Citatepedia^®.com

Dante At Verona

Behold, even I, even I am Beatrice.
(Div. Com. Purg. xxx.)
OF Florence and of Beatrice
Servant and singer from of old,
O'er Dante's heart in youth had toll'd
The knell that gave his Lady peace;
And now in manhood flew the dart
Wherewith his City pierced his heart.
Yet if his Lady's home above
Was Heaven, on earth she filled his soul;
And if his City held control
To cast the body forth to rove,
The soul could soar from earth's vain throng,
And Heaven and Hell fulfil the song.
Follow his feet's appointed way;—
But little light we find that clears
The darkness of the exiled years.
Follow his spirit's journey:—nay,
What fires are blent, what winds are blown
On paths his feet may tread alone?

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Verona

It gets inside you like the sun,
It makes you wet just like the rain.
It makes you sound so sentimental,
Its a lovely kind of pain.
I used to dream,
I used to dream about verona.
I used to dream, to dream,
I used to dream about verona.
And if there ever was an earthquake,
Id go down in the earth with you.
And if there ever was an avalanche,
Id landslide down with you.
I used to dream,
I used to dream about verona.
I used to dream,
I used to lean over the side of the boat
And get hypnotized by the water and dream.
Its up in the trees its up to me.
Its out of the blue, out to you.
I used to dream,

[...] Read more

song performed by Heather Nova
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Secret of Light

I am sitting contented and alone in a little park near the Palazzo Scaligere in Verona, glimpsing the mists of early autumn as they shift and fade among the pines and city battlements on the hills above the river Adige.

The river has recovered from this morning's rainfall. It is now restoring to its shapely body its own secret light, a color of faintly cloudy green and pearl.

Directly in front of my bench, perhaps thirty yards away from me, there is a startling woman. Her hair is black as the inmost secret of light in a perfectly cut diamond, a perilous black, a secret light that must have been studied for many years before the anxious and disciplined craftsman could achieve the necessary balance between courage and skill to stroke the strange stone and take the one chance he would ever have to bring that secret to light.

While I was trying to compose the preceding sentence, the woman rose from her park bench and walked away. I am afraid her secret might never come to light in my lifetime. But my lifetime is not the only one. I will never see her again. I hope she brings some other man's secret face to light, as somebody brought mine. I am startled to discover that I am not afraid. I am free to give a blessing out of my silence into that woman's black hair. I trust her to go on living. I believe in her black hair, her diamond that is still asleep. I would close my eyes to daydream about her. But those silent companions who watch over me from the insides of my eyelids are too brilliant for me to meet face to face.

The very emptiness of the park bench in front of mine is what makes me happy. Somewhere else in Verona at just this moment, a woman is sitting or walking or standing still upright. Surely two careful and accurate hands, total strangers to me, measure the invisible idea of the secret vein in her hair. They are waiting patiently until they know what they alone can ever know: that time when her life will pause in mid-flight for a split second. The hands will touch her black hair very gently. A wind off the river Adige will flutter past her. She will turn around, smile a welcome, and place a flawless and fully formed Italian daybreak into the hands.

I don't have any idea what his face will look like. The light still hidden inside his body is no business of mine. I am happy enough to sit in this park alone now. I turn my own face toward the river Adige. A little wind flutters off the water and brushes past me and returns.

It is all right with me to know that my life is only one life. I feel like the light of the river Adige.

By this time, we are both an open secret.

Verona

poem by James Arlington Wright
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Veterinary Camps

vocal music camps michigan
vocal performance camps missouri
vocal quartet camp august 2007 ohio
vocational assessment at hendon camp
vocational rehab camps michigan
vogel singer soccer camp brochure
vogel singer soccer camps
vogel singing hills baptist camp
vogel singing hills baptist camp book
vogelkop bower
vogelkop bower courtship
vogelsang camp germany
vogelsang high sierra camp
vogelsinger camp
vogelsinger camp 2007
vogelsinger camps
vogelsinger soccer camp
vogelsinger soccer camp brochure
vogelsinger soccer camp hubert
vogelsinger soccer camps

[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Valentine: Come not within the measure of my wrath;
Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,
Verona shall not hold thee.

line from the play The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act V, Scene 4, script by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Map of Verona

Quelle belle heure, quels bons bras
me rendront ces régions d'où mes
sommeils et mes moindres mouvements?

A map of Verona is open, the small strange city;
With its river running round and through, it is river-embraced,
And over this city for a whole long winter season,
Through streets on a map, my thoughts have hovered and paced.

Across the river there is a wandering suburb,
An unsolved smile on a now familiar mouth;
Some enchantments of earlier towns are about you:
Once I was drawn to Naples in the south.

Naples I know now, street and hovel and garden,
The look of the islands from the avenue,
Capri and Ischia, like approaching drum-beats—
My youthful Naples, how I remember you!

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Reed
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Valentine: How use doth breed a habit in a man!

line from The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act V, Scene 4 by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Julia: They do not love that do not show their love.

line from the play The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act I, Scene 2, script by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

O, how this spring of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day!

William Shakespeare in The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Added by Dan Costinaş
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

William Shakespeare in The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Added by Dan Costinaş
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!