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Posts Tagged ‘sorrow’

There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander! many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls
That they might answer him – And they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call,  – with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause
Of silence such as baffled his best skill:
Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs
Upon a slope above the village-school;
And through that churchyard when my way has led
On summer-evenings, I believe that there
A long half-hour together I have stood
Mute – looking at the grave in which he lies!

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O heart of mine, we shouldn’t
Worry so!
What we’ve missed of calm we couldn’t
Have you know!
What we’ve met of stormy pain
And of sorrow’s driving rain,
We can better meet again,
If it blow!

We have erred in that dark hour
We have known,
When our tears fell with the shower,
All alone! –
Were not shine and shower blent
As the gracious Master meant? –
Let us temper our content
With His own.

For, we know not every morrow
Can be sad;
So, forgetting all the sorrow
We have had,
Let us fold away our fears,
And put by our foolish tears,
And through all the coming years
Just be glad.

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Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain, –
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.

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nJJFMFg


Next, Babies And Storks

Now I know
Where the clouds come from:
Tall smokestacks.

——————–

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

 

Thimble

Thumb armor,
Protecting one hand
From other.

——————–

o5B6Lp6

 

The Watchers

All the trees
Are weeping willows
In graveyards.

——————–

Storks – photo by Michael and Christa Richert at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nJJFMFg/industrial+smokestack

Thimble – photo by Miriam Wickett at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nJZgwXs/thimble

Watchers – photo by Kevin Tuck at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/o5B6Lp6/Graveyard

——————–

* 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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

 

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Should you, my lord, while you pursue my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy happy seat:
What pangs excruciating must molest,
What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?
Steel’d was the soul and by no misery mov’d
That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d.
Such, such my case. And can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?

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‘What do you make so fair and bright?’

‘I make the cloak of sorrow:
O lovely to see in all men’s sight
Shall be the cloak of Sorrow,
In all men’s sight.’ 

‘What do you build with sails for flight?’

‘I build a boat for Sorrow:
O swift on the seas all day and night
Saileth the rover Sorrow,
All day and night.’ 

‘What do you weave with wool so white?

‘I weave the shoes of Sorrow:
Soundless shall be the footfall light
in all men’s ears of Sorrow,
Sudden and light.’

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………..Hymn Of Pan 

From the forests and highlands
We come, we come;
From the river-girt islands,
Where loud waves are dumb
……
Listening to my sweet pipings.
The wind in the reeds and the rushes,
The bees on the bells of thyme,
The birds on the myrtle bushes,
The cicale above in the lime,
And the lizards below in the grass
Were as silent as ever old Temolus was,
……
Listening to my sweet pipings. 

Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion’s shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day,
……
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And the Nymphs of the woods and the waves,
To the edge of the moist river-lawn,
And the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did then attend and follow,
Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
……
With envy of my sweet pipings. 

I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the daedal Earth,
And of Heaven – and the giant wars,
And Love, and Death, and Birth, –
……
And then I changed my pipings, –
Singing how down the vale of Maenalus
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed.
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed:
All wept, as I think both ye now would,
If envy or age had not frozen your blood,
……At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

 

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Color Paradox

A brown cow
Turns the lush green grass
To white milk.

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Hello?

One lone tree
Waiting for shoutout
‘Cross whiteout.

——————–

 

Saline Sorrow

Salt tears shed
Slide to salty sea
Sad waves wash.

——————–

Paradox – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhilVMW/A+brown+cow

Help – photo by Jay Simmons at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mMfvJUg/winter

Sorrow – photo by Sanj Gjenero at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nl9j5Ro/crying+by+the+sea

——————–

* 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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

 

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