Quotes about swept, page 10
1st Love
Never thought I would fall in love
I’m the kind of girl who never gets it right
who can't find her way
Who hopes eventually she'll be okay.
Dreamt of my night in shinning armour
My own Cinderella story
But I knew fairy tales never came true
Not for a girl like me
I always thought I would stand alone
The world against me
Never thought love would find me
Then came a guy who
Never swept me of my feet
I didn’t fall in love at 1st sight
didn’t see the stars
Or feel the world stop
Never knew he would be the one
Looking on the sweet moments
Cant help but smile
my prince never swept me off my feet
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poem by Asha vijeshing
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Theme and Variation
That summer there was no honey.
The queens led their swarms away,
the strawberry bed dried up in a day,
the berrypickers went home early.
All that sweetness, swept on one ray of light
off to sleep. Who slept this sleep before his time?
Honey and berries? He is a stranger to suffering,
the one with the world at his hands. In want of nothing.
In want of nothing but perhaps a bit,
enought to rest or to stand straight.
He was bent by caves-and shadows,
because no country took him in.
He wasn't even safe in the wood-
a partisan whom the world reliquished
toher dead satellite, the moon.
He is a stranger to sufferin, the one with the world
[at his hands,
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poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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Center of Golden Trinkets
The greatness of this land...
Goes uncelebrated on foreign soil,
Where oil is abundant and sold to enrich...
The lives of those upon land God has chosen,
For 'them' to nourish and enrich themselves!
'May the eyes of the wise open! '
No one can fake an ownership that does not exist.
The consciousness of the Earth will not permit it!
A divineness given has made some minds sick...
With a wicked self centeredness that is going to be punished.
'May the eyes of the wise open! '
Integrity kept was not swept away by the feeding of greed.
It stay and wanted to share resources.
Forces proceeded to addict a mindset to things.
Increasing the need to fill empty spaces with waste.
And the luxury of bad taste.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Birthday Of Daniel Webster
JANUARY 18, 1856
WHEN life hath run its largest round
Of toil and triumph, joy and woe,
How brief a storied page is found
To compass all its outward show!
The world-tried sailor tires and droops;
His flag is rent, his keel forgot;
His farthest voyages seem but loops
That float from life's entangled knot.
But when within the narrow space
Some larger soul hath lived and wrought,
Whose sight was open to embrace
The boundless realms of deed and thought,--
When, stricken by the freezing blast,
A nation's living pillars fall,
How rich the storied page, how vast,
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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Dog Soldier Lodge Affirmed
We believed in love, freedom, nobility;
to spiritual depths of our souls.
We believed in spiritual sacredness;
of our vibrant untamed land.
We rode our mustangs like wind tossed rolling thunder;
drumming within across prairie storm front;
as we rode wild free ranging prairie wind;
sweeping across an untamed unshod land.
We were so proud to live; as robust hunter-warriors;
to walk stand tall; sharing tribal life spirit.
So proud to live! So proud to die!
We fought frightened forked tongued white devil;
with every honourable fibre of our sacred being;
as they swept like vermin; despoiling stealing violating;
great beauty of a spiritual primeval land.
As Dog Soldier Warriors; of entrusted sacred lodge;
we died as we lived; with respect spiritual nobility.
I remember drums beating beating beating....
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Dreamers
THEY lingered on the middle heights
Betwixt the brown earth and the heaven;
They whispered, 'We are not the night's,
But pallid children of the even.'
They muttered, 'We are not the day's,
For the old struggle and endeavour,
The rugged and unquiet ways
Are dead and driven past for ever.'
They dreamed upon the cricket's tune,
The winds that stirred the withered grasses:
But never saw the blood-red moon
That lit the spectre mountain-passes.
They sat and marked the brooklet steal
In smoke-mist o'er its silvered surges:
But marked not, with its peal on peal,
The storm that swept the granite gorges.
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poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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The Girl Who Came from the Moon
I noticed the glow through my window-pane,
A glow, set deep in the wood,
I thought that it might be a tree on fire
And it didn't enhance my mood,
I took the jeep, an extinguisher,
And stuck to the well worn trail,
My headlights picked out a wreck of a car
Ablaze, and a girl, quite pale.
Beyond the car was a meteorite
That glowed and pulsed in the dark,
The girl stood shivering, next to a tree
Reached out, and picked at the bark,
She wore a jacket of silver thread
That was scorched, and torn at the seams,
‘So this is the place that the Master said,
A planet, cocooned in dreams! '
I thought she was probably quite deranged
And helped her into the jeep,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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A Sermon
Midsummer, 1867.
We have heard many sermons, you and I,
And many more may hear,
When sitting quiet in cathedral nave,
With folded palms and faces meek and grave;—
But few like this one, dear.
We ofttimes watch together 'fore the veil,
With reverent, gleaming eyes,
While priestly hands are busy with the folds,—
And pant to see the holy place, which holds
Life's dreadest mysteries.
We watch weak, foolish fingers straying o'er
The broidered boss, to grasp
Vaguely at some small end of thread, and twist
And shake the glorious pattern into mist,
And leave us nought to clasp.
We watch, with eyes dilated, some strong hand
Of nerve and muscle, trace
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poem by Ada Cambridge
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A Tryst
From out the desolation of the North
An iceberg took it away,
From its detaining comrades breaking forth,
And traveling night and day.
At whose command? Who bade it sail the deep
With that resistless force?
Who made the dread appointment it must keep?
Who traced its awful course?
To the warm airs that stir in the sweet South,
A good ship spread her sails;
Stately she passed beyond the harbor's mouth,
Chased by the favoring gales;
And on her ample decks a happy crowd
Bade the fair land good-by;
Clear shone the day, with not a single cloud
In all the peaceful sky.
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poem by Celia Thaxter
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Black Swans
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover
In the Western Park when the day is done.
I watch as the wild black swans fly over
With their phalanx turned to the sinking sun;
And I hear the clang of their leader crying
To a lagging mate in the rearward flying,
And they fade away in the darkness dying,
Where the stars are mustering one by one.
O ye wild black swans, 'twere a world of wonder
For a while to join in your westward flight,
With the stars above and the dim earth under,
Trough the cooling air of the glorious night.
As we swept along on our pinions winging,
We should catch the chime of a church-bell ringing,
Or the distant note of a torrent singing,
Or the far-off flash of a station light.
From the northern lakes with the reeds and rushes,
Where the hills are clothed with a purple haze,
Where the bell-birds chime and the songs of thrushes
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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