heard no other sound.
Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,
Played louder and louder in joyful glee;
But sometimes a discord was heard by others -
Though only the rhythm was heard by me.
Louder and louder, faster and faster
The hands of the brothers played strain on strain,
When all of a sudden a Mighty Master
Swept them aside; and Pain,
Pain, the musician, the soul-refiner,
Restrung the strings of my quivering heart,
And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,
So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start;
Each note was an echo of awful anguish,
As shrill as solemn, as sharp as slow,
And my soul for a reason seemed to languish
And faint with its weight of woe.
With skilful hands that were never weary,
This Master of Music played strain on strain,
And between the bars of the miserere,
He drew up the strings of my heart again,
And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder,
To see that they did not snap in two.
'They are drawn so tight, they will break assunder, '
I thought, but instead, they grew,
In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger;
And I could hear on the stilly air -
Now my ears were deafened by Mirth no longer -
The sound of sorrow, and grief, and despair;
And my soul grew kinder and tender to others,
My nature grew sweeter, my mind grew broad,
And I held all men to be my brothers,
Linked by the chastening rod.
My soul was lifted to God and heaven,
And when on my heart-strings fell again
The hands of Mirth, and Pleasure, even,
There was never a discord to mar the strain.
For Pain, the musician, and soul-refiner,
Attuned the strings with a master hand,
And whether the music be major or minor,
It is always sweet and grand.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Depths Of The Sea
FOR A PICTURE BY E. BURNE JONES
I
Habes tota quod mente petisti
Infelix.
IN deep vague spaces of the lonely sea
She deemed her soulless life was almost fair,
Yet ever dreamed that in the upper air
Lay happiness--supreme in mystery;
Then saw him--out of reach as you I see--
Worshipped his strength, the brown breast broad and bare,
The arms that bent the oar, and grew aware
Of what life means, and why it is good to be;
And yearned for him with all her body sweet,
Her lithe cold arms, and chill wet bosom's beat,
Vowed him her beauty's unillumined shrine:
So I--seeing you above me--turn and tire,
Sick with an empty ache of long desire
To drag you down, to hold you, make you mine!
II
Attained at last--the lifelong longing's prize!
Raped from the world of air where warm loves glow,
She bears him through her water-world below;
Yet in those strange, glad, fair, mysterious eyes
The shadow of the after-sorrow lies,
And of the coming hour, when she shall know
What she has lost in having gained him so,
And whether death life's longing satisfies.
She shall find out the meaning of despair,
And know the anguish of a granted prayer,
And how, all ended, all is yet undone.
So I--I long for what, far off, you shine,
Not what you must be ere you could be mine,
That which would crown despair if it were won.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Fear Not To love, Fear Not
I greet the burden of your soul
and wonder if your heart is whole
when one can hold it out to share
beware of love, beware.
From all this wretched hardship take
a lesson for your wisdom's sake
the future holds its sorrow's share
beware of love, beware.
A last and thoughtful parting word
to one whose broken dreams are heard
take comfort in the moment here
where you can love without the fear.
Fear not to love, Fear not!
poem by Poet Dragon
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