And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky
I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,
And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day!
(Bronte)
If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
(Bradstreet)
My Heart,
My Soul,
My very Spirit
has been consumed by you.
And I will not fight.
I will not turn from you.
I will simply breathe deeply,
and willingly drown in you
Except for love's sake only. Do not say,
'I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'--
For these things in themselves, Belov�d, may
Be changed, or change for thee--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry:
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
(Browning)
My eyes have been gifted with the sight of you.
Destiny herself, has kissed me softly, and offered your love to me.
My heart is screaming at the chance to beat in rhythm with your own.
And my soul breathes you in, knowing that in your eyes it has found completion.
But my conscious will not let me accept these gifts so easily.
And I fear that soon I will have built a wall around you.
A fortress of your hurt, and my distance.
Soon you will be struck down by my own hand.
And not even my touch will heal you.
You are more then a dream.
Your touch is too real,
to be only imagined.
Your heartbeat is in my ears.
The colour of your eyes,
too vivid.
The scent of you.
Of mountains,
of sunlight and new rain,
floats in the air around me.
Your skin under my fingertips feels alive.
Warm,
inviting.
Making my heart ache with the knowledge,
that it has been too long,
since we have been like this.
Locked in each other's gaze.
Spellbound,
With the awe of one an another.
Once before in life we were like this.
But that was so long ago,
and I have been waiting so long.
But now, you have found me again.
Somehow.
This can not be a dream.
For if I were to wake,
I would fall again,
back into the life I was living.
Without you.
A life filled with questions,
and endless searching,
for the love I can only seem to find,
in my dream of you.
It fades
Her life
Her love
Who she was
Who she would have been
All died this night
She had been torn apart
Only pieces remained
Not enough to be whole
Pieces without life
Picked up
And reborn again
Into nothing.
aching feeling, that I swore,
I would never feel, Again.
How dare you sentence me to this.
You, who have no idea what you've done.
Or maybe you do.
Is that why you blame me?
Do you say this, to ease your guilt?
Should I pity you?
You who have wounded my heart,
erected a wall, made me doubt,
that I have a beautiful spirit.
Should I pity you?
Who could not see the peace
I held out to you, with open arms.
With an open heart.
My soul waiting to breathe you in.
Yes I do pity you, For you have lost so much,
and may never truly know it.
But to me thou art cruel, If thou end not my tedious misery And I soon cease to be. Strike, and strike home, then; pity unto me, In one short hour's delay, is tyranny.
(Massinger)
Your eyes are dawning day;
I must not watch you as you go
Your sun-illumined way;
I hear but I must never heed
The fascinating note,
Which, fluting like a river reed,
Comes from your trembing throat;
I must not see upon your face
Love's softly glowing spark;
For there's the barrier of race,
You're fair and I am dark.
(McKay)
The sun in the heavens, like a king in all his glory
Adorned in dazzling raiment which reflects its colors in the mirrored skies,
Slowly and majestically bows himself away from off the earth,
Leaving the world to encroaching darkness;
To the mysteries of night.
And I?--I am afraid;
My heart trembles and sinks with fear and expectation of what awaits me;
In my brain there is confusion
And my thoughts run wildly, beating against my throbbing temples--
Shrieking their mockery and derision as I gaze after the last rays of light,
Seeking protection and solace in the dying day.
(Mishkin)
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide,
A little tepid pool,
Drying inward from the edge.
My hopes, my toil, are cast away,
And if there be no god above,
To hear and bless me when I pray?
And how I loathe the bright sun and the merry birds and the beautiful flowers.
It is all over....
Long hast thou held me, pitiless god of Pain,
Bound to thy worship by reluctant vows,
My tired breast girt with suffering, and my brows
Anointed with perpetual weariness.
Long have I borne thy service, through the stress
Of rigorous years, sad days and slumberless nights,
Performing thine inexorable rites.
For thy dark altars, balm nor milk nor rice,
But mine own soul thou'st ta'en for sacrifice:
All the rich honey of my youth's desire,
And all the sweet oils from my crushed life drawn,
And all my flower-like dreams and gem-like fire
Of hopes up-leaping like the light of dawn.
I have no more to give, all that was mine
Is laid, a wrested tribute, at thy shrine;
Let me depart, for my whole soul is wrung,
And all my cheerless orisons are sung;
Let me depart, with faint limbs let me creep
To some dim shade and sink me down to sleep.
(Naidu)
Tell not thy beads for me;
Both rite and prayer are vainly spent,
As dews upon the sea.
Speak not one word of Heaven above,
Rave not of Hell's alarms;
Give me but back my Alaron's love,
Restore me to his arms!
Now go; for at the door there waits
Another stranger guest;
He calls--I come--my pulse scarce beats,
My heart fails in my breast.
Again that voice--how far away,
How dreary sounds that tone!
And I, methinks, am gone astray
In trackless wastes and lone.
I fain would rest a little while:
Where can I find a stay,
Till dawn upon the hills shall smile,
And show some trodden way?
"I come! I come!" in haste she said,
"'Twas Alaron's voice I heard!"
Then up she sprang--but fell back, dead,
His name her latest word.
(Bronte - with changes)
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!
Chance may reveal the mystery,
The stupid ignorance which estranged him;
Love may restore him yet to me."