Whats Your Fav Poems/Poets?
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DANTE'S PRAYER : Loreena McKennitt
When the dark wood fell before me And all the paths were overgrown When the priests of pride say there is no other way I tilled the sorrows of stone I did not believe because I could not see Though you came to me in the night When the dawn seemed forever lost You showed me your love in the light of the stars Cast your eyes on the ocean Cast your soul to the sea When the dark night seems endless Please remember me Then the mountain rose before me By the deep well of desire From the fountain of forgiveness Beyond the ice and fire Cast your eyes on the ocean Cast your soul to the sea When the dark night seems endless Please remember me Though we share this humble path, alone How fragile is the heart Oh give these clay feet wings to fly To touch the face of the stars Breathe life into this feeble heart Lift this mortal veil of fear Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears We'll rise above these earthly cares Cast your eyes on the ocean Cast your soul to the sea When the dark night seems endless Please remember me Please remember me
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THE HIGHWAYMAN: Alfred Noyes (Loreena McKennitt put this poem to song beautifully.) The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding-- Riding--riding-- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door. He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin; He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh! And he rode with a jeweled twinkle-- His rapier hilt a-twinkle-- His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred, He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter-- Bess, the landlord's daughter-- Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked-- His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, But he loved the landlord's daughter-- The landlord's black-eyed daughter; Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say: "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light. Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast, Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight (O sweet black waves in the moonlight!), And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west. He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon. And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor, The redcoat troops came marching-- Marching--marching-- King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed. Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side; There was Death at every window, And Hell at one dark window, For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride. They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest! They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say, "Look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way." She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, on the stroke of midnight, Cold on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest; Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast. She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again, For the road lay bare in the moonlight, Blank and bare in the moonlight, And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear; Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding-- Riding--riding-- The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still. Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight-- Her musket shattered the moonlight-- Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death. He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood! Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat When they shot him down in the highway, Down like a dog in the highway, And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat. And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor, The highwayman comes riding-- Riding--riding-- The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred, He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter-- Bess, the landlord's daughter-- Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
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Kittay you are also a Loreena McKennitt fan, I see... I love so many of her songs, they are so beautiful, as well as is the music for them. My family goes back to Scotland & England and I can feel such a connection to those songs...they are like the songs of those dreams which hide in the mists... I can feel the winds of the highlands, in some deep corners of my soul... I love the two you posted as well... just so beautiful...
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love2travel:
Kittay you are also a Loreena McKennitt fan, I see... I love so many of her songs, they are so beautiful, as well as is the music for them. My family goes back to Scotland & England and I can feel such a connection to those songs...they are like the songs of those dreams which hide in the mists... I can feel the winds of the highlands, in some deep corners of my soul... I love the two you posted as well... just so beautiful...
L2T, some of my ancestors go back to Ireland, Scotland & England too. The rest of me is a mixture of other things. But I find the Celtic music really is in my heart...well in my DNA, so I know how you feel.
Loreena is so talented and I just love what she does with her gifts. There are so many more to post!
LOVED your two above!
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Edgar Allan Poe is my hero, but as a single poem it's a tie between Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's, "The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls" and TS Eliot's, "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" Just to enter the conversation and all, y'know.
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Oh, I wish you posted them.... I never heard of one, but I remember you mentioning the other one last year...
Gonna check them out now!!
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Crossover... where are you?!
OK I found another one I like... it's harder than I thought... The Night Dance by Thomas Moore Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high, And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean, Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye, Obey the mute call, and heave into motion. Then, sound notes -- the gayest, the lightest, That ever took wing, when heaven look'd brightest Again! Again! Oh! could such heart-stirring music be heard In that City of Statues described by romancers, So wakening its spell, even stone would be stirr'd, And statues themselves all start into dancers! Why then delay, with such sounds in our ears, And the flower of Beauty's own garden before us -- While stars overhead leave the song of their spheres, And, listening to ours, hang wondering o'er us? Again, that strain! -- to hear it thus sounding Might set even Death's cold pulses bounding -- Again! Again! Oh, what delight when the youthful and gay Each with eye like a sunbeam and foot like a feather, Thus dance, like the Hours to the music of May, And mingle sweet song and sunshine together.