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Dream, Hope, Faith, Love...

i have a dream
or a dream dreams me
i have hope
a hope that is for me
i have faith
a faith that's not in me
i have love
a love for all i see.

I had a dream
a dream that dreamed me.
I had hope
a hope that hoped for me.
I had faith
a faith in I, in me.
I is love
a love which joins I
with all that i can see.

poem by David Taylor
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The Believer's Principles : Chap. IV.

Faith and Sense Natural, compared and distinguished.

When Abram's body, Sarah's womb,
Were ripe for nothing but the tomb,
Exceeding old, and wholly dead,
Unlike to bear the promis'd seed:

Faith said, 'I shall an Isaac see;'
'No, no,' said Sense, 'it cannot be;'
Blind Reason, to augment the strife,
Adds, 'How can death engender life?'

My heart is like a rotten tomb,
More dead than ever Sarah's womb;
O! can the promis'd seed of grace
Spring forth from such a barren place?

Sense gazing but on flinty rocks,
My hope and expectation chokes:
But could I, skill'd in Abram's art,
O'erlook my dead and barren heart;

And build my hope on nothing less
That divine pow'r and faithfulness;
Soon would I find him raise up sons
To Abram, out of rocks and stones.

Faith acts as busy boatmen do,
Who backward look and forward row;
It looks intent to things unseen,
Thinks objects visible too mean.

Sense thinks it madness thus to steer,
And only trusts its eye and ear;
Into faith's boat dare thrust its oar,
And put it further from the shore.

Faith does alone the promise eye;
Sense won't believe unless it see;
Nor can it trust the divine guide,
Unless it have both wind and tide.

Faith thinks the promise sure and good;
Sense doth depend on likelihood;
Faith ev'n in storms believes the seers;
Sense calls all men, ev'n prophets, liars.

Faith uses means, but rests on none;
Sense sails when outward means are gone:

[...] Read more

poem by Ralph Erskine
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Joseph’s Dreams and Reuben's Brethren [A Recital in Six Chapters]

CHAPTER I

I cannot blame old Israel yet,
For I am not a sage—
I shall not know until I get
The son of my old age.
The mysteries of this Vale of Tears
We will perchance explain
When we have lived a thousand years
And died and come again.

No doubt old Jacob acted mean
Towards his father’s son;
But other hands were none too clean,
When all is said and done.
There were some things that had to be
In those old days, ’tis true—
But with old Jacob’s history
This tale has nought to do.

(They had to keep the birth-rate up,
And populate the land—
They did it, too, by simple means
That we can’t understand.
The Patriarchs’ way of fixing things
Would make an awful row,
And Sarah’s plain, straightforward plan
Would never answer now.)
his is a tale of simple men
And one precocious boy—
A spoilt kid, and, as usual,
His father’s hope and joy
(It mostly is the way in which
The younger sons behave
That brings the old man’s grey hairs down
In sorrow to the grave.)

Old Jacob loved the whelp, and made,
While meaning to be kind,
A coat of many colours that
Would strike a nigger blind!
It struck the brethren green, ’twas said—
I’d take a pinch of salt
Their coats had coloured patches too—
But that was not their fault.

Young Joseph had a soft thing on,
And, humbugged from his birth,
You may depend he worked the thing
For all that it was worth.

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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I Dreamed.

I dreamed a dream and in that dream,
I dreamed that I had dreamed a dream,
Of hope and fairytales come true,
I dreamed a dream and thought of truth,
I dreamed a dream of life and love,
Of fate and angels and God above,
I dreamed a dream of good wishes and friends,
I dreamed a dream I dreaded to end,
But then I woke into my dream,
I dreamed I woke in a world obscene,
I dreamed a dream of violence and hate,
And once again I dreamed of fate,
I dreamed a dream of terror and fear,
I dreamed that each word went unheard,
And so children never spoke a word,
I dreamed a dream of demons and beasts,
I dreamed a dream that ended at last,
I woke in my bed and wondered if,
I dreamed a dream of dreams or if,
I dreamed a dream of truth that night,
And if so I wondered which was truth,
And which was merely a dream.

poem by Emma Wright
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Whipped

Is there anything that can help me let go
I’m tired of crying down this road
I’m young should I feel this old
I’m tired of being split
I’m tired of feeling whipped
I’m tired of not knowing what’s right
I’m tired of looking for this light
I’m tired of living wrong
I’m tired of crying to this repeating sad song
I’m tired of wrong feeling so right
I’m tired of fighting with all my might
I’m tired of hoping friends will be by my side
I’m tired of my feelings I hide
I’m tired of no one picking up the phone
I’m tired of being home
I’m tired of the sun
I’m tired of the moon
I’m tired of thinking what to do
I’m tired of you

All I ever think of is hope
And all I ever heard is have faith
I feel fragile like an old piece of rope
And know I did nothing but disgrace
I hoped to be a good man
I hoped to have a plan
I hoped to be the one
I hoped to have some fun
I hoped life was easer than they say
I hoped home was where I lay
I hoped I always knew right
I hoped I would always fight
I hoped me was the one you see
I hoped true love would always be
I hoped I didn’t need to rest
I hoped life meant happiness

Hope and faith are strong words
They fly away easy like birds
Does one ever know where they stand?
Its harder than I thought to be a man
I remember being young and free
I remember trying to be me
I remember when I first fell in love
I remember hearing the sound of a dove
I remember being young wishing I was old
I remember trying to live out side the mold
I remember when I would dream

[...] Read more

poem by Lesten WhitePigeon
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The Day John Kennedy Died

I dreamed I was the president of these united states
I dreamed I replaced ignorance, stupidity and hate
I dreamed the perfect union and a perfect law, undenied
And most of all I dreamed I forgot the day john kennedy died
I dreamed that I could do the job that others hadnt done
I dreamed that I was uncorrupt and fair to everyone
I dreamed I wasnt gross or base, a criminal on the take
And most of all I dreamed I forgot the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
I remember where I was that day, I was upstate in a bar
The team from the university was playing football on tv
Then the screen want dead and the announcer said,
Theres been a tragedy
Theres are unconfirmed reports the presidents been shot
And he may be dead or dying.
Talking stopped, someone shouted, what!?
I ran out to the street
People were gathered everywhere saying,
Did you hear what they said on tv
And then a guy in a porsche with his radio hit his born
And told us the news
He said, the presidents dead, he was shot twice in the head
In dallas, and they dont know by whom.
I dreamed I was the president of these united states
I dreamed I was young and smart and it was not a waste
I dreamed that there was a point to life and to the human race
I dreamed that I could somehow comprehend that someone
Shot him in the face
Oh, the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died
Oh, the day john kennedy died

song performed by Lou Reed
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Bell In The Sea, The

(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth & john helmer)
I dreamed i rolled on the ocean floor
In the sunken bones of a broken ship
On the shadow line where whispers creep
To the world above from the world beneath
On waves of silver i dreamed of gold
'till i lost the peace that dreaming gives
I dreamed of the moment of my own death
That no one ever dreams and lives
I dreamed i sailed to the mirrored edge
Of that murky world for an iron bell
That dragged me down to the ocean bed
And rang to mark where my shadow fell
On waves of silver i dreamed of gold
'till i lost the peace that dreaming gives
I dreamed of the moment of my own death
That no one ever dreams and lives
That no one ever dreams and lives
That no one ever dreams and lives
I dreamed i slept on the ocean bed
And a silent grave of silver sand
Rolled in the sway of an iron bell
I've heard it said when they go to sea
On stormy nights you can hear her moan
She tolls for the mourning of her own death
And echoes here on the village stones
On the waves of silver i dreamed of gold
I dreamed of the moment of my own death
That no one ever dreams and lives
That no one ever dreams and lives
That no one ever dreams and lives

song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bell In The Sea

(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth & john helmer)
I dreamed I rolled on the ocean floor
In the sunken bones of a broken ship
On the shadow line where whispers creep
To the world above from the world beneath
On waves of silver I dreamed of gold
till I lost the peace that dreaming gives
I dreamed of the moment of my own death
That no one ever dreams and lives
I dreamed I sailed to the mirrored edge
Of that murky world for an iron bell
That dragged me down to the ocean bed
And rang to mark where my shadow fell
On waves of silver I dreamed of gold
till I lost the peace that dreaming gives
I dreamed of the moment of my own death
That no one ever dreams and lives
That no one ever dreams and lives
That no one ever dreams and lives
I dreamed I slept on the ocean bed
And a silent grave of silver sand
Rolled in the sway of an iron bell
Ive heard it said when they go to sea
On stormy nights you can hear her moan
She tolls for the mourning of her own death
And echoes here on the village stones
On the waves of silver I dreamed of gold
I dreamed of the moment of my own death
That no one ever dreams and lives
That no one ever dreams and lives
That no one ever dreams and lives

song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bishop Blougram's Apology

No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk.
A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith!
We ought to have our Abbey back, you see.
It's different, preaching in basilicas,
And doing duty in some masterpiece
Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart!
I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes,
Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere;
It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh?
These hot long ceremonies of our church
Cost us a little—oh, they pay the price,
You take me—amply pay it! Now, we'll talk.

So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs.
No deprecation—nay, I beg you, sir!
Beside 't is our engagement: don't you know,
I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out,
We'd see truth dawn together?—truth that peeps
Over the glasses' edge when dinner's done,
And body gets its sop and holds its noise
And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time:
Truth's break of day! You do despise me then.
And if I say, "despise me"—never fear!
1 know you do not in a certain sense—
Not in my arm-chair, for example: here,
I well imagine you respect my place
(Status, entourage, worldly circumstance)
Quite to its value—very much indeed:
—Are up to the protesting eyes of you
In pride at being seated here for once—
You'll turn it to such capital account!
When somebody, through years and years to come,
Hints of the bishop—names me—that's enough:
"Blougram? I knew him"—(into it you slide)
"Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day,
All alone, we two; he's a clever man:
And after dinner—why, the wine you know—
Oh, there was wine, and good!—what with the wine . . .
'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk!
He's no bad fellow, Blougram; he had seen
Something of mine he relished, some review:
He's quite above their humbug in his heart,
Half-said as much, indeed—the thing's his trade.
I warrant, Blougram's sceptical at times:
How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!"
Che che, my dear sir, as we say at Rome,
Don't you protest now! It's fair give and take;
You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths:
The hand's mine now, and here you follow suit.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dreamworks

DREAMWORKS
Eyes saw reflection Monday, when World War II was won,
emerging, letters learning, to betters bowed, begun
a journey spread like butter upon life’s bread, which seems
to be about to stutter before landlord of dreams.

Eye Tuesday schooled, life's masquerade began to understand
how letters strung together rung bells brain took in hand,
soft strength no bitter toil required to channel patterned streams,
blood flood no rudder needed to feed forever's dreams.

Eyes which advanced one Wednesday upon emotions’ tide
to woo, to win, together, as groom to beauty bride,
felt joys would last for ever, like strawberries and cream,
tapped hope's sap, never'd sever eternity from dreams.

Eyes which in turn one Thursday sired fruit so well desired,
who queried much, yet stayed untouched by vain ambitions tired,
felt feelings frank, not clever, that seek 'together's' gleams,
to sow, reap, harvest, gather the essence of shared dreams.

Eyes which Friday celebrate, see seed to stripling strong
stretch skywards, never hesitate, sift just from wrong's pronged tongs,
subjective views eliminate, zest tests through searchlight beams,
shows all may know glow grows, fair flows, to feed tomorrow’s dreams.

Eyes weary on this Saturday sense Winter drawing near,
reach through rhyme’s interplay to transmit loud and clear
before Time’s ‘weak~end’ weather may ravage, mock soul’s gleams,
this theme: ~ that one should never compromise on dreams.

Eyes which one Sunday may pass away, life legacy would leave:
ideals unbetrayed, pray none know poison, prison, grieve.
Life's cycle turns as candle burns, warms all within its beams, ~
road cats' eyes snake, make no mistake, tomorrow takes your dreams...

9 May 2005 minor modifications 21 April 2008 revised 30 April 2008,8 March 2011

for previous versions see below

DREAMWORKS

Eyes saw first light one Monday, when World War II was won,
emerging, letters learning, to betters bowed, begun
a journey spread like butter upon life’s bread, which seems
to be about to stutter before landlord of dreams.

Eyes which were schooled one Tuesday began to understand
how letters strung together rung bells brain took in hand,
soft strength no conscious effort to channel patterned streams

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Michaelangelo

(Emmylou Harris/Rodney Crowell)
Last night I dreamed about you
I dreamed that you were older
You were looking like Picasso
With a scar across your shoulder
You were kneeling by the river
You were digging up the bodies
Buried long ago
Michelangelo
Last night I dreamed about you
I dreamed you were a pilgrim
On a highway out alone to find
The mother of your children
Who were still unborn and waiting
In the wings of some desire
Abandoned long ago
Michelangelo
Were you there at Armageddon
Was Paris really burning
Could I have been the one to pull you
From the point of no returning
And did I hear you calling out my name
Or was it forgotten long ago
Michelangelo
Last night I dreamed about you
I dreamed that you were riding
On a blood red painted pony
Up where the heavens were dividing
And the angels turned to ashes
You came tumbling with them to earth
So Far below
Michelangelo
Last night I dreamed about you
I dreamed that you were dying
In a field of thorn and roses
With a hawk about you crying
For the warrior slain in battle
From an arrow driven deep inside you
Long ago
Michelangelo
Did you suffer at the end
Would there be no one to remember
Did you banish all the old ghosts
With the terms of surrender
And could you hear me calling out your name
Well I guess that I will never know
Michelangelo
Last night I dreamed about you
I dreamed that you were weeping
And your tears poured down like diamonds

[...] Read more

song performed by Emmylou Harris
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The Door Of Humility

ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
The How and Why of such as He;

But natured only to rejoice
At every sound or sign of hope,
And, guided by the still small voice,
In patience through the darkness grope;

Until our finer sense expands,
And we exchange for holier sight
The earthly help of voice and hands,
And in His light behold the Light.

I

Let there be Light! The self-same Power
That out of formless dark and void
Endued with life's mysterious dower
Planet, and star, and asteroid;

That moved upon the waters' face,
And, breathing on them His intent,
Divided, and assigned their place
To, ocean, air, and firmament;

That bade the land appear, and bring
Forth herb and leaf, both fruit and flower,
Cattle that graze, and birds that sing,
Ordained the sunshine and the shower;

That, moulding man and woman, breathed
In them an active soul at birth
In His own image, and bequeathed
To them dominion over Earth;

That, by whatever is, decreed
His Will and Word shall be obeyed,
From loftiest star to lowliest seed;-
The worm and me He also made.

And when, for nuptials of the Spring
With Summer, on the vestal thorn
The bridal veil hung flowering,
A cry was heard, and I was born.

II

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poem by Alfred Austin
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IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus

Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—

Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

[...] Read more

poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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Look To The Land

Well, I dreamed I was a gypsy riding the land
With a tambourine and a gypsy queen and a rainbow caravan
? ? ? ? ? ? ? yeah, but I wont be
Stealing diamonds from the rich men to throw in the sea
Singing look to the land cause the land is the key
Keep an eye on the lake, yeah and an eye on the sea
Yes, I dreamed I was a cabin boy on that american clipper line
? ? ? ? ? ? southcaroline
Oh bring flowers for the captain that they may not wilt
On the ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? (yeah, allright)
Yes I dreamed I was the captain of a river queen
Carressing mississippi waters down to new orleans
Just a riverboat captain thats what I want to be
Wont you come on now Ill let you ride my ? ?
Singin look towards the river for the rivers the key
Keep an eye on the river and an eye on the sea (and you know its allright)
Where the sun shines I will go mama take my hand
I wanna bring you to the lake
And the wild wind blows and the mountains grow and the people know
Yes they know you must let the river flow, let the river go
Where the river flows I will follow, where the sun shines I must go
Now mama, take my hand I wanna bring you to the lake
Where the wild wind blows and the people know
And the mountains grow, yes they grow
And the river flows, gotta let the river flow
Yes I dreamed I was a river flowing free
And I dreamed that ? ? just flow naturally
Yes I dreamed I was a crystal mountain stream
Running down the biggest mountain youve ever seen, singin
Look towards the river for ? ? ? ? ?
Keep an eye on the river and an eye on the sea
Dreamed I was your lover cause thats what I wanna be
I dreamed that every night you dreamed only of me
Well walk together by the sea hand in hand
Id tell you you were my only woman and Ill be your only man, singin
Look towards the lovers for they are the key
Keep an eye on the lovers and an eye on the war machine

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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See You In Your Dreams

The partys over, and babys in the corner
Shes all alone for the night
You pick up the phone, you want to go home
Well dry your eyes, its alright, its alright
See you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
When youre in the room, youre home too soon
You cant get me out of your mind
And you get in bed, you cover your head
My letter to you is signed
And this is what Im sayin
See you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight
See you, see you, feel you in your dreams tonight, dreams tonight

song performed by Kiss
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M'Fingal - Canto IV

Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.

On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.

"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!

"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;

[...] Read more

poem by John Trumbull
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Faith and its role

There are two kinds of faith people live with:
Faith in lordship and faith in fellowship;
The first is that someone will do for you
And the second is others won't fail you.

With faith in the shepherd, the sheep follow.
With faith in the fellow sheep, the sheep feed.
Without faith in system, you can't follow.
Without faith in others, you can't transact.

Faith in God, faith in fate and faith in luck
Would weaken the faith you have in yourself.
Faith in love, faith in trade and faith in helps
Would slacken the cognizance you possess.

Faith can't be dispensed with altogether.
Faith in the unknown has no guarantee.
Faith in the known has no certainty
But can strengthen their faithfulness to you.

Faith in parents and faith in teachers,
Faith in doctors and faith in medicine
And faith in judges and in justice
Denounced altogether, one cannot exist.

Faith in spouses and faith in children,
Faith in siblings and faith in servants
And faith in professional ethics
Abandoned altogether, one cannot thrive.

Without faith, promises bear no meanings.
Without faith, guarantees have no bearings.
Without faith, investments will have no life.
Only with faith could life be felt secure.

Faith might crack when it is misplaced.
Faith might break when it's sabotaged.
Faith might crash when it's blindfolded.
Yet, one has to vouch for faith in life.

Faith comes from ignorance of things.
Faith comes from lack of influence.
Faith comes in helpless conditions.
Faith exercises no control yet.

Have faith in you and accept the outcome.
Have faith in others and give allowance.
Have faith in future and shelve the distress.
Faith vacated, worries will occupy.
19.02.2012

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Till All the Bad Things Came Untrue

BY blacksoil plains burned grey with drought
Where desert shrubs and grasses grow,
Along the Land of Furthest Out
That only Overlanders know.
I dreamed I camped on river grass
In bends where river timber grew—
I dreamed, I dreamed the days to pass
Till all the bad things came untrue.

I dreamed that I was young again,
But was not young as I had been,
My path through life seemed fair and plain,
My sight and hearing clear and keen.
No longer bent nor lined and grey,
I met and loved and worshipped you—
I dreamed, I dreamed the days away
Till all the sad things came untrue.

I dreamed a home of freestone stood
With toned tiled roofs as roofs should be,
By cliff and fall and beach and wood
With wide verandahs to the sea.
I dreamed a hale gudeman and wife,
With sons and daughters well-to-do,
Lived there the glorious old home life
And all the mad things were untrue.

From blacksoil plains burned bare with drought
Where years are sown that never grow—
From dead grey creeks of dreams and drought,
Through black-ridged wastes of weirdest woe,
I tramped and camped with fearsome fare
Until the sea-scape came in view,
And lo! the home lay smiling there
And all the bad things were untrue.

poem by Henry Lawson
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