Quotes about purples, page 2
Church Window
I always hated that window in my church.
The elders said we couldn't take it down
'It's pretty, priceless, and we can't give them away, '
But who wants a window that distorts the Trees, faces,
And dandelions in the breeze.
With yellows, purples, and blues,
Hard black lines that in anyone else's eyes is a work of art.
I don't need the work of a stranger's hands to distract me during church.
I only need the work of my savior
To preach to me when I search.
poem by Goodloe Chilcutt
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A Common Thought
Somewhere on this earthly planet
In the dust of flowers to be,
In the dewdrop, in the sunshine,
Sleeps a solemn day for me.
At this wakeful hour of midnight
I behold it dawn in mist,
And I hear a sound of sobbing
Through the darkness -- hist! oh, hist!
In a dim and murky chamber,
I am breathing life away;
Some one draws a curtain softly,
And I watch the broadening day.
As it purples in the zenith,
As it brightens on the lawn,
There's a hush of death about me,
And a whisper, "He is gone!"
poem by Henry Timrod
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Water is Gold
Water is precious gold
A treasure to the land
And the throne on which
People sit upon the sand
Mosaics of velvet grass
Pinks, oranges, purples blend
Scent of salt and floral
Perfumes among the men
Waves of blue hair
Sway in mother's breath
And bend to her tears
Until there is nothing left
But hope comes anew
When the sun returns
And heats up the soul
Until the passion tide burns
[...] Read more
poem by Airda Jones
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The Artist
Why do you subdue yourself in golds and purples?
Why do you dim yourself with folded silks?
Do you not see that I can buy brocades in any draper’s shop,
And that I am choked in the twilight of all these colours.
How pale you would be, and startling,
How quiet;
But your curves would spring upward
Like a clear jet of flung water,
You would quiver like a shot-up spray of water,
You would waver, and relapse, and tremble.
And I too should tremble,
Watching.
Murex-dyes and tinsel—
And yet I think I could bear your beauty unshaded.
poem by Amy Lowell
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New-Year's Eve
As when at twelve o'clock
Strong January opes the gates of Life
And we that were so cabined and so dark
Within the round tower of the rounded year
Feel the far Spring blown in on us and look
Straight to the primroses, and with the swallow
Skim thro' the dawns of daffodils and up
To bluebell skies, and from the bluebell skies,
Like a wild hawk upon a flight of doves,
Swoop upon June and Paradise, and on
Beyond the bounds of Eden to an Earth
Boss'd with great purples of new-clustered wine
Betwixt the tented harvests red and gold,
And so into a cloud, and know no more--
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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I Am
I am a listener
Of a half thought about Winter mind
A writer of a half seen legacy
And a sphere of half spoken rhyme;
I am an arrow sharpened
Of Ero's love sick fool
A trembling hand-in loves quick sand
A condemned lover of the Golden Rule;
I am the pity of a thousand teardrops
Of yesterdays heartbreak and sorrow
I am the startled Bird Of Paradise
Boding omens: of no tomorrows;
I am the field of blues and purples
Of lavender and lilac-to violet hue
Growing behind fences of sheer amazement
I am the whispering of love to you;
By: Theodora Onken
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poem by Theodora Onken
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My Deep
You're more lovely than all the shades
of greens and purples of any precious garden.
You're my most dreamless sleep,
my green, my cool and dark and deep.
Your smile's worth more than all the jewels
within the earth, begging at your feet.
Hot and humid, overtired. I beg for sleep!
My fresh, my green, my dark and deep.
My purple! Oh, for a dreamless sleep!
My green, my cool, my dark and deep.
You are sweeter than summer night's jasmine
and brighter than the sun's morning laughter.
My Prince, my man, my green lovely, my sleep!
my best, my fresh, my cool, my dark and deep.
poem by Guy Peppin
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To Vernon Lee
On Bellosguardo, when the year was young,
We wandered, seeking for the daffodil
And dark anemone, whose purples fill
The peasant's plot, between the corn-shoots sprung.
Over the grey, low wall the olive flung
Her deeper greyness ; far off, hill on hill
Sloped to the sky, which, pearly-pale and still,
Above the large and luminous landscape hung.
A snowy blackthorn flowered beyond my reach;
You broke a branch and gave it to me there;
I found for you a scarlet blossom rare.
Thereby ran on of Art and Life our speech;
And of the gifts the gods had given to each--
Hope unto you, and unto me Despair.
poem by Amy Levy
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The Avon
WHAT are the Willows whispering in a row,
Nodding their old heads o'er the river's edge?
What does the West wind whisper to the sedge
And to the shame-faced purples drooping low?
Why sobs the water, in its broken flow
Lapping against the grey weir's ruined ledge?
And, in the thorny shelter of the hedge,
What bird unloads his heart of woe?
Green Avon's haunted! Look, from yonder bank
The willow leans, that hath not ceased to weep,
Whence, hanging garlands, fair Ophelia sank;
Since Jacques moped here the trees have had a tongue;
And all these streams and whispering willows keep
The moan of Desdemona's dying song.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Winter
Earth bears her sorrow gladly, like a nun,
Her young face glowing through the icy veil.
The storms that threaten her, the winds that rail,
Kindle a deeper color. She has won
Graces that please the high-enthronèd sun;
Across her soft white robes that drift and trail
He casts his lordly purples, lest she quail
With the dead year, and think that all is done.
She leadeth on through desolate sad days,
A smile upon her lips, a triumph-song
Shut in her heart. Be glad! so singeth she;
Glad of the solitude, the silent ways,—
Even of the pain; so shall thy soul grow strong
For the brave spring that comes to set us free.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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