And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
quote by Henry Vaughn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
They are all Gone into the World of Light
1 They are all gone into the world of light!
2 And I alone sit ling'ring here;
3 Their very memory is fair and bright,
4 And my sad thoughts doth clear.
5 It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
6 Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
7 Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest,
8 After the sun's remove.
9 I see them walking in an air of glory,
10 Whose light doth trample on my days:
11 My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
12 Mere glimmering and decays.
13 O holy Hope! and high Humility,
14 High as the heavens above!
15 These are your walks, and you have show'd them me
16 To kindle my cold love.
17 Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just,
18 Shining nowhere, but in the dark;
19 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust
20 Could man outlook that mark!
21 He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest, may know
22 At first sight, if the bird be flown;
23 But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
24 That is to him unknown.
25 And yet as angels in some brighter dreams
26 Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
27 So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes
28 And into glory peep.
29 If a star were confin'd into a tomb,
30 Her captive flames must needs burn there;
31 But when the hand that lock'd her up, gives room,
32 She'll shine through all the sphere.
33 O Father of eternal life, and all
34 Created glories under thee!
35 Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
36 Into true liberty.
37 Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
38 My perspective still as they pass,
39 Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
40 Where I shall need no glass.
poem by Henry Vaughan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beyond The Veil
They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling'ring here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's remove.
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days:
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have show'd them me,
To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the Just,
Shining nowhere, but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.
And yet as Angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
If a star were confin'd into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that lock'd her up gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under Thee!
Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass:
Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.
poem by Henry Vaughan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Friends Departed
They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling'ring here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's remove.
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days:
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have show'd them me,
To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the Just,
Shining nowhere, but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!
He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.
And yet as Angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
If a star were confin'd into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that lock'd her up gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under Thee!
Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass:
Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.
poem by Henry Vaughan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Old Age of the Soul
I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
Some strange old lust for deeds.
As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet
Brings momentary life and long-fled cunning,
So to my soul grown old -
Grown old with many a jousting, many a foray,
Grown old with namy a hither-coming and hence-going -
Till now they send him dreams and no more deed;
So doth he flame again with might for action,
Forgetful of the council of elders,
Forgetful that who rules doth no more battle,
Forgetful that such might no more cleaves to him
So doth he flame again toward valiant doing.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Melancholia
SILENTLY without my window,
Tapping gently at the pane,
Falls the rain.
Through the trees sighs the breeze
Like a soul in pain.
Here alone I sit and weep;
Thought hath banished sleep.
Wearily I sit and listen
To the water's ceaseless drip.
To my lip
Fate turns up the bitter cup,
Forcing me to sip;
'Tis a bitter, bitter drink,
Thus I sit and think, —
Thinking things unknown and awful,
Thoughts on wild, uncanny themes,
Waking dreams.
Spectres dark, corpses stark,
Show the gaping seams
Whence the cold and cruel knife
Stole away their life.
Bloodshot eyes all strained and staring,
Gazing ghastly into mine;
Blood like wine
On the brow — clotted now—
Shows death's dreadful sign.
Lonely vigil still I keep;
Would that I might sleep!
Still, oh, still, my brain is whirling!
Still runs on my stream of thought;
I am caught
In the net fate hath set.
Mind and soul are brought
To destruction's very brink;
Yet I can but think!
Eyes that look into the future, —
Peeping forth from out my mind,
They will find
Some new weight, soon or late,
On my soul to bind,
Crushing all its courage out,—
Heavier than doubt.
Dawn, the Eastern monarch's daughter,
Rising from her dewy bed,
Lays her head
'Gainst the clouds' sombre shrouds
Now half fringed with red.
O'er the land she 'gins to peep;
Come, O gentle Sleep!
Hark! the morning cock is crowing;
Dreams, like ghosts, must hie away;
'Tis the day.
Rosy morn now is born;
Dark thoughts may not stay.
Day my brain from foes will keep;
Now, my soul, I sleep.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Palace of my Crown
As I sit unknowing of my future age I find myself
At one with the moment at hand and I tell myself:
Feed upon the potential you know grows within your soul
Aspire towards your dreams for only you know all it is you wish for
Open your heart to the universe and hear in the song of morning bird call
That the night has fallen and once more the warmth of the sun doth kiss the valley.
Strange, obscure thoughts pass throughout my mind
The wish to be a changeling, the wish to be stranger than I am
No reason is there left within the palace of my crown.
poem by David Lacey
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No Dreams
What would we do if we had no dreams?
No themes, no streams, no things to play
With; Darkness all and all around.
No colourful thoughts, no shining streams,
No happy hours, those bright and gay;
No listening to the cheerful sound.
Of flowers showing their natural themes,
Of water falling in to stay;
Towards nothingness, we are bound.
To lose these lively things; it seems
Is the thing to do in this young day;
In filth of veracity, we are drowned.
What would we do if we had no dreams?
No themes, no streams, no things to play
With; Darkness all and all around.
poem by Osama Waqar
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Hark! The Herald Angels Sing
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory, glory to, glory to,
The new born King...
Glory, glory, glory, glory, glory...
Glory to the new born King
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born King
Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies
With angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born King
Glory, glory, glory, (oh yeah) glory, glory
Glory to the new born King
Glory (glory) glory, (yeah) glory, glory...
Glory...
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory... Glory...
Hail! the heaven-born Prince of Peace; Hail the son of Righteousness
Light and life to all He brings, risen with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by, born that man, no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born...
[Ad Libs]
song performed by by Jessica Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Rising Of The Sun
Look, look, brave Sol doth peep up from beneath,
Shows us his golden face, doth on us breathe;
He also doth compass us round with glories,
Whilst he ascends up to his highest stories.
Where he his banner over us displays,
And gives us light to see our works and ways.
Nor are we now, as at the peep of light,
To question, is it day, or is it night?
The night is gone, the shadows fled away,
And we now most sure are that it is day.
Our eyes behold it, and our hearts believe it;
Nor can the wit of man in this deceive it.
And thus it is when Jesus shows his face,
And doth assure us of his love and grace.
poem by John Bunyan
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Holy Sonnet XV: Wilt Thou Love God
Wilt thou love God, as he thee? then digest,
My Soul, this wholesome meditation,
How God the Spirit, by Angels waited on
In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy breast.
The Father having begot a Son most blest,
And still begetting, (for he ne'r begone)
Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption,
Co heir to his glory, and Sabbaths endless rest;
And as a robbed man, which by search doth find
His stol'n stuff sold, must lose or buy it again;
The Son of glory came down, and was slain,
Us whom he had made, and Satan stolne, to unbind.
'Twas much, that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more.
poem by John Donne
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Let The Night Sleep
Let the night sleep
Sleep for ever deep
With the night I sleep
Beyond the world to peep
Universe will sleep
Plants and trees
Birds and bees
Stars and moon
To sleep very soon!
Fruits and flowers
Joy with showers
Will sleep with me and the night
Not to keep the life very tight!
No dawn of the day
Right upto the dooms day!
Sleep permanent
In the world impermanent
I'll sleep without light
My agonies will sleep
My worries will sleep
My pains will sleep
My sins will sleep!
While in sleep
I am pure
I am peace
I am noble!
While my body is asleep
Awake my soul I keep
Sleep akin to death
Death akin to sleep in mirth?
Let the night sleep
Sleep for ever deep
With night I sleep
Sleep to eternity
Soul to merge in Divinity!
poem by Subbaraman N V
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Holy Sonnet XV: Wilt Thou Love God, As He Thee? Then Digest
Wilt thou love God, as he thee? Then digest,
My soul, this wholesome meditation,
How God the Spirit, by angels waited on
In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy breast.
The Father having begot a Son most blest,
And still begetting, (for he ne'er be gone)
Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption,
Co-heir t' his glory, and Sabbath' endless rest.
And as a robbed man, which by search doth find
His stol'n stuff sold, must lose or buy 't again:
The Son of glory came down, and was slain,
Us whom he'd made, and Satan stol'n, to unbind.
'Twas much that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Dream or Not to Dream - Acrostic Sonnet
The spiral staircase leading down to dreams ~
Or is it up if there be “up” at all ~
Defines its own dimensions’ rise and fall,
Rephrasing day’s experience which gleams
Endlessly recyclying key-word themes
As this is magnified, or that made small.
Masks ~ common to the day ~ at night may fall.
Once shed, greet picture puzzle pattern schemes
Recording strange perceptions as light beams
Now here, now there, preparing waking call, ~
Options spurned, or choices learned withal ~
To tear sleep’s shawl, converting links. It seems
TO dream provides the oil that may inspire
DREAMs new to spin enquiring spirit higher.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Holy Sonnet 15
Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digest,
My soul, this wholesome meditation,
How God the Spirit, by angels waited on
In heaven, doth make His temple in thy breast.
The Father having begot a Son most blest,
And still begetting—for he ne'er begun—
Hath deign'd to choose thee by adoption,
Co-heir to His glory, and Sabbath' endless rest.
And as a robb'd man, which by search doth find
His stolen stuff sold, must lose or buy it again,
The Sun of glory came down, and was slain,
Us whom He had made, and Satan stole, to unbind.
'Twas much, that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more.
poem by John Donne from Holy Sonnets
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When i was a boy
Up in the attic where I slept
When I was a boy, a little boy,
In through the lattice the moonlight crept,
Bringing a tide of dreams that swept
Over the low, red trundle-bed,
Bathing the tangled curly head,
While moonbeams played at hide-and-seek
With the dimples on the sun-browned cheek -
When I was a boy, a little boy!
And, oh! the dreams - the dreams I dreamed!
When I was a boy, a little boy!
For the grace that through the lattice streamed
Over my folded eyelids seemed
To have the gift of prophecy,
And to bring me glimpses of times to be
When manhood's clarion seemed to call -
Ah! that was the sweetest dream of all,
When I was a boy, a little boy!
I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep
When I was a boy, a little boy!
For in at the lattice the moon would peep,
Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep
The crosses and griefs of the years away
From the heart that is weary and faint to-day;
And those dreams should give me back again
A peace I have never known since then -
When I was a boy, a little boy!
poem by Eugene Field
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Jade's Lullaby
Close your eyes little baby
let wondrous dreams unfold
close your eyes little baby
dream of glory and riches untold
Go to sleep sweetheart
clear your mind of all thoughts
go to sleep sweetheart
let all your fears be lost
Sleep my little darling
let the world slip away
sleep my little darling
and may your dreams come true someday
poem by Tori Beals
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Street children
Where are their parents?
Are they gone with the wind?
Their offspring eat fluorescent tubes,
Cut their hands, do acrobats and beg something for their daily bread.
These trample flowers sleep on the roads under the helpless sky
And in their dreams of paradise no angels exist.
But the sex abusers peep in friendly manner.
dedication to *UNICEF
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Collection Of Short Poems
MEANINGLESS
I looked into my soul
And saw a great emptiness that enswallowed me.
It was strange and it was dark.
A darkness so vast I fall into it.
Terrified, my heart froze
As fear’s ice hands griped it.
Big dreams and ambitions cut short by the shortness of life
My life now a black deep ocean to drown in
For this is now my fate for mine had being a vain pursuit for self.
DREAMS
The dreams,
These dreams that I dream when I sleep in my sleep.
Are so scary so dark that I awake to only find
That am trapped in the dusty dream of dreaminglessness.
Am lost like a codeless soul flowing in space.
Like a fading painting I evaporate losing myself in the mystic shadows of life.
I don’t know me;
I don’t feel me,
Am I dreaming or is this real?
The dreams,
These dreams that I dream when I sleep in my sleep.
These dreams that I dream are when my eyes are closed yet open
Are not for the faint hearted,
The dreams.
MIRROR, MIRROR, MIRROR
Internal reflections of my soul
Looking deep where I have never being before
I stand mouth agap at the images I see below.
Distorted images,
I can’t see me.
Is the mirror broken or is it the state f my soul?
Mirror, mirror, mirror!
Is there any hope at all?
Tell me now for I fear that I have completely lost my way.
Mirror…?
poem by Tigana Chileshe
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Sleeping with the angels
sleeps keep the immortal soul at peace with
the eternity calls, the tranquility of our warm
heart recalls
as angels watch our deep snoring, every
breath wakes our imagination of what we want
in the most astonishing super hero of our dreams
the sole witness of our moving spirit to venture
beyond our human faculty, of being more than
we come to guide our steps for only
by following our strings of aspiration our mortal
body reaches beyond human satisfaction
lives not the fears of every immortal of tears, for
the night comes like lightning of the sky, swifting
thunders of the angels fury where echo of souls
cried for mercy, of the slaying angels of darkness
let every sleeps be a moment of unifying souls of
beauty, lying with angels memory, where each
stay is with in heaven's nest of rest, for every day
is a good sleep with an angel’s best
as you sleep, always make yourself happy, for in
every snoring, lying the angel’s touch of cooled
sleep, leaving you its angelic breath ready
to wake and see angels sleep
then you come to know that it’s the angels who sleep
with you...until Today
poem by Antonio Liao
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Keep It Proper
Keep it proper!
You never know on you who might peep.
When you do a thing discreet.
You never know on you who might peep.
It's best that you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Especially when you're seen in the streets.
You never know on you who might peep.
Keep,
It
Proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Distorting what you do to deceive.
You never know on you who might peep.
It's best that you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
When a seeker seeks a weakness to heat.
You never know on you who might peep.
Controversy lovers love it,
More obscene.
People feed sensations that wound and bleed.
With a caring less of who's affected by misdeeds
Keep,
It
Proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Distorting what you do to deceive.
You never know on you who might peep.
Yes it's best that you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
When a seeker seeks a weakness to heat.
You never know on you who might peep.
It's best
That you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Yes it is best
That you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Yes it is best that you keep it proper,
That business to express on the streets.
You never know,
On you
Who might peep.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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