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Sorrow is always dry.

English proverbs
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Sorrow Under Mist

Mist -

Giving wispy vapour to the breath,
Cool calm to autumn afternoons,
A hovering air of mysticism
Over brooding lakes -

Was different here,
Affording company, closeness -
A caring arm around her shoulders.

In the eyes, a once-clear oceanic blue
Wavered under water -
Tears telling torrid truths
She couldn't face -
Like the glowering image in the mirror
You don't see in your mind's eye
Of compensation; delusion.

We see her sitting on the concrete steps
That led down to the dew-laden garden.
She's peering up, sensing her diffuse companion,
Refreshing in its chill; giving crispness
To the stealth of dulling evening.

But the bite of air couldn't lift the sorrow
Of pale youth in love,
Shouldered by a not-in-love and scoffing eye.

Rejection hurt;
Hurts -
Wrenches deep -
Emotion that we can't deny!

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Three Women

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.

Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.

Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.

Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.

1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.

Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Sorrow Makes One A Hero Tomorrow

Without sorrow life is zero
We must accept fate's arrow
If our efforts are thorough
Our sorrow, God will borrow

Sorrows nicely shape our mind
Sorrows stop our being blind
Via sorrows, remedies we find
Sorrows are indirectly kind

In the absence of sorrow
Our mind does not grow
We think not like a hero
Our attitude is made narrow

Sorrows must be overcome
For which efforts we welcome
At last strong we become
This is sorrows' outcome

Our will-power, sorrows increase
To our heart, sorrows supply grease
Our talents, only sorrows release
In a gist, sorrows supply peace

Every sorrow at last dies
Not because of our cries
But because our soul tries
Life and success, sorrow ties

Sorrow less person is none
Sorrow is sure, if life has begun
'Sorrow trains brains' is a slogan
Sorrow is a tamable dragon

In sorrow, all must dip
By coming under its grip
All are lashed by sorrow's whip
To every life, sorrow makes a trip

Now sorrow will somehow vanish
But you cannot fully relinquish
Further sorrows, time will furnish
From life, sorrow, none can banish

Life and sorrow are closely associated
By life, sorrow is very much fascinated
By sorrow, peace is initially confiscated
Sorrow grows when life is sophisticated.

poem by Mailrangam Visvanathan Venkataraman
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OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII (Entire)

Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou:
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight;
We mock thee when we do not fear:
But help thy foolish ones to bear;
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

Forgive what seem’d my sin in me;
What seem’d my worth since I began;
For merit lives from man to man,
And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed,
Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Venus and Adonis

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses;
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses:
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens;--O! how quick is love:--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;

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poem by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Venus and Adonis

'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

To the right honorable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
Right honorable.

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your honour's in all duty.

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:

[...] Read more

poem by William Shakespeare
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Sonnet Upon The Pitiful Burning Of The Globe Playhouse In

Now sit thee down, Melpomene,
Wrapp'd in a sea-coal robe,
And tell the doleful tragedy
That late was play'd at Globe;
For no man that can sing and say
But was scar'd on St. Peter's Day.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

All you that please to understand,
Come listen to my story,
To see Death with his raking brand
'Mongst such an auditory;
Regarding neither Cardinal's might,
Nor yet the rugged face of Henry the Eight.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

This fearful fire began above,
A wonder strange and true,
And to the stage-house did remove,
As round as tailor's clew;
And burnt down both beam and snag,
And did not spare the silken flag.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

Out run the knights, out run the lords,
And there was great ado;
Some lost their hats and some their swords,
Then out run Burbage too;
The reprobates, though drunk on Monday,
Prayed for the fool and Henry Condye.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

The periwigs and drum-heads fry,
Like to a butter firkin;
A woeful burning did betide
To many a good buff jerkin.
Then with swoll'n eyes, like drunken Flemings,
Distressed stood old stuttering Hemings.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

...
Be warned, you stage strutters all,
Lest you again be catched,
And such a burning do befall
As to them whose house was thatched;
Forbear your whoring, breeding biles,
And lay up that expense for tiles.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

Go draw you a petition,

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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Sorrow And My Nation

Nation is drowned in sorrow,
School, college, hospitals and office;
Cinema halls, all are lost in sorrow.
Wrinkles on the bed narrate the tale of sorrow,
Of newly wed.
Even the flowers of gajra are sad,
Spreading the stench of sorrow.

Sorrow here and sorrow there,
Sorrow every where,
Even the sorrow is dancing on
The dancing floor
And hugging sadness and sorrow.

Nation has decomposed due to sorrow,
By her own creations,
As the unending greed for quotas,
From the obnoxious citizens,
But all the cruel palms,
Giving, delivering only sorrow.

Sorrow! My bosom companion,
Filling the nook and corners,
In all one sick breathing,
I have seen and met only you.
In the calm nights, cool mornings;
In thunder, in rain and tempests;
Only has spread the shoots of dark,
No way seems to get rid off.

Nation is crying and crying,
Leaders erect crumbling sand houses,
Ground was covered with broken glasses,
Only, the dark and dark visible;
My nation, a failed land;
Of secular and social justice game.

Where people always beg with begging bowl,
Play cheating, looting, killing and raping;
Where nation is completely filled,
With the sigh boards of,
Sorrow and sorrow.

poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Not A Dry Eye In The House

Not a dry eye in the house
After loves curtain comes down
Listen and youll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking
I can still see you standing there
Midnight wind blowing through your hair
Kisses sweet in the salty air
When love was forever
Turn the page and we fade to blue
The scene has changed now Im without you
Walked away when the act was through
And the dream was over
It was almost like a movie - the way you said goodbye
You must have a lot of time rehearsing each and every line
Now theres not a dry eye in the house
After loves curtain comes down
Listen and youll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking
Not a smile left on my face
The endings just too sad to take
And theres not a dry eye
Not a dry eye in the house
The greatest story was you and me
Had it all we had everything, but now the
Storys done its just history
The last act is over
You every line had the sweetest sound
Your every touch turned my world around
But the light came up and my world crashed down
End of show - its over
It was almost like a movie
Those nights we touched the stars
Time stood still for you and i
Now its sad enough to make you cry
Now theres not a dry eye in the house
After loves curtain comes down
Listen and youll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking
Not a smile left on my face
The endings just too sad to take
And theres not a dry eye
Not a dry eye in the house
Act one - the storys just begun
Act two - I fell in love with you
Act three - knew it was meant to be
Act four - you dont love me no more
And theres not a dry eye in the house
After loves curtain comes down
Listen and youll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking

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song performed by Meat Loaf
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

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poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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In Sorrow

In sorrow
She mourns her beloved son
What's next to follow
No one knows

In sorrow
He mourns his beloved daughter
What's next to follow
His heart is hollow

In sorrow
She mourns her beloved husband
What's next to follow
She is now a widow

In sorrow
He mourns his beloved wife
What's next to follow
His desire for life is renounced to zero

In sorrow
They mourn the passing of a dear friend
Someone they wished to be there tomorrow
It hurts without pretext, whatever sorrow sends

And we know and I know
Sorrow returns not the life's it borrows
Sorrow is a walking deadly shadow
Sorrow is the virus we dread tomorrow
Sorrow is the devils spell of lethal horrors

Therefore my dear fellows
In sorrow no more I mourn her sorrow
In sorrow
I have closed on her all my doors and windows

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

www.sylviachidi.co.uk

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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Beowulf

LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Endymion: Book IV

Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
While yet our England was a wolfish den;
Before our forests heard the talk of men;
Before the first of Druids was a child;--
Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild
Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude.
There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:--
Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,
Apollo's garland:--yet didst thou divine
Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" Plain
Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
A higher summons:--still didst thou betake
Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
Which undone, these our latter days had risen
On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison
Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets
Our spirit's wings: despondency besets
Our pillows; and the fresh to-morrow morn
Seems to give forth its light in very scorn
Of our dull, uninspired, snail-paced lives.
Long have I said, how happy he who shrives
To thee! But then I thought on poets gone,
And could not pray:--nor can I now--so on
I move to the end in lowliness of heart.----

"Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part
From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!
Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade
Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!
To one so friendless the clear freshet yields
A bitter coolness, the ripe grape is sour:
Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hour
Of native air--let me but die at home."

Endymion to heaven's airy dome
Was offering up a hecatomb of vows,
When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bows
His head through thorny-green entanglement
Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,
Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.

"Is no one near to help me? No fair dawn
Of life from charitable voice? No sweet saying
To set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?
No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet

[...] Read more

poem by John Keats
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Today's Teardrops

Today's teardrops are tomorrow's rainbows
And tomorrow's rainbows I will share
Share with you
So dry your eyes little girl, dry your eyes
We're gunna see skies of blue
Had a tough time gettin' started
Maybe just a little downhearted
All you gotta do is count to ten
Baby you'll be smiling when
Today's teardrops are tomorrow's rainbows
And tomorrow's rainbows I will share
Share with you
So dry your eyes little girl, dry your eyes
We're gunna see skies of blue
Gonna be just love and gladness
Don't wanna hear nothin' 'bout sadness
Come a little closer, come to me
With each kiss you're gunna see
Today's teardrops are tomorrow's rainbows
And tomorrow's rainbows I will share
Share with you
So dry your eyes little girl, dry your eyes
We're gunna see skies of blue
Gonna be just love and gladness
Don't wanna hear nothin' 'bout sadness
Come a little closer, come to me
With each kiss you're gunna see
Today's teardrops are tomorrow's rainbows
And tomorrow's rainbows I will share
Share with you
So dry your eyes little girl, dry your eyes
We're gunna see skies of blue
So dry your eyes little girl, dry your eyes

song performed by Fountains Of Wayne
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Sleeping With Ghosts

The seas evaporated
Though it comes as no surprise
These clouds were seeing
Their explosions in the sky
It seems its written
But we cant read between the line
Hush
Its okay
Dry your eye
Dry your eye
Soulmate dry your eye
Dry your eye
Soulmate dry your eye
Cause soulmates never die
This one world vision
Turns us in to compromise
What goods religion
When its each other we despise
Damn the government
Damn the killing
Damn the lies
Hush
Its okay
Dry your eyes
Dry your eyes
Soulmate dry your eyes
Dry your eyes
Soulmate dry your eyes
Cause soulmates never die
Soulmates never die
Never die
Soulmates never die
Never die...
Soulmates never die
Soulmates never die
Soulmates never die
Soulmates never die

song performed by Placebo
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The Braes of Yarrow

‘BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride!
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow!
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride!
And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow!’

‘Where got ye that bonnie, bonnie bride?
Where got ye that winsome marrow?’
‘I got her where I durst not well be seen—
Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.’

‘Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride!
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow!
Nor let thy heart lament to leave
Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.’

‘Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride?
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow?
And why dare ye nae mair weel be seen
Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow?’

‘Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep,
Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow;
And lang maun I nae weel be seen
Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.

‘For she has tint her lover, lover dear—
Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow;
And I have slain the comeliest swain
That ever pu’ed birks on the braes of Yarrow.

‘Why runs thy stream O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid?
Why on thy braes is heard the voice of sorrow?
And why yon melancholious weeds
Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow.

‘What’s yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood?
What’s yonder floats? O dule and sorrow!
’Tis he, the comely swain I slew
Upon the duleful braes of Yarrow.

‘Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears,
His wounds in tears of dule and sorrow;
And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds,
And lay him on the braes of Yarrow.

‘Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad,
Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow:
And weep around, in woeful wise,
His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow.

[...] Read more

poem by William Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Teares of the Muses

Rehearse to me ye sacred Sisters nine:
The golden brood of great Apolloes wit,
Those piteous plaints and sorrowful sad tine,
Which late ye powred forth as ye did sit
Beside the siluer Springs of Helicone,
Making your musick of hart-breaking mone.
For since the time that Phoebus foolish sonne
Ythundered through Ioues auengefull wrath,
For trauersing the charret of the Sunne
Beyond the compasse of his pointed path,
Of you his mournfull Sisters was lamented,
Such mournfull tunes were neuer since inuented.

Nor since that faire Calliope did lose
Her loued Twinnes, the dearlings of her ioy,
Her Palici, whom her vnkindly foes
The fatall Sisters, did for spight destroy,
Whom all the Muses did bewaile long space;
Was euer heard such wayling in this place.

For all their groues, which with the heauenly noyses,
Of their sweete instruments were wont to sound,
And th' hollow hills, from which their siluer voyces
Were wont redoubled Echoes to rebound,
Did now rebound with nought but rufull cries,
And yelling shrieks throwne vp into the skies.

The trembling streames, which wont in chanels cleare
To romble gently downe with murmur soft,
And were by them right tunefull taught to beare
A Bases part amongst their consorts oft;
Now forst to ouerflowe with brackish teares,
With troublous noyse did dull their daintie eares.

The ioyous Nymphes and lightfoote Faeries
Which thether came to heare their musick sweet,
And to the measure of their melodies
Did learne to moue their nimble shifting feete;
Now hearing them so heauily lament,
Like heauily lamenting from them went.

And all that els was wont to worke delight
Through the diuine infusion of their skill,
And all that els seemd faire and fresh in sight,
So made by nature for to serue their will,
Was turned now to dismall heauinesse,
Was turned now to dreadfull vglinesse.

Ay me, what thing on earth that all thing breeds,
Might be the cause of so impatient plight?

[...] Read more

poem by Edmund Spenser
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Love and Tragedy

Yes, I have loved with love
that was more than love
more than love,
Drove myself mad with this love
with this love,
Hoping to catch a glimpse of my love
my love,
Just seeing was not enough for me
seeing my love
my love,
So I met her, my true love,
And so true it was.

Yes, I married this girl with joy
with joy,
The splendid sense of so much joy
so much joy,
And I felt so much,
My heart melt,
melt with all my joy,
my joy,
Going to sleep with her, my true joy,
And so true it was.

Yes, I watched this girl die with sorrow
my sorrow,
The fire that did it also ignited my sorrow
my sorrow,
And there was nothing to console this sorrow
this sorrow,
my sorrow,
Even still into tomorrow,
No cope in hope to borrow,
so I stayed in sorrow,
my sorrow,
Going to sleep without my love,
my true sorrow,
And so true it was.

Yes, I heard those gruesome tolls alone
just me alone,
I stood looking at her stone while alone
so alone,
Minding on what to do, now that I'm alone,
alone,
so alone,
Listening to the bells of malicious tones,
Those horrifying, loud drones,
Those dreadful, terrible moans,
Those agonizing, tumultuous groans,

[...] Read more

poem by Andy Greenwald
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Soul Mates

The sea's evaporating, though it comes as no surprise
These clouds we're seeing, they're explosions in the sky
It seems its written, but we can't read between the lines
Hush, its okay, dry your eyes
dry your eyes
Soulmate dry your eyes
dry your eyes
Soulmate dry your eyes, 'cause soulmates never die
This one world vision turns us into compromise
What is religion when its each other we despise)
Damn the government
Damn their killing, damn their lies
(its okay)
Dry your eyes
Soulmate dry your eyes
Dry your eyes
Soulmate dry your eyes, cause soulmates never die
Soulmates never die(x4)
never die
Soulmates never die
Soulmates never die

song performed by Placebo
Added by Lucian Velea
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