Quotes about heave, page 11
Sonnet 04
What tho' no sculptur'd monument proclaim
Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear
Inshrin'd the sad remembrance; yet thy name
Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR
The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart,
Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn
Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart,
And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn,
And the dark spectre of departed JOY
Inhuman MEMORY. Often on thy grave
Love I the solitary hour to employ
Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh
Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave
Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.
poem by Robert Southey
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Hesperus
Down in the street the last late hansoms go
Still westward, but with backward eyes of red
The harlot shuffles to her lonely bed;
The tall policeman pauses but to throw
A flash into the empty portico;
Then he too passes, and his lonely tread
Links all the long-drawn gas-lights on a thread
And ties them to one planet swinging low.
O Hesperus! O happy star! to bend
O'er Helen's bosom in the trancèd west--
To watch the hours heave by upon her breast
And at her parted lip for dreams attend:
If dawn defraud thee, how shall I be deem'd.
Who house within that bosom, and am dreamed?
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
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After
Like as a flamelet blanketed in smoke,
So through the anaesthetic shows my life;
So flashes and so fades my thought, at strife
With the strong stupor that I heave and choke
And sicken at, it is so foully sweet.
Faces look strange from space-and disappear.
Far voices, sudden loud, offend my ear -
And hush as sudden. Then my senses fleet:
All were a blank, save for this dull, new pain
That grinds my leg and foot; and brokenly
Time and the place glimpse on to me again;
And, unsurprised, out of uncertainty,
I wake-relapsing-somewhat faint and fain,
To an immense, complacent dreamery.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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The Commercial Traveler
AH very sweet! If news should come to you
Some afternoon while waiting for our eve,
That the great Manager had made me leave
To travel on some territory new;
And that, whatever homeward winds there blew,
I could not touch your hand again, nor heave
The logs upon our hearth and bid you weave
Some wistful tale before the flames that grew. . .
Then, when the sudden tears had ceased to blind
Your pansied eyes, I wonder if you could
Remember rightly, and forget aright?
Remember just your lad, uncouthly good,
Forgetting what he failed in spleen or spite?
Could you remember him as always kind?
poem by Christopher Morley
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My Grief on the Sea
MY grief on the sea,
How the waves of it roll!
For they heave between me
And the love of my soul!
Abandon'd, forsaken,
To grief and to care,
Will the sea ever waken
Relief from despair?
My grief and my trouble!
Would he and I were,
In the province of Leinster,
Or County of Clare!
Were I and my darling--
O heart-bitter wound!--
On board of the ship
For America bound.
[...] Read more
poem by Douglas Hyde
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Sonnet: The Desert-Snake in a rat-hole!
The Desert-snake was cornered in a hole,
And flushed out ’live, without a single scratch;
A prisoner now with once a kingly role;
To Eagles’ eyes, he’as finally no match.
The victors sigh a heave of great relief;
The vanquished too was tired of hiding;
That people rejoice is the false belief;
The desert wasn’t meant for happy riding.
The Oppressor has been removed for good;
Some dignity, the Aggressors may get;
As people clamor for water and food,
The war seems still far from over as yet.
The Eagles have their Desert-snake in beak!
But wars can find all fighters sometime weak.
poem by John Celes
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The Grave
In the grey dawn I lie within my bed
Still as a frozen lake that pats no more
With murmurous delight the o'erhanging shore,
Yet grim thoughts heave obscurely in my head;
For curtains I have earthen walls, and lead
Is colder than the woollen garb I wore--
But oh! that heart of mine is still as sore
As when I did not know that I was dead.
I knew her (O my Life!) and she was fair,
And gave her beauty to the hills and sea,
The wonder of her voice to leaf and wave.
The brown earth lies between us; does she care
That since she cast the first dull clod on me
My lonely heart is aching in the grave?
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Love Sonnet 62 Was it my fortune, that you passed this way,
Was it my fortune, that you passed this way,
Where your very gaze stung me to alertness,
Never felt before, not over beauty,
So unlike your face in its loveliness;
Call it destiny, or blind chance perhaps,
That when lost, you did come back to be found,
While lured and lulled in sea of dreamy traps,
You escaped victorious, to solid ground;
Let Time heave up some more layers of sand,
To hide every trace of that happenstance,
But this meeting lasts and assumes its stand,
Among the monuments, our love made once;
..…For posterity, therein to remain,
…..With all the love and beauty to retain.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Crutches
Thou see'st me, Lucia, this year droop;
Three zodiacs fill'd more, I shall stoop;
Let crutches then provided be
To shore up my debility:
Then, while thou laugh'st, I'll sighing cry,
A ruin underpropt am I:
Don will I then my beadsman's gown;
And when so feeble I am grown
As my weak shoulders cannot bear
The burden of a grasshopper;
Yet with the bench of aged sires,
When I and they keep termly fires,
With my weak voice I'll sing, or say
Some odes I made of Lucia;--
Then will I heave my wither'd hand
To Jove the mighty, for to stand
Thy faithful friend, and to pour down
Upon thee many a benison.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Go, Valentine
Go, Valentine, and tell that lovely maid
Whom fancy still will portray to my sight,
How here I linger in this sullen shade,
This dreary gloom of dull monastic night;
Say, that every joy of life remote
At evening's closing hour I quit the throng,
Listening in solitude the ring-dome's note,
Who pours like me her solitary song;
Say, that of her absence calls the sorrowing sigh;
Say, that of all her charms I love to speak,
In fancy feel the magic of her eye,
In fancy view the smile illume her cheek,
Court the lone hour when silence stills the grove,
And heave the sigh of memory and of love.
poem by Robert Southey
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