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jannah
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« on: May 24, 2009 12:54 AM »


I Am
     John Clare

I am -- yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:--
I am the self-consumer of my woes:--
They rise and vanish in oblivion's host,
Like shadows in love's frenzied stifled throes:--
And yet I am, and live - like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,--
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
Even the dearest, that I love the best,
Are strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes, where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smiled or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God;
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below - above the vaulted sky.


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« Reply #1 on: May 25, 2009 08:04 PM »

I know this is a hopeful poem -- but I find it to be truly sad.

One Art
The art of losing isn't 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 isn't 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 mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
 
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. ---
 
Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- Elizabeth Bishop
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« Reply #2 on: May 29, 2009 07:16 AM »

Tears
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning


THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
That is light grieving ! lighter, none befell
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears ! what are tears ? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing, at her marriage-bell
The bride weeps, and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills the poet has forgot
Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only ! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place

And touch but tombs,--look up I those tears will run
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun
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« Reply #3 on: Nov 23, 2009 10:58 AM »


“She Dried Her Tears:”


She dried her tears and they did smile
To see her cheeks\' returning glow
How little dreaming all the while
That full heart throbbed to overflow

With that sweet look and lively tone
And bright eye shining all the day
They could not guess at midnight lone
How she would weep the time away.

--Emily Bronte
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« Reply #4 on: Nov 24, 2009 06:37 AM »

When the warmth of the day becomes the night
Who could sleep beneath a strange moonlight?
No guiding star
So far from home
Walked the way o' promise to find but snow
Throughout, the voice of the winds brings nothing more
Than low echoes
So far from home

Even from a child
A wish is not enough
For me, for me the sky may fall
And even from a child
A dream is not enough
Could be, could be the sky may fall
Could be, could be the night ends all

No rains could weep as I have wept
To know a simple dream will not be kept
I am a child
So far from home
One by one the sky falls
I may not awaken...

Enya "I may not awaken"

-------

Long, long journey
through the darkness,
long, long way to go;
but what are miles
across the ocean
to the heart that's coming home?

Where the road
runs through the valley,
where the river flows,
I will follow every highway
to the place I know.

Long, long journey
through the darkness,
long, long way to go;
but what are miles
across the ocean
to the heart that's coming home?

*Enya "Long Long Journey"
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« Reply #5 on: Dec 28, 2009 08:01 AM »

“A Farewell”

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet then a river;
No where by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree,
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.
--Tennyson
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