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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Related quotes
Feel Flows
Unfolding enveloping missiles of soul
Recall senses sadly
Mirage like soft blue like lanterns below
To light the way gladly
Whether whistling heavens clouds disappear
Where the wind withers memory
Whether whiteness whisks soft shadows away
Feel flows (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (black hot glistening shadowy flows)
Unbending never ending tablets of time
Record all the yearning
Unfearing all appearing message divine
Eases the burning
Whether willing witness waits at my mind
Whether hope dampens memory
Whether wondrous will stands tall at my side
Feel flows (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (black hot glistening shadowy flows)
Encasing all embracing wreath of repose
Engulfs all the senses
Imposing, unclosing thoughts that compose
Retire the fences
Whether wholly heartened life fades away
Whether harps heal the memory
Whether wholly heartened life fades away
Whether wondrous will stands tall at my side
Whether whiteness whisks soft shadows away
Feel goes (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel flows (black hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feelings to grow (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
White hot glistening shadowy flows
White hot glistening shadowy flows
White hot glistening shadowy flows
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Watchers
THE cottages all lie asleep;
The sheep and lambs are folded in
Winged sentinels the vale will keep
Until the hours of life begin.
The children with their prayers all said
Sleep until cockcrow shall awake
The gardens in their gold and red
And robins in the bush and brake.
The fields of harvest golden-white,
The fields of pasture rich and green,
Sleep on nor fear the kindly night,
The watching mountains set between.
The river sings its sleepy song,
Nought stirs the wakeful owl beside:
Our peace is builded sure and strong
No evil beast can creep inside.
St Patrick and St Brigid hold
The vale its little houses all,
While men-at-arms in white and gold
Glide swiftly by the outer wall.
St Brendan and St Kevin pluck
The robes of God that He may hear-
And Colum: 'Keep the Irish flock
So that no shame or sin come near.'
What news of Belgian folk to-day?
How fare the village and the town?
O Belgium's all on fire they say,
And all her towers are toppling down.
What are her angels doing then,
And are the Belgian saints asleep,
That in this night of dule and pain
The Belgians mourn, the Belgians weep?
poem by Katharine Tynan
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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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Origami
Multifold thoughts
Multifold steps
Manifold ways
Thousandfold folds
Vale to mount
Mount to vale
Up and leap
Bent and unbent
Thrown in atlast
To find papermade
Heaven of creation
Crafted shapes welcome
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Brahma III - 0204 - Current Version
I find I'm found the finder and the find,
The fine, the finer and the undefined;
I sign myself the signer and the signed,
Design and the designer, predesigned.
Profound mind which minds nothing's stitch, naught note
unfounded or unworthy of free vote,
which rocks the boat rocks founder to denote
'ceteris paribus' all things equal coat.
'Audi alteram partem' must prevail
behind the veil then ave atque vale! '
from vale of tears depart, each part rescale
Way find unweighed by feather or by scale.
(1 May 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale
Ay, beshrew you! By my fay,
These wanton clerks be nice alway!
Avaunt, avaunt, my popinjay!
What, will ye do nothing but play?
Tilly, vally, straw, let be I say!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
By God, ye be a pretty pode,
And I love you an whole cart-load.
Straw, James Foder, ye play the fode,
I am no hackney for your rod:
Go watch a bull, your back is broad!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
Ywis ye deal uncourteously;
What, would ye frumple me? Now fy!
What, and ye shall be my pigesnye?
By Christ, ye shall not, no hardely:
I will not be japed bodily!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
Walk forth your way, ye cost me nought;
Now I have found what I have sought:
The best cheap flesh that ever I bought.
Yet, for His love that all hath wrought,
Wed me, or else I die for thought.
Gup, Christian Clout, your breath is stale!
Go, Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale!
Gup, Christina Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
poem by John Skelton
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Shoes
Some are big;
some are designed like a pig,
some are small;
some can make you drool,
some are expensive;
some are exclusive;
for lucky people only,
some are cheap,
but easily destroy;
so whatever you wear
you can go anywhere.
Faun's Head
Among the foliage, green casket flecked with gold;
in the uncertain foliage that blossoms
with gorgeous flowers where sleeps the kiss,
vivid, and bursting through the sumptuous tapestry,
a startled faun shows his two eyes
and bites the crimson flowers with his white teeth.
Stained and ensanguined like mellow wine,
his mouth bursts out in laughter beneath the branches.
And when he has fled - like a squirrel -
his laughter still vibrates on every leaf,
and you can see, startled by a bullfinch,
the Golden Kiss of the Wood,
gathering itself together again.
poem by Arthur Rimbaud
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Fading Chlorophyll In Maple Leaves of Autumn
Stands still the foliage
In full colors of October
Upon the slopes of Mount Royal
And white seagulls hover
Above the waves
In the port.
The purple foam of urban magic
Penetrates everything and overgrows
This city compressed between hill and river
While the quiet sorrow flows
On the streets
Of downtown.
Stands still the foliage
In full colors of October
Revealing my own life cycle
My receding years, hidden order
Fading chlorophyll
In maple leaves
Of autumn.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Aubade: Vale of Tears
Morning fog
caressed
my winter tears
as unseen geese
(noisy gaggle)
crossed the opaque sky.
Things well hidden
confuse
my fragile faith,
so when bright, piercing rays
broke through
this lonely vale of tears
I thought it was only the sun
not the golden light,
desire of my fleeting years.
poem by Steven Federle
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Autumn Twilight
The long September evening dies
In mist along the fields and lanes;
Only a few faint stars surprise
The lingering twilight as it wanes.
Night creeps across the darkening vale;
On the horizon tree by tree
Fades into shadowy skies as pale
As moonlight on a shadowy sea.
And, down the mist-enfolded lanes,
Grown pensive now with evening,
See, lingering as the twilight wanes,
Lover with lover wandering.
poem by Arthur Symons
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From The Spanish Of Pedro De Castro Y Anaya
Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave
The lovely vale that lies around thee.
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,
When but a fount the morning found thee?
Born when the skies began to glow,
Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters,
No blossom bowed its stalk to show
Where stole thy still and scanty waters.
Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,
Usurping, as thou downward driftest,
Its crystal from the clearest brook,
Its rushing current from the swiftest.
Ah! what wild haste!--and all to be
A river and expire in ocean.
Each fountain's tribute hurries thee
To that vast grave with quicker motion.
Far better 'twere to linger still
In this green vale, these flowers to cherish,
And die in peace, an aged rill,
Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Avalon Of The Heart
On down by avalon
Avalon of the heart
On down by avalon
Gonna make a brand new start
Oh the holy grail
Baby behind the sun
Oh the holy grail
Down by avalon
Well I came upon
The enchanted vale
Down by the viaducts of my dreams
Down by camelot, hangs the tale
In the ancient vale
Oh the avalon sunset
Avalon of the heart
Me and my lady
Goin down by avalon
Well I came upon
The enchanted vale
Down by the viaducts of my dreams
Near camelot, hangs the tale
Of the enchanted vale
In the upper room
There the cup does stand
In the upper room
Down by avalon
Goin down by avalon
Oh my avalon of the heart
Goin down by avalon
Gonna make a brand new start
Oh down by avalon
Oh baby behind the sun
Goin down by avalon
Well the journeys just begun
Oh down by avalon
Sweet avalon of the heart
Goin down by avalon
Gonna make a brand new start
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-29-2009
poem by John Celes
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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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By The Arno
THE oleander on the wall
Grows crimson in the dawning light,
Though the grey shadows of the night
Lie yet on Florence like a pall.
The dew is bright upon the hill,
And bright the blossoms overhead,
But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,
The little Attic song is still.
Only the leaves are gently stirred
By the soft breathing of the gale,
And in the almond-scented vale
The lonely nightingale is heard.
The day will make thee silent soon,
O nightingale sing on for love!
While yet upon the shadowy grove
Splinter the arrows of the moon.
Before across the silent lawn
In sea-green mist the morning steals,
And to love's frightened eyes reveals
The long white fingers of the dawn
Fast climbing up the eastern sky
To grasp and slay the shuddering night,
All careless of my heart's delight,
Or if the nightingale should die.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Starling
The starling in the ivy now,
For to amuse his dear,
Mimics the dog, the cat, the cow,
Blackbird and Chanticleer.
The starling's an accomplished mime:
Between his love-making
He solaces her brooding-time
By many a madcap thing.
He is the saw, the spade, the scythe,
He rings the dinner bell;
Chuckles of laughter, small and blithe,
Of self-laudations tell.
Now by the battle-field he mocks
As though 'twere but a game,
Thunder with which the belfry rocks
And the great bursts of flame.
Till when the merriment will pall
He turns to love again,
Calling his love-sick gurgling call
Above the dying men.
Who knows what dream the starling weaves
Of boyhood, soft and clean?
A small room under golden eaves
To which the sun looks in.
The starling's talking in the thatch,
Bidding the boy arise;
And the door's opening on the latch
To show -- his mother's eyes.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Sic Transit
Sudden summer laughter wave lift-drifts. Lush vale
stirs startled, sweating afternoon. Echo's no avail,
for sounds are swiftly smothered, as if some spider’s veil
Present, Past, Hereafter, threads, cocooning mortal wail.
Slowly drifting over sun-sparkling sylvan stream’s
springs and falls, bright sunlit halls, where silver salmon teems,
that fisher’s mind recalls far larger than his life-size dreams.
Scene subtle, suddenly disturbed, is smashed to smithereens.
Beasts tied to dry land try Time’s patience, thresher’s flail,
Brash bipeds too, though new, shall pass, ~ such small detail, ~
their lice must perish too, should spiders tell spun tale?
Arachnidae survive where flies die, race over, trace trails fail.
The crush-rush mortals know no wind-blown stones record
when hush dawn’s blushing show will welcome silence sans discord...
(23 March 1975 revised 3 August 2007,27 May 2008 robi03_0053)
For previous versions see below
Sic Transit
Sudden summer laughter wave lift-drifts through lush vale,
stirs, startles afternoon; - echo of no avail,
for sounds are smothered soon, as if some spider’s veil
Present, Past, Hereafter, surrounds â€" cocoons prevail.
Slowly drifting over sun-sparkling sylvan stream’s,
springs and falls, sunlit halls, where silver salmon teems
that fisher’s mind recalls far larger than his dreams, -
scene one sun, supernova, flash beams to smithereens.
Beasts tied to dry land try Time’s patience, thresher’s flail;
Brash bipeds too, though new, shall pass, ~ such small detail, ~
their lice must perish too, will insects tell their tale?
Who’d fly shall also die, race over, trace trails fail.
The crush, the rush, we know, what wind-blown stone records
when hush dawn’s blushing show welcomes without discord...?
(3 August 2007)
Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
Scented summer laughter, softly sifting through the vale,
stirs the silence sixty seconds, though all to no avail,
as the sound is swiftly smothered, as if by spider’s veil.
Slowly drifting over the rushing mountain streams, -
those springs and falls, the sunlit halls, where silver salmon teems, -
in which for scaly fare oft search the fearsome fishing teams.
Birds fly through sky, beasts try dry land, too soon both trails must fail,
brash bipeds too, though still so new, will pass, ~ such small detail, ~
leaving their lice to linger on, insects to tell their tale!
(23 March 1975)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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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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