Solemnly, mournfully,

Dealing its dole,

The Curfew Bell

Is beginning its toll.


Cover the embers,

And put out the light;

Toil comes with the morning,

And rest with the night.


Dark grow the windows,

And quenched is the fire;

Sound fades into silence, -

All footsteps retire.


No voice in the chambers,

No sound in the hall!

Sleep and oblivion

Reign over all!



The book is completed,

And closed, like the day;

And the hand that has written it

Lays it away.


Dim grow its fancies;

Forgotten they lie;

Like coals in the ashes,

They darken and die.


Song sinks into silence,

The story is told,

The windows are darkened,

The hearth-stone is cold.

Darker and darker

The black shadows fall;

Sleep and oblivion

Reign over all.


….Sonnet 55 – Malaysia Airlines Flight 17


The men who shot down hundreds from the sky –

Man, woman, child, a babe – an innocent!,

Not enemies, but strangers flying by,

Have goodness gone and moral compass bent.


For man’s sake, they turned man into a quail,

And shot the covey, slaughtering the whole.

Now none care for the first but hope they’ll fail

With cause now dirtied, hardened, black as coal.


To them, their cause would justify their crime.

So says their circle, circled, circular.

Outside, their stock has fallen to a dime,

And they are just the common murderer.


With killer Cain of old, they have a part:

There is a rot and evil in their heart.




© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014



‘T is late at night, and in the realm of sleep

My little lambs are folded like the flocks;

From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks

Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep

Their solitary watch on tower and steep;

Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,

And through the opening door that time unlocks

Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep.

To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest,

Who cries to me: “Remember Barmecide,

And tremble to be happy with the rest.”

And I make answer: “I am satisfied;

I dare not ask; I know not what is best;

God hath already said what shall betide.”



Trams, Trucks, Buses…


Be careful!

Rhinos on skateboards

Watch them jump





Car Radio


The teen years

And making the drag,

Heard the hits.





A Thing Of Beauty


Spins and turns

Blended together

Comprise life.


Trams – photo by Adrian van Leen at



Radio – photo by Marja Flick-Buijs at


Beauty – photo by David Ritter at




* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: http://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.


…….To One In Paradise

Thou wast all that to me, love,

For which my soul did pine –

A green isle in the sea, love,

A fountain and a shrine,

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,

And all the flowers were mine.


Ah, dream too bright to last!

Ah, starry Hope! That didst arise

But to be overcast!

A voice from out the Future cries,

“On! on!” – but oe’r the Past

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies

Mute, motionless, aghast!


For, alas! alas! with me

The light of Life is o’er!

No more – no more – no more –
(Such language holds the solemn sea

To the sands upon the shore)

Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,

Or the stricken eagle soar!


And all my days are trances,

And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy dark eye glances,

And where thy footstep gleams –

In what ethereal dances,

By what eternal streams.


……………..I’ve Had My Share


I’ve had my share of trouble – death and woe

(Perhaps it never came like blizzard’s snow),

But I would wake at times to find ground white:

A blanket, even drifts, fell in the night.

When trouble came, a broom or shovel met

The need I had to keep my pathway yet.

So daily, if it fell, I had to cope

To keep on going and not lose my hope.

I take the whole: I think my life is grand;

I persevere, the wind and woe withstand,

And what once seemed to be a moment drear

Just melts away midst all the joy and cheer.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.



…………………Sonnet VI

Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer ere thou be distill’d.
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-kill’d.
That use is not forbidden usury
Which happies those that pay the willing loan:
That’s for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one.
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur’d thee.
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will’d, for thou art much too fair
To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.

Guard Dog, Resting


Eyes? Okay.

But look at the ears -

Half alert.




To The Horizon


A city -

Crowded: men, buildings -

An ocean.




Life’s Stage


Curtain closed,

The audience waits

For a birth.


Guard – photo by Klaus Wiesent at


Horizon – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at


Stage – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at



* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: http://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.


……….What Lips My Lips Have Kissed

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

Under my head till morning; but the rain

Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listen for reply,

And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more

………..The Intruder


Between the cities that I drive,

There is a rich estate –

Three houses and a handsome price,

A high rock wall, and gate.


It is a fortress wealth has made,

Like ancient cities built

To keep an army or a man

Away from life and gilt.


It had an inner guard, no doubt,

Black devils running wild

With four legs faster than man’s two,

And teeth to sharpness filed.


Alarms throughout the house were set

Like trap to catch a rat,

If one got past the snarling lips,

And still looked for a spat.


And given they were country folk,

A gun was by the bed

In case a snake slid through the door,

And wanted to be dead.


Despite the caution and the care,

There came a dreadful day

Each line was crossed; security

Was weak as straw and hay.


The shotgun never left the rack;

The drooling hounds ne’er growled.

No walls were scaled; the gate not breached;

Alarm bells never howled.


The rich estate was up for sale

Since Death crept in one day

And took the treasure held most dear –

The rich man passed away.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.



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