Quotes about sable, page 14
Seen Through My Eyes 1371 Sandrine Bonnant after William Shakespeare Sonnet CIV
Seen through my eyes she never shall grow old,
As sweet she blossoms, mete she'll ever be,
Now fair among the fair, - their beauty, cold,
Defers to hers in depth and quality.
Rise and fall of seasons have I seen,
It's evident, though her Time's been defeated,
Nor shall decay add grey to sable sheen,
Ever round her Muses nine are seated.
But vain watch hands spin round each soundless hour.
On one no second thoughts shall spin awry,
No change - enchanted magic - still she'll flower!
Night turns to day, light's interplays defy
All aging grey, one tender beauty may
Trap fourth dimension interference play.
(13 November 2004)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Clay
Thou shalt do what Thou wilt with thine own hand,
Thou form'st the spirit like the moulded clay;
For those who love Thee keep thy just command,
And in thine image grow as they obey;
New tints and forms with every hour they take
Whose life is fashioned by thy spirit's power;
The crimson dawn is round them when they wake,
And golden triumphs wait the evening hour;
The queenly-sceptred night their souls receives,
And spreads their pillows 'neath her sable tent;
Above them Sleep their palm with poppy weaves,
Sweet rest Thou hast to all who labor lent;
That they may rise refreshed to light again
And with Thee gather in the whitening grain.
poem by Jones Very
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Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XX
Oh, pitiful awaking! What was Adrian's pleasure,
That it had earned for him such bitterness?
What his soul's pride that its new tender measure
Should find its echo in a dirge like this?
The chaunters chaunting slow were sable priests
Robed for a requiem; the laughters clear,
Women that wept; the untasted marriage feasts,
Death's banquet spread, and she upon the bier,
Natalia's self in her white robe of death,
Mourned by the hard eyes of unfriendly men,
And with them he, her husband, with set teeth
And visage pale which ne'er should smile again
In any welcome. Adrian neither moved
Nor spoke, but gazed upon the form he loved.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Closing Day
The sunset wore a cloth of gold,
spread out across the sky.
With flaming hues, the daytime blues,
had vanished and did fly.
The view stunningly breathtaking.
A painter’s coloured dream.
Where sable brush, had caused a blush,
as that of a molten stream.
The scene became one of splendour,
rich and vibrant its glow.
One’s mind thrilled at, the Artist that,
set up this awesome show.
The depths of those rosy colours,
all moving constantly.
Made them all blaze, and all did gaze,
at the glory there to see.
[...] Read more
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Something Found in the Night
Breezy brush strokes
Ink blotch tree tops
slick oil spill foliage
surreal nightsky canvass
abandoned cricket chirp haze
luminary midnight
phosphorescent corner street light
silver-back vagabond
bitter brown bag delight
swaying strands of electric sable
high-wire communication circus
tire track tentacles of rubber eels
Commercial patriot; silver signals from above
piloting visions in the clouds
sweet sky cabin dreams
oh woe,
I lose so many things during the night:
words, stanzas, hours,
time, sleep, thoughts,
memories, worries, consciousness
[...] Read more
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Sere upon the Stem - 0849 - after William Shakespeare Sonnet LXXI
If, reader, brave, your stave taps this grave verse
unable to wave back Death's sable veil,
my phantom name don't pantomime, rehearse,
resign to Time that which beneath blade flail
harvest tithed, foregathered lies. Few wail
when petals fall, few care a tinkers curse
for memories that mattered once. Loves fail
when Winter's chill wind will to dust disperse
sad withered sepals sere upon time's stem.
Where shared chords strung wrung hands and shadowed hearse
mock best laid stratagem of mice and men.
none challenge Time beyond agenda terse.
Stark, poet sought postscriptum post mortem
to hitch starlight which might pitch night condemn.
(27 July 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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In the footsteps of the walking air
In the footsteps of the walking air
Sky's prophetic chickens weave their cloth of awe
And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying.
Night in his soft haste bumps on the shoulders of the abyss
And a single drop of dark blood covers the earth.
Now is the China of the spirit at walking
In my reaches.
A sable organ sounds in my gathered will
And love's inscrutable skeleton sings.
My seeing moves under a vegetable shroud
And dead forests stand where once Mary stood.
Sullen stone dogs wait in the groves of water ...
Though the wanderer drown, his welfare is as a fire
That burns at the bottom of the sea, warming
Unknown roads for sleep to walk upon.
poem by Kenneth Patchen
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Fleeting Moments
Blending bitter and sweet memories,
The fleeting moments pass quickly,
Fall into the measureless depth of past.
Inspire or despond when are recalled,
Flow too rapid like hissing water,
Of the silent brimming river,
That mixes opaque into clear blue,
To be poured into the gapped ocean,
With spacious belly never to be filled.
The moments in hands are precious,
And if coated with good deeds,
Make the past sweet, worth recalling,
But heinous deeds make them sooty sable,
Imprinting dark indelible stamps,
Only the bright eyes can read well,
The impressions on the countenance,
And ascetic or diabolical signs,
When one is old and close to death.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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To Night
So thou art come again, old black-winged night,
Like an huge bird, between us and the sun,
Hiding, with out-stretched form, the genial light;
And still, beneath thine icy bosom's dun
And cloudy plumage, hatching fog-breathed blight
And embryo storms, and crabbéd frosts, that shun
Day's warm caress. The owls from ivied loop
Are shrieking homage, as thou cowerest high;
Like sable crow pausing in eager stoop
On the dim world thou gluttest thy clouded eye,
Silently waiting latest time's fell whoop,
When thou shalt quit thine eyrie in the sky,
To pounce upon the world with eager claw,
And tomb time, death, and substance in thy maw.
poem by Thomas Lovell Beddoes
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Sable Wings and White Spirit.....
Escapism is the food of fools
Like me
Generosity spools within shades of infinity
Defining moments
Redefining dreams within an air of dignity
Upon sable wings my white spirit
Is lifted
Cerulean dreams reunite
In trance like state
Oils strewn upon ole plate
My liquin soul dances amongst devils and angels alike
Burnt umber
Golden slumbers lay strewn
Whilst the canvas stares as a diminishing resource
I share mind sauce
Engrossed daffodil and jade
Stand on parade
With the obligatory scarlet spot
To stare out uninvited
Cause confusion
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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