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Evening Solace
THE human heart has hidden
treasures,
In secret kept, in silence
sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes,
the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken
if revealed.
And days may pass in
gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot
fly,
While, lost in Fame's
or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past
may die.
But, there are hours
of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence
come,
When, soft as birds their
pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings
gather home.
Then in our souls there
seems to languish
A tender grief that is
not woe;
And thoughts that once
wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild
tears to flow.
And feelings, once as
strong as passions,
Float softly backa
faded dream;
Our own sharp griefs
and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings
seem.
Oh ! when the heart is
freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that
time to be,
When, through the mist
of years receding,
Its woes but live in
reverie !
And it can dwell on moonlight
glimmer,
On evening shade and
loneliness;
And, while the sky grows
dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange
distress
Only a deeper impulse
given
By lonely hour and darkened
room,
To solemn thoughts that
soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world
to come.
~~~Charlotte Bronte
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The Meadows Of My Mind
The universe is a magic
place
An infinity of time and
space
A glimmer reflecting
an inner realm
An infinite dimension
the twig of an elm
I want to fly to other
branches
Use my mind like a bird
And sail the shores of
forever
Gallop the land of dreams
I want to touch stars
and slide down rainbows
and ride the sparks of
electricity
and stroll through kaleidoscope
forest
I am a song of forever
playing myself on the
instrument of time
as the moon listens with
enchanted ears
giving the rhythm of
the tides
to my heart beat
The choreography of my
cells
play a symphony of color
Music carried in the
wind of my blood
Resonating on fleshly
dew-drops
I am my own personal
portion of earth
Solid as a mountain
changing as a landscape
alive with magnificence
In the meadows of my
mind
Wildflowers sparkle
Butterflies bloom
in emerald grasses
with smells that touch
horizons
of furry kittens rolling
in the sun
Tomorrow is an echo
within a sea shell of
sky
and yesterday is the
melody
of the fire-fly.
~~~Lilly Fluger
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