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Fairy tale queen [Crăiasa din poveste]

White and brightly shining mists
Spins the moon, like airy shields,
Then it spreads them over streams
And across the fallow fields.

Flowers gather on the loom
Where the spider web is thrown
Hanging on the black night's gown
Many beads of precious stone.

Near the lake, on which the clouds
Warped a shade as black as night,
Which the waves break here and there
As if they were balls of light,

Putting the tall reed aside
Bends the maiden, shy and grave,
Throwing roses red like blood
Over the enchanted wave.

Looks ahead to see a face
Where the water's really stirred,
For the lake has been spellbound
By Saint Wednesday's witty word.

And to make the face come out
She is throwing roses young
For they all are surely charmed
By Saint Friday's clever tongue.

She is looking... Her blonde hair
And her face are lit by moon,
While within her deep blue eyes
Fairy tales will gather soon.

poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Related quotes

The Dole Of The King's Daughter (Breton)

Seven stars in the still water,
And seven in the sky;
Seven sins on the King's daughter,
Deep in her soul to lie.

Red roses are at her feet,
(Roses are red in her red-gold hair)
And O where her bosom and girdle meet
Red roses are hidden there.

Fair is the knight who lieth slain
Amid the rush and reed,
See the lean fishes that are fain
Upon dead men to feed.

Sweet is the page that lieth there,
(Cloth of gold is goodly prey,)
See the black ravens in the air,
Black, O black as the night are they.

What do they there so stark and dead?
(There is blood upon her hand)
Why are the lilies flecked with red?
(There is blood on the river sand.)

There are two that ride from the south and east,
And two from the north and west,
For the black raven a goodly feast,
For the King's daughter rest.

There is one man who loves her true,
(Red, O red, is the stain of gore!)
He hath duggen a grave by the darksome yew,
(One grave will do for four.)

No moon in the still heaven,
In the black water none,
The sins on her soul are seven,
The sin upon his is one.

poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Reflection of God

Thoughts are like ripples,
gently flowing over
the surface of the mind.

Deep inside us
we bear the image of God,
the ripples of thought break that image
into fragments.

It is as if you are looking in
a lake full of ripples-
It is a full moon night,
and the lake is reflecting
the beautiful moon.

But the lake is full of ripples
You cannot gather the moon together;
the moon goes on splitting
into a thousand fragments.
The whole lake seems to be
spread over by the moon-
the silvery beauty, softly broken apart;
many a fragments is seen floating-
all around.

Then the wind stops,
the ripples disappear:
those fragments start falling into one moon.
The silver that was spread
all over the lake,
now becomes more concentrated
into one place - into one moon.

When the lake
is completely without ripples,
the moon is reflected perfectly.
God is reflected perfectly
when there is no ripple in you.

poem by Nazmul Haque
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kate Kearney

WHY doth the maiden turn away
From voice so sweet, and words so dear?
Why doth the maiden turn away
When love and flattery woo her ear?
And rarely that enchanted twain
Whisper in woman's ear in vain.
Why doth the maiden leave the hall?
No face is fair as hers is fair,
No step has such a fairy fall,
No azure eyes like hers are there.

The maiden seeks her lonely bower,
Although her father's guests are met;
She knows it is the midnight hour,
She knows the first pale star is set,
And now the silver moon-beams wake
The spirits of the haunted Lake.
The waves take rainbow hues, and now
The shining train are gliding by,
Their chieftain lifts his glorious brow,
The maiden meets his lingering eye.

The glittering shapes melt into night;
Another look, their chief is gone,
And chill and gray comes morning's light,
And clear and cold the Lake flows on;
Close, close the casement, not for sleep,
Over such visions eyes but weep.

How many share such destiny,
How many, lured by fancy's beam,
Ask the impossible to be,
And pine, the victims of a dream.

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Change

Was this the face upon which,
Beautified innocence danced and danced?

How looks gazed, riveted untiringly!
The black lashes cast glimmering shadows,
In the dark deep blue glassy eyes;
As the reedy tufts along the banks,
Do while throwing wavering reflections,
In the unpolluted azure deep lake.

How frantic heart urged to explore,
Plunge into the depths, to be lost,
Never to be found, to endure the pangs.
The black curly locks eclipsed,
Enchanting more the broad fair forehead.

The words slipped from the tender lips,
As do the dews from the blooming roses,
When the breeze shakes them gently,
Like beads they dropp one by one.
And as the dancing waves do travel,
Spread smiles onto the smooth cheeks.

Ah! What a horrible change brought,
Imperceptible feet of the passing decades,
Trod trampling the stage of beauty.
The deep creasy wrinkles seem to us,
As a dull furrowed farm of Autumn.

The cloudy eyes with spots of cataracts,
Pouring out fluid full of disgust,
Teethless gums behind the withering lips,
Dribbling mouth from both the corners,
Flesh hanging down like loose sleeves,
White worn out hair as brittle juty fiber,
Present catastrophe, inevitable, bare,
Which is forsaken in the days of vigour.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If Roses Can Be

If roses can be
yellow
pink
red
white
And still be roses

If hair can be
red
blonde
brunette
black
And still be hair

If eyes can be
green
blue
brown
hazel
And still be eyes

Then why can't humans be
black
white
hispanic
asian
And still be accepted?

Why can't people be
special
different
unique
original
And still be people?

If roses can be
yellow
pink
red
white
And still be roses.....

poem by Jennifer Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Are White Flowers In Her Hair

There are white flowers in her hair,
blue-white stars when she laughs
in her eyes shining like rainbows,
with a own innocent beauty

with the coming of spring in the air
between the blooming flowers,
in rainbows shining like her eyes,
she finds where the prettiest flowers grow,

she is bounded to loveliness,
she notices roses that are dark like blood
in her eyes shining like rainbows,
but in her cheeks there is a gloss.

Delighted she stands at corn fields
clouds dark and white,
in rainbows shining like her eyes
there is somewhere a pot of gold.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Venus and Madonna [Venere şi Madonă]

An ideal lost in darkness of a world that's gone for ever,
Which in fairy tales was thinking and in poems used to speak,
I can see and hear you, goddess, my sweet news, so young and clever
Living in a starry heaven full of deities antique.

Venus, warm and tender marble, eye of stone, which sparkles lively
Lazy arm, like the slow thinking of a king and poet, too,
Wonderful deification of the woman looking nicely,
Of that woman, which at present, still I think she's fair and true.

Raphael, lost in his visions, in a night when stars were present,
Soul by rays intoxicated and by many lovely springs,
Saw you and he dreamed the heaven with its gardens, smelling pleasant,
Saw you floating among angels and among the holy things.

And created on the canvas the Madonna, divine being,
With her maiden smile and wearing a tiara of stars bright
With pale face and yellow tresses, woman-angel and appealing,
For the woman is the image of the angels pure and white.

So did I, lost in the darkness of a life of rhymes enchanting,
I saw you, O, barren woman without soul, and I was struck
And I took you for an angel, sweet like magic and like chanting,
When the wretched life is lighted by a strong ray of good luck.

And I saw your pale complexion, sign of sick intoxication,
Your lips bruised by the corruption, which is biting nastily,
And I covered you, cruel woman, with white veils of inspiration,
On your pallor, with my poems, throwing rays of chastity.

I gave you the rays encircling with their magic and their power
The white forehead of the angel who will help us carry on,
Turned the fiend into a hermit and the sneer into a flower
And your bold and filthy glances into a majestic dawn.

But today, the veil is falling, ruthless woman! dreams are shattered,
Your chilled lips awaken quickly my sincere and sleepy brow
And I watch you, evil demon, and my love, so cold and scattered,
Teaches me a precious lesson, that I should despise you now!

You are like a young bacchante, who has stolen without caring
The green myrtle of the martyr from the forehead of a maid,
A young virgin, whose soul surely, is as holy as a praying,
While the one of the bacchante raves and wriggles in the shade.

Oh, as Raphael created the Madonna, divine being,
With her maiden smile and wearing a tiara of stars bright,
I made out of a pale woman a true goddess, nice and pleasing,
But devoid of any feelings, with a soul as black as night!

Are you crying, child? - I wonder, with your wet and pleading glances
Can you break again my poor heart as the wind would break a bough?
Falling at your feet I'm looking in your eyes, two black expanses,
And I kiss your hands while asking if they can forgive me now.

* * *

Wipe your eyes and stop your crying!... Blaming you was cruel, disgusting,
An unjust, crooked accusation, without essence, full of lies.
Even if you were a demon, love makes you a saint, I'm trusting,
And I love this evil demon with blonde hair and deep large eyes.

poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The lake [Lacul]

Heavy piles of clouds advance,
Following an unseen way,
And because of their slow dance
The lake's face is color gray.

Near the water, full of grief,
The sad poplar, lone and bare,
Wailing for its withered leaf
Bends and trembles in the air.

Waves go by and seem to gloat
Move with low, but constant speeds,
And they rock an empty boat,
Which is lost among the reeds.

How I wish this very year
In a starry night of May
On your waters deep and clear
With my love to float away,

Listening with a gentle bow
The waves' stories and their lore...
But the way you're looking now,
My dear lake, I do like more!

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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How Wide The Dawn

How wide the Dawn
Is smiling!
How silent-new
The air is breathing!
How raw the sea
Without a wave
Is looking!

And in the night –
Id est last night
How strange
The owl chanteth!
How far, how far
Its cry did seem
And yet
It was so near!
How thrilled the tree
Below my lighted window
And in the night
The solemn night
The owl was still a-calling
To spirits wild
Perhaps
Or long white ghosts
Perhaps!

And in the eyes
Of the pale moon
The lake nearby glistened:
How white
How thin
The rays that fall
In midst of the dark waters!
And from the lake
A soundless sound
Is coming:
For in the waves
And from the waves
There comes a little gurgling
And in the night
In the long night
The owl is speaking, speaking!

Ah! this night – in the night
The people in the house
Are all a-sleeping
I – only I
The vigil, the night-vigil
Am making:
And I
And only I
Will my reward receive
For I
And only I
Am seeing
For I
And only I
Am hearing
And I
And only I
Am feeling!

How strange how sere
The feeling!
How from the clear night
The mist of sudden riseth!
And from afar
Past ten long fields
The cemetery is burning
With the pale light
Of the swift moon
That fall
On every wall
This long, long night!

It seems
It seems
That the cemetery’s open:
And yet
And yet
There is no noise
No sound
But from the yews
A soundless sound
Is coming:
A restless sound
Like souls
This night all-aching
And restless
Restless
At some thing
I am not hearing!

Ha! We on earth
Make prisons
And lodge
Bodies – human bodies in them:
And we on earth
Make cemeteries
And lodge
Bodies – human bodies in them
And the long night
Under the light
Of heaven
How waning-blue
And tight
Is coming!

So:
At long last
We fall into a prison
If not the one
In fine to the other
And at the last
And in the last
We enter our last prison:
And in the night
The long and lonely night
The cemetery is shining!

poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Invocation II

COME to-night in a dream to-night,
Come as you used to do,
Come in the gown, in the gown of white,
Come in the ribbon of blue;
Come in the virgin's colours you wear,
Come through the dark and the dew,
Come with the scent of the night in your hair,
Come as you used to do.

Blue and white of your eyes and your face,
White of your gown and blue,
Will you not come from the happy place,
Come as you used to do?
Tears so many, so many tears
Where there were once so few--
Can they not wash the gray of the years
From the white of your gown and blue?

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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East

Tried to tell her who I really am
But I'm not so sure that I really can
Well, you've got to know, I don't understand
Well, you've got to know who I really am Give me one more chance
As I child, I once had a dream
My mother spoke something down to me
She said, "Son, you must walk upon your knees
Down the road, headed for the East"
Give me one more chance
Give me one more chance
If I had a way to go, I'd gather up my throwing stone
Tried to tell her who I really am
But I'm not so sure that I really can
Well, you've got to know I don't understand
'Cause I'm not so sure who I really am
If I had a way to go, I'd gather up my throwing stone
If I had a way to go, I'd gather up my throwing stone

song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ethers Tragic

song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Friday I'm In Love

I don't care if monday's blue
Tuesday's grey and wednesday too
Thursday i don't care about you
It's friday i'm in love
Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday wednesday break my heart
Thursday doesn't even start
It's friday i'm in love
Saturday wait
And sunday always comes too late
But friday never hesitate...
I don't care if monday's black
Tuesday wednesday heart attack
Thursday never looking back
It's friday i'm in love
Monday you can hold your head
Tuesday wednesday stay in bed
Or thursday watch the walls instead
It's friday i'm in love
Saturday wait
And sunday always comes too late
But friday never hesitate...
Dressed up to the eyes
It's a wonderful surprise
To see your shoes and your spirits rise
Throwing out your frown
And just smiling at the sound
And as sleek as a shriek
Spinning round and round
Always take a big bite
It's such a gorgeous sight
To see you eat in the middle of the night
You can never get enough
Enough of this stuff
It's friday
I'm in love

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coming Up Roses

Im a junkyard full of false starts
And I dont need yr permission
To bury my love under this bare light bulb
The moon is a sickle cell
Itll kill you in time
You cold white brother riding yr blood
Like spun glass in sore eyes
While the moon does its division youre buried below
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses follow
The things that you tell yourself
Theyll kill you in time
You cold white brother alive in yr blood
Spinning in the night sky
While the moon does its division youre buried below
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses
So you got in a kind of trouble that nobody knows
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses

song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come Into the Garde, Maud

Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune:
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lordlover, what sighs are those
For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,
"For ever and ever, mine."

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewelprint of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lake

Water lilies load all over
The blue lake amid the woods,
That imparts, while in white circles
Startling, to a boat its moods.

And along the strands I‘m passing
Listening, waiting, in unrest,
That she from the reeds may issue
And fall, gently, on my breast;

That we may jump in the little
Boat, while water‘s voices whelm
All our feelings; that enchanted
I may drop my oars and helm;

That all charmed we may be floating
While moon‘s kindly light surrounds
Us, winds cause the reeds to rustle
And the waving water sounds.

But she does not come; abandoned,
Vainly I endure and sigh
Lonely, as the water lilies
On the blue lake ever lie.

poem by Mihai Eminescu from Poems (Poesii) (September 1876), translated by Dimitrie Cuclin
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Blue Moon

Blue moon is ‘a' rising
Shining so blue surprising
Is it me or is it you?
That makes your shade so blue?

Blue moon it's ‘a' crying
Why so sad, am I prying?
Blue moon weep not for me
Shine your glory for all to see

Blue moon full in ‘a' glory
So many shades you have tell your story
Silver and blood and now you are blue
What prey tell decides your hue?

Blue moon is ‘a' glow
Your blue face on show
Smile down on me now
For a smile from you will show me how

Blue moon is such ‘a' rarity
Your secrets kept within your entity
Locked away in your heart of hearts
Your magic never ends once it starts

Blue moon is ‘a' gone
How I admired you as you shone
You're off to sleep for another day
But in my dreams you will always stay…

poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sapientia Lunae

The wisdom of the world said unto me:
'_Go forth and run, the race is to the brave;
Perchance some honour tarrieth for thee!_'
'As tarrieth,' I said, 'for sure, the grave.'
For I had pondered on a rune of roses,
Which to her votaries the moon discloses.

The wisdom of the world said: '_There are bays:
Go forth and run, for victory is good,
After the stress of the laborious days._'
'Yet,' said I, 'shall I be the worms' sweet food,'
As I went musing on a rune of roses,
Which in her hour, the pale, soft moon discloses.

Then said my voices: '_Wherefore strive or run,
On dusty highways ever, a vain race?
The long night cometh, starless, void of sun,
What light shall serve thee like her golden face?_'
For I had pondered on a rune of roses,
And knew some secrets which the moon discloses.

'Yea,' said I, 'for her eyes are pure and sweet
As lilies, and the fragrance of her hair
Is many laurels; and it is not meet
To run for shadows when the prize is here';
And I went reading in that rune of roses
Which to her votaries the moon discloses.

poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Between Sun & Moon

Words by neil peart and pye dubois,
Music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
There is a lake between sun and moon
Not too many know about
In the silence between whisper and shout
The space between wonder and doubt
This is a fine place
Shining face to face
Those bonfire lights in the mirror of sky
The space between wonder and why
Ahh yes to yes to ahh ahh to yes
Why the sun why the sun
There is a fine line between love and illusion ---
A fine place to penetrate
The gap between actor and act
The lens between wishes and fact
This is a fine place
To hesitate
Those bonfire lights in the lake of sky
The time between wonder and why
Some need to pray to the sun at high noon
Some need to howl at the midwinter moon
Reborn and baptized in a moment of grace
We just need a break ---
From the headlong race
Ahh yes to yes to ahh ahh to yes
Why the sun why the sun
This is a fine place, shining face to face
These bonfire lights in the mirrored sky
The space between wonder and why

song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unexpected

Dim looked the stars then disappeared
Behind the clouds pale moon appeared.

Like a damsel after a shower,
Combed hair on face lower.

The clouds passed the sky cleared,
The stars and moon again appeared.

As fairy moving away her hair,
Her face appeared so clean and fair.

Things looked calm the night waning,
The clouds gathered anew the planning.

A shawl the sky wore again,
The bitter breeze again began.

On chest of earth fell flakes of snow,
No dawn joy, no life's flow.

The trees and roofs were clothed in white,
Thus harsh became a pleasant night.

poem by Jahan zaib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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