Quotes about sere, page 13
Beranger's
Still serve me in my age, I pray,
As in my youth, O faithful one;
For years I've brushed thee every day-
Could Socrates have better done?
What though the fates would wreak on thee
The fulness of their evil art?
Use thou philosophy, like me-
And we, old friend, shall never part!
I think-I
often
think of it-
The day we twain first faced the crowd;
My roistering friends impeached your fit,
But you and I were very proud!
Those jovial friends no more make free
With us (no longer new and smart),
But rather welcome you and me
As loving friends that should not part.
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poem by Eugene Field
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My Memory's Care
Sing not to me a song of beauty bright,
Nor festive scenes of dazzling light;
Nor of gorgeous pageant in palace hall
Begemmed with many a coronal;
But sing to me my memory's care -
The misspent hours fled where - oh where?
Sing not to me of the battlefield,
Nor splintered lance nor of broken shield,
Not of gory plumes once freshly fair,
Not of banners rent nor pennon bare;
But sing to me my memory's care -
The misspent hours fled where - oh where?
Sing not to me of the sea-fight won,
By daring hearts and by flashing gun,
Not how o'er the deep in exultant glee
The victor's ship speeds galliantly;
But sing to me my memory's care -
The misspent hours fled where - oh where?
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poem by Owen Suffolk
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Beata Elizabeth - 1970
Beyond time's wall what scene is set
Eden's wish whet? or Lethe wet?
As wistful look closed book perceives
Time swallows all while beauty grieves
At evanescence, doomsday met.
Entrapped all mortals are, beget
Life for a season, for fall's leaves
Inters as dust all Man conceives.
Zero sum rule of thumb, each bet
Alas seems, double-b[l]ind roulette
Ball calls black wrack while victim heaves
Extenuated sigh, bereaves
The search for traces all forget.
Here dawn's in pawn, by dusk paid debt,
Bloom sere on stem, threads interweave
Events and causes, petty peeve
And high ideal peel off, Death's net
Takes all, calls bluff, rough, smooth, soothe, fret.
Awake, asleep, deep, light, believe
Each reaches for some signed reprieve,
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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On Anne Allen
The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,
And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree--
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--
Heaping them up before her Father's door
When I saw her whom I shall see no more--
We cannot bribe thee, Death.
She went abroad the falling leaves among,
She saw the merry season fade, and sung--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
Freely she wandered in the leafless wood,
And said that all was fresh, and fair, and good--
She knew thee not, O Death.
She bound her shining hair across her brow,
She went into the garden fading now;
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
And if one sighed to think that it was sere,
She smiled to think that it would bloom next year!
She feared thee not, O Death.
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poem by Edward Fitzgerald
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Mother and sphinx
(EGYPTIAN FOLK-SONG)
Grim is the face that looks into the night
Over the stretch of sands;
A sullen rock in a sea of white--
A ghostly shadow in ghostly light,
Peering and moaning it stands.
"Oh, is it the king that rides this way--
Oh, is it the king that rides so free?
I have looked for the king this many a day,
But the years that mock me will not say
Why tarrieth he!"
'T is not your king that shall ride to-night,
But a child that is fast asleep;
And the horse he shall ride is the Dream-horse white--
Aha, he shall speed through the ghostly light
Where the ghostly shadows creep!
"My eyes are dull and my face is sere,
Yet unto the word he gave I cling,
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poem by Eugene Field
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James Lionel Michael
BE HIS rest the rest he sought:
Calm and deep.
Let no wayward word or thought
Vex his sleep.
Peace—the peace that no man knows—
Now remains
Where the wasted woodwind blows,
Wakes and wanes.
Latter leaves, in Autumn’s breath,
White and sere,
Sanctify the scholar’s death,
Lying here.
Soft surprises of the sun—
Swift, serene—
O’er the mute grave-grasses run,
Cold and green.
Wet and cold the hillwinds moan;
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poem by Henry Kendall
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Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in Gloom Hums a Red Flamingo
Eek! On the moonless sky, grey clouds are ashen and sober;
Trees are swaying helter-skelter with leaves tousled and sere
As west wind drives the minute nature in a conspirative plot,
voodooed by an autumn night, a lonesome pine in an orphic thought.
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.
Gee! In a deserted and isolated lonesome valley, I met my ally;
while Ploughing a lonely furrow, I caught him - a nervous Nelly;
His soul is a tattered cloud and his heart is a battered sea
As tender sapling in him is not watered, oh, I met him in me.
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.
hardy-har-har! My whole world went black with air looked black,
Sun looked black; I laid in bed and stared at room walls dark,
Outside I still always appear bright with a mask, Ooh-la-la
Hoodooed by single crow I remain in a pitch dark inside, blah!
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.
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poem by Harindhar Reddy
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The Turn Of The Road
WHERE confident, calm I strode,
I walk with hesitant feet;
For at yonder turn of the road
What shall I meet?
The youth of the day has gone,
And my shadow goes before;
I know that the road runs on —
I know no more.
I have travelled a goodly way,
As one at a glance may see,
Since the East and the break o' day
Called out to me.
Though the highway be hard to miss
With its signs and stones and such,
The worst of the road is this —
It turns too much.
For a part of its length it flows
(Too brief is that stretch, alas!)
'Twixt hedges of palm and rose,
O'er fern and grass.
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poem by Roderic Quinn
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Dream-Love
Young Love lies sleeping
In May-time of the year,
Among the lilies,
Lapped in the tender light:
White lambs come grazing,
White doves come building there:
And round about him
The May-bushes are white.
Soft moss the pillow
For oh, a softer cheek;
Broad leaves cast shadow
Upon the heavy eyes:
There winds and waters
Grow lulled and scarcely speak;
There twilight lingers
The longest in the skies.
Young Love lies dreaming;
But who shall tell the dream?
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poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Dream-Love
Young Love lies sleeping
In May-time of the year,
Among the lilies,
Lapped in the tender light:
White lambs come grazing,
White doves come building there:
And round about him
The May-bushes are white.
Soft moss the pillow
For oh, a softer cheek;
Broad leaves cast shadow
Upon the heavy eyes:
There wind and waters
Grow lulled and scarcely speak;
There twilight lingers
The longest in the skies.
Young Love lies dreaming;
But who shall tell the dream?
[...] Read more
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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