Quotes about wove, page 10
Love's Young Dream
Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty bright
My heart's chain wove;
When my dream of life, from morn till night,
Was love, still love.
New hope may bloom,
And days may come,
Of milder calmer beam,
But there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream:
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream.
Though the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth's past;
Though he win the wise, who frown'd before,
To smile at last;
He'll never meet
A joy so sweet,
In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman's ear
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poem by Thomas Moore
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Cerberus
Your breath once sacred on my neck
Now has the putrid stench of a stray dog
I cannot imagine a single slice of your skin on mine
For I should vomit your vile stench infused
Into me from your osmosis touch
You are the worst kind, the scum of the dishonest
You took me down and then wanted me to believe that I was lost
That my heart was too wild to tame
When it was laid out for your dog feet a crimson Persian
That my spirit was yearning to be free
Yet your betrayal was the only cage
Your dog kisses haunt the secret curves of my body
Where I let you in so gently, so lovingly – like a
Child unconditional
What do you know of unconditional when
All you have is your dog power, decaying mass over nothing
Emptiness coming for you dog man
Cerberus, you wove a many headed tale which
Entwined me; my silky fur will be wiped clean with
Stroke after stroke of my rough tongue – and I
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poem by Elmarie Swart
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Pretty Odd
i love you but sometimes i do not
you're so sweet, an angel and divine
but sometimes, you're significantly human and you're the world
you're a poem, a song, and a quote in my head.
i desire to be with you but sometimes i do not
you're so lovely, a fairy and marvelous
but sometimes you're so far-fetched
you're a shooting star, a wish, and a dream come true
i miss you but sometimes i do not
you're wonderful, a firefly and unforgettable
but more often than not, you’re jaded and you fade
you're a perfect memory, a timeless sunset and a priceless picture
i love you and make you believe that
i created our story and wove a web of intertwining fates and destinies
but sometimes, i do not [love you]
i erased the doors of the mazes that lead me to your paths
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poem by Mhawi Rosero
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Penelope
Love, like a wind, shook wide your blosmy eyes,
You trembled, and your breath came sobbing-wise
For that you loved me.
You were so kind, so sweet, none could withhold
To adore, but that you were so strange, so cold;
For that you loved me.
Like to a box of spikenard did you break
Your heart about my feet. What words you spake!
For that you loved me.
Life fell to dust without me; so you tried
All carefullest ways to drive me from your side,
For that you loved me.
You gave yourself as children give, that weep
And snatch back, with--'I meant you not to keep!'
For that you loved me.
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poem by Francis Thompson
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The Iceland That Is Named Love
If you will have to go,
To the Iceland that is named Love
Take my memory along.
It is heard
That once there live a couple of swans,
They both governed each other’s heart,
Picked dreams descending into the eyes,
Wove the fabric of faithfulness with silky dialogues,
And renovated it on each day;
But what happened as the season changed,
They both flew on diverse directions,
It is heard
Since then they were not seen together.
The Iceland that is named Love,
If you will have to go there,
Please do visit the lonely tree,
Upon whose costume of the branches,
On every side the names of lovers are carved.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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John Bunny, Motion Picture Comedian
In which he is remembered in similitude, by reference to Yorick,
the king’s jester, who died when Hamlet and Ophelia were children.
Yorick is dead. Boy Hamlet walks forlorn
Beneath the battlements of Elsinore.
Where are those oddities and capers now
That used to “set the table on a roar”?
And do his bauble-bells beyond the clouds
Ring out, and shake with mirth the planets bright?
No doubt he brings the blessed dead good cheer,
But silence broods on Elsinore tonight.
That little elf, Ophelia, eight years old,
Upon her battered doll’s staunch bosom weeps.
(”O best of men, that wove glad fairy-tales.”)
With tear-burned face, at last the darling sleeps.
Hamlet himself could not give cheer or help,
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poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Go Where Glory Waits Thee
Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,
Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
Oh! then remember me!
When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,
Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning,
Oh! thus remember me.
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poem by Thomas Moore
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Donald Ross
A Scottish - Canadian tale.
By the side of moss
Lived young Donald Ross,
Among the heathery hills
And the mountain rills,
In a snug little cot,
Content with his lot,
He never knew sorrow,
With his wife and wee Flora.
But an order went forth,
O'er the land of the north,
To burn many a home
So the wild deer might roam.
With grief he then did toss
All that night, Donald Ross,
And sad seemed the morrow
For his wife and sma' Flora.
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poem by James McIntyre
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Twilight and I Went Hand in Hand
Twilight and I went hand in hand,
As lovers walk in shining Mays,
O'er musky, memory-haunted ways,
Across a lonely harvest-land,
Where west winds chanted in the wheat
An old, old vesper wondrous sweet.
Oh, Twilight was a comrade rare
For gypsy heath or templed grove,
In her gray vesture, shadow-wove;
I saw the darkness of her hair
Faint-mirrored in a field-pool dim,
As we stood tip-toe on its rim.
We went as lightly as on wings
Through many a scented chamber fair,
Among the pines and balsams, where
I could have dreamed of darling things,
And ever as we went I knew
The peeping fairy folk went too.
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poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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The Village Garden
To E.M.S.
Here, where your garden fenced about and still is,
Here, where the unmoved summer air is sweet
With mixed delight of lavender and lilies,
Dreaming I linger in the noontide heat.
Of many summers are the trees recorders,
The turf a carpet many summers wove;
Old-fashioned blossoms cluster in the borders,
Love-in-a-mist and crimson-hearted clove.
All breathes of peace and sunshine in the present,
All tells of bygone peace and bygone sun,
Of fruitful years accomplished, budding, crescent,
Of gentle seasons passing one by one.
Fain would I bide, but ever in the distance
A ceaseless voice is sounding clear and low;--
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poem by Amy Levy
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