Dreams poems
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Arise
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Why sit ye idly dreaming all the day,
While the golden, precious hours flit away?
See you not the day is waning, waning fast?
That the morn's already vanished in the past?
Impatience
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
How can I wait until you come to me?
The once fleet mornings linger by the way;
Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee
At my unrest, they seem to pause, and play
Like truant children, while I sigh and say,
How can I wait?
Sing To Me
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Sing to me! Something of sunlight and bloom,
I am so compassed with sorrow and gloom,
I am so sick with the worlds noisse and strife, -
Sing of the beauty and brightness of life
Sing to me, sing to me!
An Empty Crib
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Beside a crib that holds a babys stocking,
A tattered picture book, a broken toy,
A sleeping mother dreams that she is rocking
Her fair-haired cherub boy.
Only Dreams
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A maiden sat in teh sunset glow
Of the shadowy, beautiful Long Ago,
That we see through a mist of tears.
She sat and dreamed, with lips apart,
If
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Dear love, if you and I could sail away,
With snowy pennons to the wind unfurled,
Across the waters of some unknown bay,
And find some island far from all the world;
Life Is A Privilege
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Life is a privilege. Its youthful days
Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays.
To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire,
To feed with dreams the hearts perpetual fire,
One Of Us Two
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The day will dawn when one of us shall hearken
In vain to hear a voice that has grown dumb.
And morns will fade, noons pale, and shadows darken,
While sad eyes watch for feet that never come.
After the Engagement
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Well, Mabel, 'tis over and ended---
The ball I wrote was to be;
And oh! it was perfectly splendid---
If you could have been here to see.
The Magnificent
© Jean de La Fontaine
WITH handsome person and a pleasing mien,
Gallant, a polished air, and soul serene;
A certain fair of noble birth he sought,
Whose conquest, doubtless, brilliant would be thought;
Which in our lover doubly raised desire;
Renown and pleasure lent his bosom fire.
The Magic Cup
© Jean de La Fontaine
YOUR wife the same; to make her, in your eye,
More beautiful 's the aim you may rely;
For, if unkind, she would a hag be thought,
Incapable soft love scenes to be taught.
These reasons make me to my thesis cling,--
To be a cuckold is a useful thing.
The Cradle
© Jean de La Fontaine
IN truth, the wife was quite surprised to find
Her spouse so much to frolicking inclined;
Said she, what ails the man, he's grown so gay?
A lad of twenty's not more fond of play.
Well! let's enjoy the moments while we can;
God's will be done, since life is but a span!
Joconde
© Jean de La Fontaine
THE king, surpris'd, expressed a wish to view
This brother, form'd by lines so very true;
We'll see, said he, if here his charms divine
Attract the heart of ev'ry nymph, like mine;
And should success attend our am'rous lord,
To you, my friend, full credit we'll accord.
The Feast of Age
© George William Russell
SEE where the light streams over Connlas fountain
Starward aspire!
The sacred sign upon the holy mountain
Shines in white fire:
Breaghy
© George William Russell
WHEN twilight flutters the mountains over,
The faery lights from the earth unfold:
And over the caves enchanted hover
The giant heroes and gods of old.
Glory and Shadow
© George William Russell
SHADOWWHO art thou, O Glory,
In flame from the deep
Where stars chant their story;
Why trouble my sleep?
The Grey Eros
© George William Russell
WE are desert leagues apart;
Time is misty ages now
Since the warmth of heart to heart
Chased the shadows from my brow.
The Fountain of Shadowy Beauty
© George William Russell
I WOULD I could weave in
The colour, the wonder,
The song I conceive in
My heart while I ponder,
A Call
© George William Russell
DUSK its ash-grey blossoms sheds on violet skies,
Over twilight mountains where the heart songs rise,
Rise and fall and fade away from earth to air.
Earth renews the music sweeter. Oh, come there.
A Midnight Meditation
© George William Russell
HOW often have I said,
We may not grieve for the immortal dead.
And now, poor blenchèd heart,
Thy ruddy hues all tremulous depart.
