Quotes about nether, page 11
The Burden of Time
Before the seas and mountains were brought forth,
I reigned. I hung the universe in space,
I capped earth's poles with ice to South and North,
And set the moving tides their bounds and place.
I smoothed the granite mountains with my hand,
My fingers gave the continents their form;
I rent the heavens and loosed upon the land
The fury of the whirlwind and the storm.
I stretched the dark sea like a nether sky
Fronting the stars between the ice-clad zones;
I gave the deep his thunder; the Most High
Knows well the voice that shakes His mountain thrones.
I trod the ocean caverns black as night,
And silent as the bounds of outer space,
And where great peaks rose darkly towards the light
I planted life to root and grow apace.
[...] Read more
poem by Frederick George Scott
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Euroclydon
On the storm-cloven Cape
The bitter waves roll,
With the bergs of the Pole,
And the darks and the damps of the Northern Sea:
For the storm-cloven Cape
Is an alien Shape
With a fearful face! and it moans, and it stands
Outside all lands
Everlastingly!
When the fruits of the year
Have been gathered in Spain,
And the Indian rain
Is rich on the evergreen lands of the Sun,
There comes to this Cape
To this alien Shape,
As the waters beat in and the echoes troop forth,
The Wind of the North,
Euroclydon!
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Kendall
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Metamorphoses: Book The Fourteenth
NOW Glaucus, with a lover's haste, bounds o'er
The swelling waves, and seeks the Latian shore.
Messena, Rhegium, and the barren coast
Of flaming Aetna, to his sight are lost:
At length he gains the Tyrrhene seas, and views
The hills where baneful philters Circe brews;
Monsters, in various forms, around her press;
As thus the God salutes the sorceress.
The O Circe, be indulgent to my grief,
Transformation And give a love-sick deity relief.
of Scylla Too well the mighty pow'r of plants I know,
To those my figure, and new Fate I owe.
Against Messena, on th' Ausonian coast,
I Scylla view'd, and from that hour was lost.
In tend'rest sounds I su'd; but still the fair
Was deaf to vows, and pityless to pray'r.
If numbers can avail, exert their pow'r;
Or energy of plants, if plants have more.
I ask no cure; let but the virgin pine
With dying pangs, or agonies, like mine.
[...] Read more
Southampton Castle
INSCRIBED TO THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE.
The moonlight is without; and I could lose
An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here,
As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign!
Regardless of the lights that blaze within,
I look upon the wide and silent sea,
That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps:
How still,
Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies;
Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam,
The eve of pleasant yesterdays!
The clouds
Have all sunk westward, and the host of stars
Seem in their watches set, as gazing on;
While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful,
Holds her illustrious course through the mid heavens
Supreme, the spectacle, for such she looks,
Of gazing worlds!
How different is the scene
[...] Read more
poem by William Lisle Bowles
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Witch at Arbor Low
Annie Trembles had met the witch
As she sat at Arbor Low,
Her tears were thick and her heart was sick,
She had no place to go,
She'd sought the old Stone Circle out,
And thought to divine the lore
Of the old Brigantes with their Druid chants;
Then she met Susannah Straw.
Susannah Straw was a wily witch
Who lived by her wits, and spells,
She kept the faith of her pagan race
Designing and dressing wells.
She'd conjure the odd love potion,
And she'd make the kine run dry,
If a body was too outspoken
She would give them the evil eye!
Annie had been heartbroken when
She heard that the blacksmith, Tom,
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Slight Misunderstanding at the Jasper Gate
Oh, do you hear the argument, far up above the skies?
The voice of old Saint Peter, in expostulation rise?
Growing shrill, and ever shriller, at the thing that’s being done;
More in sorrow than in anger, like our old Jack Robertson.
Old Saint Peter’s had his troubles—heaps of troubles, great and small,
Since he kept the gates of Heaven—but this last one covers all!
It is not a crowing rooster—that’s a sight and sound he’s useter,
Simulated by some impish spirit that he knows full well;
It is simply Drake, of Devon, who is breaking out of Heaven,
With a crew of pirate brethren, to come down once more to Hell!
Oh, do you hear the distant sound, that seems to come and go,
As thunder does in summer time, when faraway and low?
Or the “croon” beneath the church bells, when they’re pealing from the tower—
And the church bells are the battle-call in this dark, anxious hour.
Do you feel the distant throbbing; Do you feel it go and come;
Like a war hymn on horizons, or a centuries-mellowed drum!
Hear it sobbing, hear it throbbing, like some not unhappy sobbing—
By the peaceful Devon landscape and the fair Devonian home!
By the land those spirits meet in—and it’s Drake’s Drum, spirit-beaten,
By perhaps the Rose of Torridge—and it’s calling Drake to come?
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 16)
The Pharisees and Sadducees
To Jesus came, to test and asked,
‘Do show us a heavenly sign.’
He replied, ‘If evening sky’s red,
Tomorrow will be fair, you say.
If morning sky be red, today
Will be rather a stormy day.’
You know to judge the sky’s patterns,
Yet, cannot judge the signs of times.’
For a generation evil,
And unfaithful one, no sign will
Be given, except Jonah’s sign.
Then, He left them and went away..
On the other side of the sea,
They found that they had not brought bread.
And Jesus said, ‘Look out, beware
Of the leaven of Pharisees.’
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 11)
When Jesus had given commands to each,
He went away to towns to preach and teach.
When of his works, then John from prison heard,
He sent his disciples to Him and asked,
‘Are you the one to come or Messiah
Or should we be in search for another? ’
Jesus said, ‘Tell John, what you hear and see.
The lame can walk, the blind again can see;
The deaf can hear, lepers are cleansed truly;
The dead arise alive, the poor have peace;
Proclaimed is Good News to them poor with ease.
Blessed’s the one who takes no offence at me.’
Then Jesus told the crowds about John’s deeds:
‘In desert, simply dressed, on locusts feeds
A man called John, more than a prophet stayed,
To tell about God’s kingdom, God had made.’
‘This is the one about whom it is writ:
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Goblin Under the Stair
When I was seven, or maybe eight
My father left when my mother died,
He said he'd take me when he came back,
He said he would, but my father lied!
I went to live in the Bailiwick
Of Nether Dearth, in a Castle there,
And every night as the clock did tick
I heard the Goblin, under the stair.
He'd rasp his nails on the old stone wall
And make the stairs in the passage creak,
And then he'd let out a tiny moan
While I lay trembling under the sheet!
I'd gone to live with a maiden Aunt
Who kept a dwarf as a servant there,
His name was Hob, and he'd say: ‘I can't! '
Whatever we asked; ‘It's just not fair! '
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
On A Prayer-Book, With its Frontispiece, Ary Scheffer’s
O ARY SCHEFFER! when beneath thine eye,
Touched with the light that cometh from above,
Grew the sweet picture of the dear Lord's love,
No dream hadst thou that Christian hands would tear
Therefrom the token of His equal care,
And make thy symbol of His truth a lie!
The poor, dumb slave whose shackles fall away
In His compassionate gaze, grubbed smoothly out,
To mar no more the exercise devout
Of sleek oppression kneeling down to pray
Where the great oriel stains the Sabbath day!
Let whoso can before such praying-books
Kneel on his velvet cushion; I, for one,
Would sooner bow, a Parsee, to the sun,
Or tend a prayer-wheel in Thibetar brooks,
Or beat a drum on Yedo's temple-floor.
No falser idol man has bowed before,
In Indian groves or islands of the sea,
Than that which through the quaint-carved Gothic door
Looks forth, — a Church without humanity!
[...] Read more
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!