Quotes about surge, page 17
No rose that in a garden ever grew
No rose that in a garden ever grew,
In Homer's or in Omar's or in mine,
Though buried under centuries of fine
Dead dust of roses, shut from sun and dew
Forever, and forever lost from view,
But must again in fragrance rich as wine
The grey aisles of the air incarnadine
When the old summers surge into a new.
Thus when I swear, "I love with all my heart,"
'Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,
'Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;
And thus as well my love must lose some part
Of what it is, had Helen been less fair,
Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Sonnets 06: No Rose That In A Garden Ever Grew
No rose that in a garden ever grew,
In Homer's or in Omar's or in mine,
Though buried under centuries of fine
Dead dust of roses, shut from sun and dew
Forever, and forever lost from view,
But must again in fragrance rich as wine
The grey aisles of the air incarnadine
When the old summers surge into a new.
Thus when I swear, "I love with all my heart,"
'Tis with the heart of Lilith that I swear,
'Tis with the love of Lesbia and Lucrece;
And thus as well my love must lose some part
Of what it is, had Helen been less fair,
Or perished young, or stayed at home in Greece.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Ripples of Grief
A poem is a ripple
From a wave called grief
Never perfect with its order
But almost constant with its beat
One after another
I see them surge into the shore
Some can be seen clearly
But others vanish just before
If they only slightly touch
I hear a whisper of a rhyme
I don’t even try to write them
Because they'll build if given time
The strong ones crash against me
With a force that makes me write
Once down they then recede
And give me peace for just one night
[...] Read more
poem by Haley Akin
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The hollow world in me
in a line the light dances
in a passionate rush, crushes onto shore
chinese beauties
flailing their tulip white skirts
in their surge towards the audience
the roar and burst of bubbles
the applause of satiated spectators
another summer, another wave of humanity
burst onto sand that swishes at the feet
the waves refuse them to leave a trail
in their passionate walk
in a million ways the sea dances
patronising the stage of water and sand
from a distance the swishing sound of coconut leaves
laughter of mother and child, men
meld with the waves to remind of a world i unknowingly missed
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Logos
Out of the night forth flamed a star -mine own!
Now seventy light-years nearer as I urge
Constant my heart through the abyss unknown,
Its glory my sole guide while space surge
About me. Seventy light-yaers! As I near
That gate of light that men call death, its cold
Pale gleam begins to pulse, a throbbing sphere,
Systole and diastole of eager gold,
New life immortal, wartmth of passion bleed
Till night's black velvet burn to crimson. Hark!
It is thy voice, Thy word, the secret seed
Of rapture that admonishes the dark.
Swift! By necessity most righteous drawn,
Hermes, authentic augur of the dawn!
poem by Aleister Crowley
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Madonna
Let me, calm face, remain
For ever in these sweet sequestered nooks,
Remote from pain,
Where leafy laurustinus overlooks
The blue abounding main.
Ne'er will I crave, I vow,
Your loveliness despite, that we may stand
More nigh than now;
You, with the fresh-plucked roses in your hand,
And I with inclined brow.
With air, and sea, and sky,
And penetrative music on the beach,
All that is high,
And far, and holy, and beyond our reach,
I you identify.
Then, lady, let me stay,
Here where no storm nor surge of discontent
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Austin
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Age and Its Henchman
Age and its henchman capture victims galore;
Matter not strong or meek… neither rich or poor.
No one has a chance since age will always win,
But the henchman will decide how bad it has been.
Though age is generic its henchman depends
Some experience its curse and rage that it sends.
Others traverse life with ner a touch of its scourge;
Age can welcome its entry as waning moments surge.
This henchman is complex like two sides of a story.
One forces suffering, but the other deserves glory.
So is the tale of age and its henchman called pain.
Without its warnings many an age would be in vain.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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My Smile Is Unlawful
My site for lunch is unlawful,
For it wins its vegetables and dinner.
The laws of an age winnow and cheat
On some who follow the laws.
As the sprint of an age shall pass,
How do we really object to him?
This age bespoke as ages do not surge,
They alleviate the wrongs from evil parties.
This anger towards the goal
Shall manipulate and decontrol.
In my eyehole a hellhole reminds the
Others, who live in a loop
That cycles for your sure suddenness.
The lake of real blue swims in front of you,
Yet the smile of an insolent flagpole mutters
And matters to the globe or history of the country.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Wanderer
When Watkin shifts the burden of his cares
And all that irked him in his bound employ,
Once more become a vagrom-hearted boy,
He moves to roundelays and jocund airs;
Loitering with dusty harvestmen, he shares
Old ale and sunshine; or, with maids half-coy,
Pays court to shadows; fools himself with joy,
Shaking a leg at junketings and fairs.
Sometimes, returning down his breezy miles,
A snatch of wayward April he will bring,
Piping the daffodilly that beguiles
Foolhardy lovers in the surge of spring.
And then once more by lanes and field-path stiles
Up the green world he wanders like a king.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Dazzling Rift Valleys
original inspired canvas
not painted in splashed oils
etched in charcoal scratching
wind heat shimmers mirages
hot iron grains under bare foot
mica infused sparkling grey sands
waves of turbulent turning tide
surge in suck dazzling rift valleys
as salt chill water excavates myriads
of flowing leaping furrows
kaleidoscopic interchanges ephemeral
existence birthed deceased
across beachfront bay spanning
a single inlet among pristine variants
an entire shoreline of these isles enchanted
white surf rolls in awe inspiring
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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