Quotes about wove, page 7
Sonnet XXIII: To Aetna's Scorching Sands
To AEtna's scorching sands my Phaon flies!
False Youth! can other charms attractive prove?
Say, can Sicilian loves thy passions move,
Play round thy heart, and fix thy fickle eyes,
While in despair the Lesbian Sappho dies?
Has Spring for thee a crown of poppies wove,
Or dost thou languish in th' Idalian grove,
Whose altar kindles, fann'd by Lover's sighs?
Ah! think, that while on AEtna's shores you stray,
A fire, more fierce than AEtna's, fills my breast;
Nor deck Sicilian nymphs with garlands gay,
While Sappho's brows with cypress wreaths are drest;
Let one kind word my weary woes repay,
Or, in eternal slumbers bid them rest.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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One Day
Today I have been happy. All the day
I held the memory of you, and wove
Its laughter with the dancing light o' the spray,
And sowed the sky with tiny clouds of love,
And sent you following the white waves of sea,
And crowned your head with fancies, nothing worth,
Stray buds from that old dust of misery,
Being glad with a new foolish quiet mirth.
So lightly I played with those dark memories,
Just as a child, beneath the summer skies,
Plays hour by hour with a strange shining stone,
For which (he knows not) towns were fire of old,
And love has been betrayed, and murder done,
And great kings turned to a little bitter mould.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
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Sweet Was The Walk
Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane
At noon, the bank and hedge-rows all the way
Shagged with wild pale green tufts of fragrant hay,
Caught by the hawthorns from the loaded wain,
Which Age with many a slow stoop strove to gain;
And childhood, seeming still most busy, took
His little rake; with cunning side-long look,
Sauntering to pluck the strawberries wild, unseen.
Now, too, on melancholy's idle dreams
Musing, the lone spot with my soul agrees,
Quiet and dark; for through the thick wove trees
Scarce peeps the curious star till solemn gleams
The clouded moon, and calls me forth to stray
Thro' tall, green, silent woods and ruins gray.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Zion
She stood-a hill-ensceptred Queen,
The glory streaming from her ;
While Heaven flashed her rays between,
And shed eternal summer.
The gates of morning opened wide
On sunny dome and steeple;
Noon gleamed upon the mountain-side
'Thronged with a happy people ;
And twilight's drowsy, half closed eyes
Beheld that virgin splendour
Whose orbs were as her darkening skies,
And as her spirit, tender.
Girt with that strength, first-horn of right,
Held fast by deeds of honour,
I ler robe she wove with rays more bright
Than Heaven could rain upon her.
[...] Read more
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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First Miraculous One-Celled Creatures?
Who wove first intricate webs of cosmic life?
Who formed the waters seeded first earth life?
Who put together first miraculous one-celled creatures?
For two billion years only single celled organisms exist?
Then suddenly zap single celled organisms began to evolve?
To evolve into multicellular organisms seeding atmosphere?
Who what caused this unexplained unprecedented
profusion of life in incredibly complex wondrous forms?
Multicellular organisms fill the oceans spanning surface?
Why for eons two billion years only single celled organisms
then suddenly zap multicellular organisms teem in earth seas?
Multicellular organisms adventurers desire crawl from seas?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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In The Year That's Come and Gone
In the year that's come and gone, love, his flying feather
Stooping slowly, gave us heart, and bade us walk together.
In the year that's coming on, though many a troth be broken,
We at least will not forget aught that love hath spoken.
In the year that's come and gone, dear, we wove a tether
All of gracious words and thoughts, binding two together.
In the year that's coming on with its wealth of roses
We shall weave it stronger, yet, ere the circle closes.
In the year that's come and gone, in the golden weather,
Sweet, my sweet, we swore to keep the watch of life together.
In the year that's coming on, rich in joy and sorrow,
We shall light our lamp, and wait life's mysterious morrow.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Coming Home
Punchestown races a glorious extravaganza,
You had a flutter on Fuchsia Belle,
Tall white haired man, softest baby blue eyes,
Everything new and wondrous to you,
Without any fuss you showered your warmth,
Outside the rain lashed down relentlessly,
All together we were like long lost pals,
As you wove your pure spell,
Watching as horses fell, virgin territory
For the farmer with plenty of charm,
Never doing anybody any harm,
A life dedicated to your beloved farm.
Years have passed many changes taking place,
Lover of nature, plenty of patience as you work at your own pace,
Gentleness oozes from your eyes like water over a smooth stone,
You hold my hand, i feel i am coming home.
poem by Hazel Durham
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Dandelions and Fairies
If I sat within the downy heather of the beauteous bogland
That is Mnt Clanard
Southern Ireland
Beneath a birch... beside a stream
And plucked
All whimsical like...
One impeccable example of fairy winged
Dandelion
And as it wove in the soft southerly breeze
I shared my breath
Just one breath
Just enough... to loosen its stability
And watched all engrossed, like
As it moved angelically
Passing the treacherous stream
As if my most desired dream
It flew
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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A Fragment
The metal black stove
Cooled by nights decay
Forever dads first task
This cottage day reanaiscance
He rakes away yesterday
Now dust as detritus
Quickens the new hearth
Momentum for the wheel
I remembered the room
With its sloping floor
The table the chairs
In place watching listening
By lifes narrative tide
Positioned scraped moved wove
The present silly child
Growing then naming chaos
Where is my mum
Not here in memory
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poem by Michael Oliver
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The Old Man's Farewell
Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell,
A few days since thou wert unknown,
None shall thy future fortunes tell,
But sweetly have the moments flown!
And kindness, like the sun on flowers,
Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom;
New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours,
And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom.
We sought no secrets to divine,
Neither thy name nor lineage knew,
Our hearts alone have question'd thine,
And found that all was just and true.
Pass not with hasty step, I pray,
Across the threshold of my door!
But pause awhile, with kind delay,
We shall behold thy face no more!
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poem by Matilda Betham
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