Datasets:

Sourabh2

/

Poem_MultiM

like 0

what is lovely never dies but passes into other loveliness star-dust or sea-foam flower or winged air

sods on the dugout begin to be fledged with fine green feathers of yarrow i once glimpsed fairies by squinting the leaves but now i scry nothing but sorrow for i have seen milfoils grow under a hedge i've seen them stand up on a barrow but what shall i think when they burst into bloom the flowers stained mustard-gas yellow the sun and the wind are drying the mud but the mortar and shell they will harrow

one must have the mind of winter to regard the front and the boughs of the pine-trees crusted in snow and have been cold a long time to behold the junipers shagged with ice the spruces rough in the distant glitter of the january sun and not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind in the sound of a few leaves which is the sound of the land

to put meaning in one's life may end in madness but life without meaning is the torture of restlessness and vague desire it is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid

of living pained branches my garden's braided body cries at night calling on the billowing of birds's wings the moon's face wet amid leaves peers into nests full of absence green fingers tremble clasped tight on the wind's throat dawn

little darling the smiles returning to the faces little darling it seems like years since its been here here comes the sun here comes the sun and i say its all right

the leaves are falling and they're falling like they're in love with the earth

the sound of bank and water is all i hear the sad resignation of a weeping spring or a rock that hourly sheds a tear and the birch leaves' vague quivering i do not see the river bear the boat along the flowering shore flits past and i remain and in the watery depths that i skim the reflected blue sky flutters like a curtain meandering in their sleep you might say the waters waver no longer sure where the bank lies

the people along the sand all turn and look one way they turn their back on the land they look at the sea all day as long as it takes to pass a ship keeps raising its hull the wetter ground like glass reflects a standing gull the land may vary more but wherever the truth may be

a dewy freshness fills the silent air no mist obscures nor cloud nor speck nor stain breaks the serene of heaven in full-orbed glory yonder moon divine rolls through the dark blue depths beneath her steady ray the desert circle spreads like the round ocean girdled with the sky how beautiful is night

rise up this morning smiled with the rising sun three little birds pitch by my door step singing sweet songs of melodies pure and true saying this is my message to you don't worry about a thing cause every little thing is gonna be alright don't worry about a thing

the morning chill and clear hurts my skin while it delights my mind frost flowers pierce through clots of mud there are crusts of ice on duckboards which creak and strain underfoot as i breathe - steam becoming shards - and light my morning pipe strange what a comfort fire can be: the hand-cupped flare of a struck match the warm red grizzle of lighted tobacco fraying to white like a lit fuse the clay stem feels snug

i am neither the one nor the two you are either the three or a single you rather not say four if five runs beside and needs to hide leave behind six if you're planning no hell seven is so much better even only to tell eight is best if tired 'cause it opens infinity nine was and is and will be

now i hardly felt as if a shell could hurt my pocket-watch would deflect it or this notebook would snatch a sniper's bullet just before it struck my heart larks would interpose a stray chaffinch or partridge would find the feathers on its head were numbered and i would walk between strafings like a moth flies through the rain on a moonless night i hardly felt it left me untouched

at night i open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine breathe into me close the language-door and open the love-window the moon won't use the door only the window

enemy plane like pale moth beautiful among shrapnel bursts dazed by death's incandescence notes taken at a distance painterly smears of war's aesthetic: mime-show to songs of larks my mind drifts through wide skies to dawn-lit downs and cloud-inversions chalk paths illumined under

goat thinks his boat is safely moored he doesn't see duck jump on board soon sheep and frog are all at sea with their map and thermos of tea who knows what dangers are afloat when duck is captain of the boat

sitting silently knowing solitude daytime surrenders evening comes and the tide

the king beneath the mountains the king of carven stone the lord of silver fountains shall come into his own his crown shall be upholden his harp shall be restrung his halls shall echo golden to songs of yore re-sung the woods shall wave on mountains and grass beneath the sun

it is the evening of the day i sit and watch the children play smiling faces i can see but not for me i sit and watch as tears go by

to many have lived as we live for our lives to be proof of our living too many have died as we die for their deaths to be proof of our dying

i don't want to waddle like mother or quack like my silly old dad i want to be utterly other and frightfully modern and mad

i am of the ebbing water of the leaves which tremble nudged by the sound of wind which flies by in haste i am of the evening which cannot fall asleep it stubbornly stares with the hungry eyes of stars the night -through blueskied veins in every strand of a body's tissue

if it be your will that i speak no more and my voice be still as it was before i will speak no more i shall abide until i am spoken for if it be your will if it be your will that a voice be true

how do geese know when to fly to the sun who tells them the seasons how do we humans know when it is time to move on as with the migrant birds so surely with us there is a voice within if only we would listen to it that tells us certainly when to go forth into the unknown

the leaves were long the grass was green the hemlock-umbels tall and fair and in the glade a light was seen of stars in shadow shimmering tinuviel was dancing there to music of a pipe unseen and light of stars was in her hair and in her raiment glimmering there beren came from mountains cold and lost he wandered under leaves

there is a whole earth of solitude and only one small lump of your smile there is a whole sea of solitude your tenderness above it like a lost bird there is a whole heaven of solitude and only one angel in it with wings as weightless as your words

take a courageous step raise your trunk steadily balance your six senses amp attain full enthrallment

last night she came to me my dead love came in so softly she came her feet made no din and she laid her hand on me and this she did say it will not be long now 'til our wedding day

softly wordlessly shadow and light coalesce emergent being

the leaves are falling falling as if from far up as if orchards were dying high in space each leaf falls as if it were motioning no and tonight the heavy earth is falling away from all other stars in the loneliness we're all falling this hand here is falling and look at the other one it's in them all and yet there is someone whose hands infinitely calm holding up all this falling

maybe if i listen closely to the rocks next time i'll hear something if not a word perhaps the faint beginning of a syllable

the vast and solemn company of clouds around the sun's death lit incarnadined cool into ashy wan as night enshrouds the level pasture creeping up behind

silence of the dawn sailing in sun speckled sea gliding into port

halfway up the stairs isn't up and isn't down it isn't in the nursery it isn't in the town and all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head it isn't really anywhere it's somewhere else instead

i cried before but not i cannot cry anymore tears are gone somewhere just gone red leaves like my blood

what will you tell us the abandoned wives o yellow nefertiti you in the pharaohs's bed you who bent docile lorded to in embrace and when he took his leave with hollow steps you would put tiny fists to mouth and bite

let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments love is not love which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove o no it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken it is the star to every wandering bark whose worths unknown although his height be taken loves not times fool though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickles compass come

the scent of life or the smell of death from newly turned furrows when harvest is over

a power of butterfly must be the aptitude to fly meadows of majesty concedes and easy sweeps of sky

i broke off a branch from love buried the dead in the earth now look my garden has blossomed it is not possible to kill love if you bury her in the earth she grows back if you throw her in the air she leafs with wings if into the water

the flower must not blame the bee that seeketh his felicity too often at her door but teach the footman from vevay mistress is not at home to say to people any more

cold under palm and fingers the clay whirls moist on the wheel then soars to form mastered into life by the potter's pressuring love tender responsive primordial beauty softly shining reserved intact sufficient then robed in magic dust it incandesces in the long embrace

one can enjoy a wood fire worthily only when he warms his thoughts by it as well as his hands and feet

and since you know you cannot see yourself so well as by reflection i your glass will modestly discover to yourself that of yourself which you yet know not of

study nature love nature stay close to nature it will never fail you

once i thought the land i had loved and known lay curled in my inmost self musing alone in the quiet room i unfolded the folded sea unlocked the forest and the lonely tree hill and mountain valley beach and stone all these i said are here and exist in me but now i know it is i who exist in the land my inmost self is blown like a grain of sand along the windy beach and is only free to wander among the mountains enter the tree

you may wear your virtues as a crown as you walk through life serenely and grace your simple rustic gown with a beauty more than queenly though only one for you shall care one only speak your praises and you never wear in your shining hair a richer flower than daisies

look at this field my son deserted empty place where the dead silence feeds on lost whispers there was a kingdom here a city full of life songs of its praise were being sung by the mountains oh listen to them now people felt strong and powerful proud of their wealth all of them believed they were kings of the whole world

i am in that time between things between joy and fear between sleep and fervor between trembling and silence that place where reason sings a manic song lulling me with lies about tomorrow casting dreams over me

and i'll be your light i'm shining in the darkest night i'll be the song that moves you when all hope is gone gives you strength to carry on burnin so bright i'll be your light

when the red bird spread his sable wing and showed his side of flame when the rosebud ripened to the rose in both i read thy name

to see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower hold infinity in the palm of your hand an eternity in an hour

i lay there blabbering like a worn out merry-go-round just not so merry behind me the tactful silence of the therapist grew to the thunder of being

on winter afternoons that oppresses like the weight of cathedral tunes heavenly hurt it gives us we can find no scar but internal difference where the meanings are none may teach it anything 'tis the seal despair an imperial affliction

there is a moment a chip in time when leaving home is the lesser crime when your eyes are blind with tears but your heart can see another life another galaxy

it's all about forgiveness it's all about darkness what do you wanna do what would you do it's all about what you've seen it's all about what you've done what have you gotten what have you given you've seen what you want to see you've done what you want to do

one sparrow is worth a thousand gulls when it sings the gull sits on chimney-tops he mocks the guinea challenges the crow inciting various modes the sparrow requites one without intent

i remember you as you were in the last autumn you were the grey beret and the still heart in your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on and the leaves fell in the water of your soul clasping my arms like a climbing plant the leaves garnered your voice that was slow and at peace bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul i feel your eyes travelling and the autumn is far off grey beret voice of a bird heart like a house

give me my scallop shell of quiet my staff of faith to walk upon my scrip of joy immortal diet my bottle of salvation my gown of glory hopes true gage and thus ill take my pilgrimage

yes sing the song of the orange-tree with its leaves of velvet green with its luscious fruit of sunset hue the fairest that ever were seen the grape may have its bacchanal verse to praise the fig we are free but homage i pay to the queen of all the glorious orange-tree

there is a flower a little flower with silver crest and golden eye that welcomes every changing hour and weathers every sky

chilli wheel of fire that red hot cajun cuisine can you take the heat fiery capsicums those red hot chilli peppers pack a powerful punch better be prepared when you eat chilli peppers water close at hand

i peer out through the rain-dashed window upon a dark december day the gathering gloom my view does hinder all is indistinct and grey no firmament just threatening cloud above the doleful dripping trees that loom behind a misty shroud this dour scene breeds great unease receding landscape distant pale a colourless collage cold

o wild west wind thou breath of autumn's being thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing yellow and black and pale and hectic red pestilence-stricken multitudes: o thou who chariotest to their dark wintry bed each like a corpse within its grave until thine azure sister of the spring shall blow

the falling leaves drift by my window the falling leaves of red and gold i see your lips the summer kisses the sunburned hands i used to hold since you went away the days grow long and soon i'll hear old winter song but i miss you most of all my darling

what have the autumn leaves to tell to the red leafed trees as they sweep along and vibrate to the rising swell their music makes in mournful song they sing the dirge of youthful days whose tints were bright as the leaves they bear the saddened heart responsive prays for another taste of the joys that were they tell the tale of promise broke of spring-time gone of summer fled

children have neither past nor future they enjoy the present which very few of us do

people are like stained-glass windows they sparkle and shine when the sun is out but when the darkness sets in their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within

when i had no wings to fly you flew to me you flew to me in the secret space of dreams where i dreaming lay amazed when the secrets all are told and the petals all unfold when there was no dream of mine you dreamed of me

we stood by a pond that winter day and the sun was white as though chidden of god and a few leaves lay on the starving sod they had fallen from an ash and were gray your eyes on me were as eyes that rove over tedious riddles of years ago and some words played between us to and fro on which lost the more by our love the smile on your mouth was the deadest thing alive enough to have strength to die

it is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts as for that subtle something that quality of air that emanation from old trees that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit

a tree says: a kernel is hidden in me a spark a thought i am life from eternal life the attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique unique the form and veins of my skin unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark i was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail

place me in your eyes and close let me in your eyes live i fear though compelled do not blink protect from falling your captive and tears though sad do not shed lest i drown in the flood of eyelids i lament time passed blind alas it slipped by with you far the sword of your eyes the blade shines in your eyes the charm of your charm

not least t is ever my delight to drink the early morning light to take the air upon my tongue and taste it while the day is young

dreams have delicate beautiful butterfly wings dreams i call by name finding their way flying into my dream catcher's net will not be trapped like in a spider's web they'r sifting through finding their way

the day is bright yet i stand and stare deep into the mirror looking for what is lost a hint some indication that you are still there i reach out my hand and the surface ripples casting reflections of past lives

your love is like a river peaceful and deep your soul is like a secret that i could never keep when i look into your eyes i know that its true god must of spent a little more time on you

on the blue plains in wintry days the stately birds move in the dance keen eyes have they and quaint old ways on the blue plains in wintry days the winds their unseen piper plays they strut salute retreat advance on the blue plains in wintry days these stately birds move in the dance

she tells her love while half asleep in the dark hours with half-words whispered low as earth stirs in her winter sleep and put out grass and flowers despite the snow despite the falling snow

for it is life the very life of life in its brief course lie all the verities and realities of your existence the bliss of growth the glory of action the splendor of beauty for yesterday is but a dream and to-morrow is only a vision but to-day well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness

the art of losing isnt hard to master so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster lose something every day accept the fluster of lost door keys the hour badly spent the art of losing isnt hard to master then practice losing farther losing faster places and names and where it was you meant to travel none of these will bring disaster i lost my mothers watch and look my last or

sometimes a story has no end sometimes i think that we could just be friends 'cause i'm a wandering man he said to me and what about our future plans does this thing we have even make sense when i got the whole world in front of me

if the river was whiskey and i was a divin' duck i would dive down to the bottom don't think i'd ever come back up

you fill up my senses like a night in a forest like the mountains in springtime like a walk in the rain like a storm in the desert you fill up my senses come fill me again

i do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off i love you as certain dark things are to be loved in secret between the shadow and the soul i love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance risen from the earth lives darkly in my body i love you without knowing how or when or from where i love you straightforwardly without complexities or pride

light gives of itself freely filling all available space it does not seek anything in return it asks not whether you are friend or foe it gives of itself and is therefore not diminished

or waterlily taken in pool below the waterfall rapaciously we gathered flowery spoils from land and water lilies of each hue golden and white that float upon the waves and court the wind

if i can stop one heart from breaking i shall not live in vain if i can ease one life the aching or cool one pain or help one fainting robin unto his nest again i shall not live in vain

hands - ten fingers disabled abandoned absolutely useless to anyone blind

people are like stained glass windows they sparkle and shine when the sun is out but when the darkness sets in their true beauty is revealed only if their is light

the beauteous pansies rise in purple gold and blue with tints of rainbow hue mocking the sunset skies

give me what you have on you neither keys nor money make it something temporary the hastily scribbled phone number the dry-cleaned piece of paper in your coat pocket the button about to fall off the words you just held back from saying your strength too much to open a door all the things you no longer need give me the rustle of your cotton

to err is to be human to forgive is deemed divine but sometimes its not as easy as it sounds way down the hurting line for if your heart gets broken and you've been told so many lies your spirit dies a thousand deaths and all compassion flies so don't let others taint you let go of all the hate

how the mind clings to the road it knows rushing through crossroads sticking like lint to the familiar

waking up this morning i smile twenty-four brand new hours are before me i vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion

each pond with its blazing lilies is a prayer heard and answered lavishly every morning whether or not you have ever dared to be happy whether or not you have ever dared to pray

to sea to sea the calm is o'er the wanton water leaps in sport and rattles down the pebbly shore the dolphin wheels the sea-cows snort and unseen mermaids' pearly song comes bubbling up the weeds among fling broad the sail dip deep the oar to sea to sea the calm is o'er to sea to sea our wide-winged bark shall billowy cleave its sunny way

see how nature - trees flowers grass - grows in silence see the stars the moon and the sun how they move in silence we need silence to be able to touch souls

my eyes already touch the sunny hill going far ahead of the road i have begun so we are grasped by what we cannot grasp it has inner light even from a distance and charges us even if we do not reach it into something else which hardly sensing it we already are a gesture waves us on answering our own wave but what we feel is the wind in our faces