Quotes about chime, page 19
For a Good Cause and Care
Tides are high
Tides are deep
With a sigh
I cannot sleep,
Thinking of my long hair
I wish I could keep.
To cut it I would not dare
For I know it is a part of me.
However I know that hair
Grows back within each week
And I know I have the heart to share.
Even though for a moment I will weep,
It is for a good cause and care,
For my hair will grow back everytime I sleep
Just as much as tides are high
Tides are deep
Even if they go away in a chime,
They come back and up the beach they creep
Every day and for all of time.
So I know I can always keep
[...] Read more
poem by Music Galore
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Sonnet XXII: Heart's Haven
Sometimes she is a child within mine arms,
Cowering beneath dark wings that love must chase,—
With still tears showering and averted face,
Inexplicably filled with faint alarms:
And oft from mine own spirit's hurtling harms
I crave the refuge of her deep embrace,—
Against all ills the fortified strong place
And sweet reserve of sovereign counter-charms.
And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,
Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away
All shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.
Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune;
And as soft waters warble to the moon,
Our answering spirits chime one roundelay.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of Life: 22. Heart's Haven
Sometimes she is a child within mine arms,
Cowering beneath dark wings that love must chase,--
With still tears showering and averted face,
Inexplicably fill'd with faint alarms:
And oft from mine own spirit's hurtling harms
I crave the refuge of her deep embrace,--
Against all ills the fortified strong place
And sweet reserve of sovereign counter-charms.
And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,
Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away
All shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.
Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune;
And as soft waters warble to the moon,
Our answering spirits chime one roundelay.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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XXIX Heart's Heaven
Sometimes she is a child within mine arms,
Cowering beneath dark wings that love must chase,--
With still tears showering and averted face,
Inexplicably fill'd with faint alarms:
And oft from mine own spirit's hurtling harms
I crave the refuge of her deep embrace,--
Against all ills the fortified strong place
And sweet reserve of sovereign counter-charms.
And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,
Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away
All shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.
Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune;
And as soft waters warble to the moon,
Our answering spirits chime one roundelay.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet: Sufferings Make Us Stronger
If Life gets spent with troubles few and rare,
Susceptible, becomes the mind and weak;
When woes come back, man goes into despair,
And like a Lamb, innocent, he is meek.
When man has never felt the slightest pain,
The threshold falls to low levels with time;
A little touch appears painful again!
'Tis pain to ears that hear the bells just chime.
When troubles come, the heart and mind turn strong;
And suff'rings make one feel life's joys better;
Sometimes, it happens, we go in the wrong;
Avoiding struggles is the worst fetter.
One can't spend life in dreams often for long;
Nevertheless, laugh, smile, whistle a song.
poem by John Celes
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What's My Reason For Picking Up A Pen (Italian Sonnet)
What's My Reason For Picking Up A Pen (Italian Sonnet)
What's my reason for picking up a pen
If all has been written throughout all time
There are only so many words that rhyme
Repeating the same themes over again
Much has been written of the life of men
Many of them ring out with the same chime
For they speak of mountains and mankind's climb
And the struggles to overcome our sin
The universe is a marvelous place
Filled with galaxies and more galaxies
There's many wonders in what we call space
I wonder if man will possess their keys
Will aliens accept the human race
Or will they see us as chaff in the breeze
Edwin Tanguma (10/05/2011)
poem by Edwin Tanguma
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Shakespeare
UNSEEN in the great minister dome of time,
Whose shafts are centuries, its spangled roof
The vaulted universe, our master sits,
And organ-voices like a far-off chime
Roll thro' the aisles of thought. The sunlight flits
5
From arch to arch, and, as he sits aloof,
Kings, heroes, priests, in concourse vast, sublime,
Glances of love and cries from battle-field,
His wizard power breathes on the living air.
Warm faces gleam and pass, child, woman, man,
10
In the long multitude; but he, concealed,
Our bard eludes us, vainly each face we scan,
It is not he; his features are not there;
But, being thus hid, his greatness is revealed.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Sandrine Sonnet Cycle - Valiant
Should there be nothing new beneath the sun,
And each sensation mirror-imaged time,
Not fact, but fancy of the most sublime, -
Depending on those stimuli which run
Right through the system swiftly, scarce begun
In flash succession, then, encased in rime,
No more from store recalled. This pantomime
Expression of our dreams is like the sun:
Valiant now, and now eclipsed, undon! –
A vicious cricle, faceless clock, whose chime
Is out of tune, and whose diurnal climb
Leads round, repeats impressions one by one.
Lighthouse lantern is one smile, whose blaze
Approximates Nirvana, Threads my days!
Acrostic sonnet written 28 October 1992
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Before Actium.
Life is up and takes the morning;
Why should love still lie abed?
Lo! the charms of slumber scorning,
Tramps the troop that must be led.
Thousands come from hill and valley
Loud the town with clamour fill;
Why must then their leader dally,
Couched with Cleopatra still?
Life's awake — let Duty waken!
Love's a snare at such a time,
When Mars' harness should be taken
And the hearts of heroes chime.
Let the leader leave the lady!
Cupid is not lord of these,
Now the War-god ranks them ready
To post over land and seas.
Done with power's imperial pity,
Oh the hearts to-day must die —
Romans in an alien city
Pledged to death for Antony!
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Poets
When this young Land has reached its wrinkled prime,
And we are gone and all our songs are done,
And naught is left unchanged beneath the sun,
What other singers shall the womb of Time
Bring forth to reap the sunny slopes of rhyme?
For surely till the thread of life be spun
The world shall not lack poets, though but one
Make lonely music like a vesper chime
Above the heedless turmoil of the street.
What new strange voices shall be given to these,
What richer accents of melodious breath?
Yet shall they, baffled, lie at Nature's feet
Searching the volume of her mysteries,
And vainly question the fixed eyes of Death.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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