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Song

TO a woman's wistful heart
In a startled wave of feeling,
Swift and sudden,
Sweeps love's flood in,
Joy with fear in rapture reeling;
Scathe and sorrow, fret and smart,
In one flush of gladness healing;
Life beclouded,
Sorrow shrouded,
As a sunlit world revealing
To a woman's wistful heart!
To a woman's wistful heart,
Warm with hopes that almost frighten.
Love comes singing,
Gladly bringing
To her loneliness a light in.
Pain and shadowed grief depart,
Every hour life's glories heighten;
Earth's wide wonder
That has shunned her

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poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

(In memoriam
C. T. W.
Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards
obiit H.M. prison, Reading, Berkshire
July 7, 1896)

I

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked

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poem by Oscar Wilde
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Ballad of Reading Gaol - I

Version I

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye

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poem by Oscar Wilde
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Ballad of Reading Gaol II

Version II

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby gray;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye

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poem by Oscar Wilde
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Wistful Rendezvous Won't Do

To pray and wait for wonderful days,
In a wistful rendezvous won't do.
Not when I'm holding onto wonder...
With less time to spare.

Impatient,
I agree I am.
That I am.

I want more in my life,
Than daydreams to mingle.
To leave me single with needs.
I am not one to plead, beg or borrow.
Tomorrow was yesterday for me.
Today I will make my life free...
Of empty dreams!

I am here to explore all there is.
And all there is of me.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wistful

The wistful tiger wondered why
Some leaves were making noise...
He watched them slowly moving by
Yet knew they had no choice...
Something alive was very close...
And yet what could it be?
There was no scent that reached his nose...
It stayed a mystery...
Then all at once, as if by chance,
He saw some ants below...
They made those tiny leaves to dance
As onward they must go.
The wistful tiger humbly praised
The strength they all possessed
And marvelled as he stared amazed,
For teamwork made them blessed!
From them, that's how his hunting plans
Formed in his mind that day...
Wise is the mind that understands
That there's a better way!

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poem by Denis Martindale
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A Story at Dusk

An evening all aglow with summer light
And autumn colour—fairest of the year.

The wheat-fields, crowned with shocks of tawny gold,
All interspersed with rough sowthistle roots,
And interlaced with white convolvulus,
Lay, flecked with purple shadows, in the sun.
The shouts of little children, gleaning there
The scattered ears and wild blue-bottle flowers—
Mixed with the corn-crake's crying, and the song
Of lone wood birds whose mother-cares were o'er,
And with the whispering rustle of red leaves—
Scarce stirred the stillness. And the gossamer sheen
Was spread on upland meadows, silver bright
In low red sunshine and soft kissing wind—
Showing where angels in the night had trailed
Their garments on the turf. Tall arrow-heads,
With flag and rush and fringing grasses, dropped
Their seeds and blossoms in the sleepy pool.
The water-lily lay on her green leaf,

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poem by Ada Cambridge
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Piccadilly

Beautiful, tragical faces—
Ye that were whole, and are so sunken;
And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved,
That are so sodden and drunken,
Who hath forgotten you?

O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many!

The crass, the coarse, the brazen,
God knows I cannot pity them, perhaps, as I should do;
But oh, ye delicate, wistful faces,
Who hath forgotten you?

poem by Ezra Pound
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A wayfarer seeks his ancestors in a tombless graveyard

Poverty ornamental brewing soul walks in the Pepper tree lane
And a far away tall chimney carries off smoke to the wistful sky
Like his wistful thinking.
Hardly he got into an omnipotent bus that goes to an unreal destiny.

I would like this to be windswept, if I know the whereabouts of the songbird Susie.Gharib?

*[ They have pierced my hands and my feet, they have counted all my bones.]

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I Remembered The Rain

I remembered the rain...
the day we sat together
watching the rain drops dancing before us
on the window before our eyes

I remembered your face...
the expression in your eyes
the frown on your brow
looking at the rain dancing before your eyes

I remembered you...
looking at me
with that soft, pained, wistful look in your eyes
knowing in the midst of the rain, around us
that you were trying to remember me
so that you would not forget my face
on the day we were finally apart

All that we ever had was the rain...
that day

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poem by Iris Rain
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