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Posts Tagged ‘heart’

My Peggy’s face, my Peggy’s form,
The frost of hermit Age might warm;
My Peggy’s worth, my Peggy’s mind,
Might charm the first of human kind. 

I love my Peggy’s angel air,
Her face so truly heavenly fair,
Her native grace, so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy’s heart. 

The lily’s hue, the rose’s dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway?
Who but knows they all decay?

The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose nobly dear
The gentle look that rage disarms –
These are all immortal charms.

 

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My leg was never in a cast,
Nor has my arm been in a sling.
I think my hide is pretty tough –
I’ve never broken anything! 

Oh – but when bottles once were glass,
I held a cola by the neck
And felt it slide like pucks on ice,
And promptly stepped upon its wreck. 

Too – once there was a broken heart.
How many pieces? – I don’t know.
The shattered glass one cannot count,
Nor shards of hope that do not glow. 

Lest I forget – a promise made
That was not kept – a carelessness?
Or was I rash with tongue and lip? –
I broke the words I meant to bless. 

Stored in my painful memories,
Some broken bits of glass still sting.
My bones are whole, but I can’t say
I’ve never broken anything!

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

 

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The same old story told again –
The maiden droops her head,
The ripening glow of her crimson cheek
Is answering in her stead.
The pleading tone of a trembling voice
Is telling her the way
He loved her when his heart was young
In Youth’s sunshiny day:
The trembling tongue, the longing tone,
Imploringly ask why
They can not be as happy now
As in the days gone by.
And two more hearts, tumultuous
With overflowing joy,
Are dancing to the music
Which that dear, provoking boy
Is twanging on his bowstring,
As, fluttering his wings,
He sends his love-charged arrows
While merrily he sings:
“Ho! ho! my dainty maiden,
It surely can not be
You are thinking you are master
Of your heart, when it is me.”
And another gleaming arrow
Does the little god’s behest,
And the dainty little maiden
Falls upon her lover’s breast.
“The same old story told again,”
And listened o’er and o’er,
Will still be new, and pleasing, too,
Till “Time shall be no more.”

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……………..London

Athwart the sky a lowly sigh
From west to east the sweet wind carried.
The sun stood still on Primrose Hill;
His light in all the city tarried;
The clouds on viewless columns bloomed
Like smouldering lilies unconsumed.

‘Oh sweetheart, see! How shadowy,
Of some occult magician’s rearing,
Or swung in space of heaven’s grace
Dissolving, dimly reappearing,
Afloat upon ethereal tides
St. Paul’s above the city rides?

A rumour broke through the thin smoke
Enwreathing abbey tower, and palace,
The parks, the squares, the thoroughfares,
The million-peopled lanes and alleys,
An ever-muttering  prisoned storm,
The heart of London beating warm.

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The sounds repeated please the soul –
We love the falling rain
That softly pitters on the porch
And patters on the pane.

Alliteration fills our ears
Like trilling r’s in Spain,
Like opera singers singing scales
Of la la’s in a chain.

Perhaps it is the heart of man,
The pulsing in the vein,
That whispers sweetly, whispers for
A whispered back refrain.


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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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