All Quotes By Tag: Poetry

“Out of love,No regrets–Though the goodnessBe wasted forever.Out of love,No regrets–Though the returnBe never.”

“I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; Garlands from window to window; Golden chains from star to star … And I dance.”

“You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.”

“Glossa Time goes by, time comes along,All is old and all is new;What is right and what is wrong,You must think and ask of you;Have no hope and have no fear,Waves that rise can never hold;If they urge or if they cheer,You remain aloof and cold. To our sight a lot will glisten,Many sounds will reach our ear;Who could take the time to listenAnd remember all we hear?Keep aside from all that patter,Seek yourself, far from the throng When with loud and idle clatterTime goes by, time comes along.Nor forget the tongue of reasonOr its even scales depressWhen the moment, changing season,Wears the mask of happiness -It is born of reason’s slumberAnd may last a wink as true:For the one who knows its numberAll is old and all is new.Be as to a play, spectator,As the world unfolds before:You will know the heart of matterShould they act two parts or four;When they cry or tear asunderFrom your seat enjoy alongAnd you’ll learn from art to wonderWhat is right and what is wrong.Past and future, ever blending,Are the twin sides of same page:New start will begin with endingWhen you know to learn from age;All that was or be tomorrowWe have in the present, too;But what’s vain and futile sorrowYou must think and ask of you;For the living cannot severFrom the means we’ve always had:Now, as years ago, and ever,Men are happy or are sad:Other masks, same play repeated;Diff’rent tongues, same words to hear;Of your dreams so often cheated,Have no hope and have no fear.Hope not when the villains clusterBy success and glory drawn:Fools with perfect lack of lusterWill outshine Hyperion!Fear it not, they’ll push each otherTo reach higher in the fold,Do not side with them as brother,Waves that rise can never hold.Sounds of siren songs call steadyToward golden nets, astray;Life attracts you into eddiesTo change actors in the play;Steal aside from crowd and bustle,Do not look, seem not to hearFrom your path, away from hustle,If they urge or if they cheer;If they reach for you, go faster,Hold your tongue when slanders yell;Your advice they cannot master,Don’t you know their measure well?Let them talk and let them chatter,Let all go past, young and old;Unattached to man or matter,You remain aloof and cold.You remain aloof and coldIf they urge or if they cheer;Waves that rise can never hold,Have no hope and have no fear;You must think and ask of youWhat is right and what is wrong;All is old and all is new,Time goes by, time comes along.”

“It’s the smell of him in the bathroom, all I need to get ready for the day. Watching him get dressed, and the sound in the kitchen; a slow hum of a song and his movements, picking things to eat. The way I could observe him, for hours, just go on with his day – or as he sleeps – simply breathing in and out, in and out, and it’s like the hymn that sings me to peace. I know the world is still out there and I know I’m not yet friendly to its pace, but as long as I know him with me, here, there, somewhere – us – I know I have a chance.”

“For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.”

“I couldn’t tell fact from fiction,Or if the dream was trueMy only sure predictionIn this world was you.I’d touch your features inchly. Beard love and dared the cost, The sented spiel reeled me unreal And I found my senses lost.”

“For me,you are fresh waterthat falls from treeswhen it has stopped raining. For me, you are cinnamon that lingers on the tongue and givesbitter wordssweetening.For me, you are the scent of violins and visionof valleys smiling.And still,for me, your loveliness never ends.It traverses the worldand finds its way back to me.Only me.”

“Writing poetry and reading books causes brain damage.”

“I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door; So I turn’d to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires.- The Garden of Love”

“Pater noster Our Father who art in heaven Stay there And we’ll stay here on earth Which is sometimes so pretty With its mysteries of New York And its mysteries of Paris At least as good as that of the Trinity With its little canal at Ourcq Its great wall of China Its river at Morlaix Its candy canes With its Pacific Ocean And its two basins in the Tuileries With its good children and bad people With all the wonders of the world Which are here Simply on the earth Offered to everyone Strewn about Wondering at the wonder of themselves And daring not avow it As a naked pretty girl dares not show herself With the world’s outrageous misfortunes Which are legion With legionaries With torturers With the masters of this world The masters with their priests their traitors and their troops With the seasons With the years With the pretty girls and with the old bastards With the straw of misery rotting in the steel of cannons.”

“O, it’s die we must, but it’s live we can, And the marvel of earth and sun Is all for the joy of woman and man And the longing that makes them one.”

“بين يديك أيها العالم نحن لسنا سعداء بين يديك.. أيها العالم نحن لسنا تعساء.. نحن لا شيء البتة”

“بی قرار توام ودر دل تنگم گله هاستآه بی تاب شدن عادت کم حوصله هاستمثل عکس رخ مهتاب که افتاده در آبدر دلم هستی وبین من وتو فاصله هاستآسمان با قفس تنگ چه فرقی داردبال وقتی قفس پر زدن چلچله هاستبی هر لحضه مرا بیم فرو ریختن استمثل شهری که به روی گسل زلزله هاستباز می پرسمت از مسئله دوری وعشقوسکوت تو جواب همه مسئله هاست”

“Sonnet 23As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put besides his part,Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,O’ercharg’d with burden of mine own love’s might. O, let my books be then the eloquenceAnd dumb presagers of my speaking breast;Who plead for love, and look for recompense,More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.”