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……The Young Girl’s Poem

Kiss mine eyelids, beauteous Morn,
Blushing into life new-born!
Lend me violets for my hair,
And thy russet robe to wear,
And thy ring of rosiest hue
Set in drops of diamond dew! 

Kiss my cheek, thou noontide ray,
From my Love so far away!
Let thy splendor streaming down
Turn its pallid lilies brown,
Till its darkening shades reveal
Where his passion pressed its seal! 

Kiss my lips, thou Lord of light,
Kiss my lips a soft good-night!
Westward sinks thy golden car;
Leave me but the evening star,
And my solace that shall be,
Borrowing all its light from thee!

 

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2dRfnhK

___


Warm whirlpool,
And it sucked under
Crayon box.

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photo by Lynne Lancaster at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dRfnhK/Rainbow+Pool

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

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

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

Behold, one faith endureth still –
Let factions rail and creeds contend –
God’s mercy was, and is, and will
Be with us, foe and friend.

2dRW0jn

When I still cared and you did not,
Our loving past a fading dot,
I thought I’d die from all the pain.
With all now lost and naught to gain,
………..My heart cried tears.

Chorus:
They fell like raindrops from the sky;

They flowed like rivers rushing by,
And in their ocean I will die.

My heart still filled my veins with blood
But wet my cheeks with teary flood
For you were so much part of me
That parting was a surgery
………..My heart cried tears.

Chorus:
They fell like raindrops from the sky;

They flowed like rivers rushing by,
And in their ocean I will die.

The years we had were swept away
Without another single day
And I was empty as a net
That’s ripped to shreds by raw regret –
………..My heart cried tears.

Chorus:
They fell like raindrops from the sky;

They flowed like rivers rushing by,
And in their ocean I will die.

You never understood my pain;
You never asked that I explain.
You simply turned your back on me
And left me to my misery –
………..My heart cried tears.

Chorus:
They fell like raindrops from the sky;

They flowed like rivers rushing by,
And in their ocean I will die.

My heart still fills and pumps my blood,
But from my eyes pours forth its flood
Our love is like the rose that’s dry,
Is crushed, released to wind to fly.
………..My heart cries tears.

Chorus:
They fell like raindrops from the sky;

They flowed like rivers rushing by,
And in their ocean I will die.

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photo by Billy Frank Alexander at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dRW0jn/Broken+Heart

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

The woman was old and ragged and gray,
And bent with the chill of the winter’s day.

The streets were white with a recent snow,
And the woman’s feet with age were slow.

At the crowded crossing she waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by,
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’

Came happy boys, like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep;

Past the woman, so old and gray,
Hastened the children on their way.

None offered a helping hand to her,
So weak and timid, afraid to stir,

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet
Should trample her down in the slippery street.

At last came out of the merry troop
The gayest laddie of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,
“I’ll help you across, if you wish to go.”

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so without hurt or harm

He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong;

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,
For all she’s aged, and poor and slow.

And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,

If ever she’s old and poor and gray,
And her own dear boy so far away.”

And ‘somebody’s mother’ bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was: “God be kind to that noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son and pride and joy!” 

 

Morning on Winter Landscape

Cold blankets
Lay over the land:
Snow, fog, clouds.

— 

In winter
Even evergreens
Become white.

— 

One appears
To me in my mind –
Zhivago.

——————–

photo by Andreas Krappweis at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVICJna/Morning+on+Winter+Landscape

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

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

——————————

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

lord-ullin-s-daughter-1905

A Chieftain to the Highlands bound,
Cries, ‘Boatman, do not tarry;
And I’ll give thee a silver pound
To row us o’er the ferry.’ 

‘Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?’
‘Oh! I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter. 

‘And fast before her father’s men
Three days we’ve fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather. 

‘His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?’ 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight:
‘I’ll go, my chief – I’m ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady. 

‘And by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry:
So, though the waves are raging white,
I’ll row you o’er the ferry.’ 

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still, as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men-
Their trampling sounded nearer. 

‘Oh! Haste thee, haste!’ the lady cries,
‘Though tempests round us gather;
I’ll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.’ 

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her-
When oh! Too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o’er her. 

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;
Lord Ullin reach’d that fatal shore-
His wrath was chang’d to wailing. 

For sore dismay’d, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover;
One lovely hand she stretch’d for aid,
And one was round her lover. 

‘Come back! Come back!’ he cried in grief,
‘Across this stormy water;
And I’ll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!- oh, my daughter!’ 

‘Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore,
Return or aid preventing;
The waters wild went o’er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

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painting by Albert Pinkham Ryder

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music and song of the poem (3:46)

 

 

 

 

hatteras

At Galveston, the Brooklyn saw a ship,
A merchantman? Sent to investigate –
The Hatteras, lest Union blockade’s grip
Be loosened like the shattered ship of state.

The Hatteras gave chase; the sun
Was setting both the sea and sky afire
Until it sank beneath the brine to shun
The same world it had beamed upon as squire.

Into the night, from safety of the day,
The phantom flitted like a butterfly,
Till Union sister ships were far away.
Then stopped, said, “I’m a bee; prepare to die!”

The ship was Alabama from the South.
The Hatteras sank quickly like the sun.
She took the bait till hook was in her mouth,
Then ‘Bama reeled her in and she was done.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

‘Tis a lesson you should heed,
If at first you don’t succeed,
Try, try again;

Then your courage should appear,
For if you will persevere,
You will conquer, never fear
Try, try again;

Once or twice, though you should fail,
If you would at last prevail,
Try, try again;

If we strive, ’tis no disgrace
Though we do not win the race;
What should you do in the case?
Try, try again

If you find your task is hard,
Time will bring you your reward,
Try, try again

All that other folks can do,
Why, with patience, should not you?
Only keep this rule in view:
Try, try again.

 

ppLzdd0

Lawmakers
Must do own taxes
With no help.

——————– 

Anything
More convoluted
Than tax forms?

——————————

photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ppLzdd0/taxation+optimism2

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

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

——————————-

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.