Quotes about chime, page 17
Love Sonnet 177 Count It My Pleasure To Behold Your Eyes
Count it my pleasure to behold your eyes,
As my future therein, I used to see,
None as marvelous did nature devise,
That was endeared by half as much, to me;
The special twinkle that there so I find,
In manner of speech so purely its own,
Speaks to my heart, as though bent to remind,
That our love, it wears since then as a crown;
No measure applies how feelings are gauged,
Nor waiting constrained in a sense of time,
Whilst I race the clock, I felt so enraged,
At eternity spent with every chime;
........My pleasure now waits for wishes given,
........As always, a Hell of wait for Heaven.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Divergence (Pleading with the Muse)
i see the bending
branch and curling smoke
twining, not so different from each other
rising, like spirits that bind
me to this earth
from burning sticks toward murmuring lips
my guitar’s steel strings chime
quiet like whispering rivers, silky
as a sated lover here
where shadows flicker and hover
near gnarling limbs diverged from root
or sky
inviting me to follow
but i dare not leave this smoldering sanctuary on a hill
of our own creating
where your memory lies
waiting in every patch
of moonlit music and stillness
[...] Read more
poem by Dylan ReyesCairo
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Mystic Song Of Love
When Thy Song flows through me
everything's as it should really be
One does not have much choice
when all one hears is Thy voice
In the silence of my inner mind
You come whispering like a chime
Thy Song of Love is a Divine melody
lifting me up to where I ought to be
Now and then I feel Thy presence in my heart
letting me know that we are never really apart
You dispel my ignorance with Thy light
making all before me seem very bright
It would be a shame if I didn't pay any heed
because it's a fact of life I am always in need.
[...] Read more
poem by George Krokos
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Sonnet IV. How Many Bards Gild The Lapses Of Time!
How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,—I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;
The songs of birds—the whispering of the leaves—
The voice of waters—the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound,—and thousand others more,
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Makes pleasing music, and not wild uproar.
poem by John Keats
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Gifts of God
Water of life flows in my heart
We hear the stars serenade
Orion’s Belt seems too breathe
Raindrops dappled with tenderness
Clouds clasp the blue sky
What is love but seeing beauty
When spiritual order is touched we smile
Spirit of life glows in morning sun
Moonlight of feathers in your kiss
These dancing circles of golden rings
Ceremonies of ancient wine
We are the angels on the wing
Gentleness exciting the blood of ghosts
Grandfather clocks chime in the parlor
Mystical winds stare in dream catchers
Cryptic eyes from lore folded in time
We are the myths dancing in elegance
Gifts of God brighter than wildfire
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Caller
Kevin keeps calling
With his camouflaged eyes
San Angelo housed
'Neath West Texas skies;
He's a stranger of the hour
His last name: Blouin-just sings
Four times the bells chime
Hangs up before the last ring;
In the shadows he has called
No words does he speak
Weary of his purpose
More than once-he's not meek;
Our patience is growing thin
Not humbled by his being a pest
Forty-four years old and up to no good?
That would be our best guess;
A word of warning
If you're delibertly pestering us
You don't have a clue whom your dealing with
Because we ARE going to make a big fuss! ! ;
[...] Read more
poem by Theodora Onken
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Oxford Revisited
I never hear the sound of thy glad bells,
Oxford, and chime harmonious, but I say,
Sighing to think how time has worn away,
Some spirit speaks in the sweet tone that swells,
Heard after years of absence, from the vale
Where Cherwell winds. Most true it speaks the tale
Of days departed, and its voice recalls
Hours of delight and hope in the gay tide
Of life, and many friends now scattered wide
By many fates. Peace be within thy walls!
I have scarce heart to visit thee; but yet,
Denied the joys sought in thy shades,--denied
Each better hope, since my poor Harriet died,
What I have owed to thee, my heart can ne'er forget!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Two O'Clock
Night after night goes by: and clocks still chime
And stars are changing pattrns in the dark
And watches tick, and over-puissant Time
Benumbs the eager brain. The dogs that bark,
The trains that roar and rattle in the night,
The very cats that prowl, all quiet find
And leave the darkness empty, silent quite:
Sleep comes to chloroform the fretting mind.
So all things end: and what is left at last?
Some scribbled sonnets tossed upon the floor,
A memory of easy days gone past,
A run-down watch, a pipe, some clothes we wore-
And in the darkened room I lean to know
How her dreamless breath doth pause and flow.
poem by Christopher Morley
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Why Not Smile?
Frowning makes you drown
In a sea of forgetfulness,
A vast, deep sea renowned
For sucking in your happiness.
Memories of gleeful times
Fade away like a bell's chime,
In the swift motion of waves
That quietly cleaves.
So why not smile?
While a frown brings sorrow,
A smile opens up a bright tomorrow.
Life does not go and come around twice.
It only occurs once, so be wise.
Smile at the morning sun
Smile at the wonderfully painted skies
Smile at the glittering stars
[...] Read more
poem by Billy Kang
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Lingard and the Stars
The table hurled itself, to our surprise,
At Lingard, and anon rapped eagerly:
“When earth is cold and there is no more sea,
There will be what was Lingard. Otherwise,
Why lure the race to ruin through the skies?
And why have Leffingwell, or Calverly?”—
“I wish the ghost would give his name,” said he;
And searching gratitude was in his eyes.
He stood then by the window for a time,
And only after the last midnight chime
Smote the day dead did he say anything:
“Come out, my little one, the stars are bright;
Come out, you lælaps, and inhale the night.”
And so he went away with Clavering.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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