Quotes about surge, page 2
The Spirit Of Navigation
Stern Father of the storm! who dost abide
Amid the solitude of the vast deep,
For ever listening to the sullen tide,
And whirlwinds that the billowy desert sweep!
Thou at the distant death-shriek dost rejoice;
The rule of the tempestuous main is thine,
Outstretched and lone; thou utterest thy voice,
Like solemn thunders: These wild waves are mine;
Mine their dread empire; nor shall man profane
The eternal secrets of my ancient reign.
The voice is vain: secure, and as in scorn,
The gallant vessel scuds before the wind;
Her parting sails swell stately to the morn;
She leaves the green earth and its hills behind;
Gallant before the wind she goes, her prow
High bearing, and disparting the blue tide
That foams and flashes in its rage below;
Meantime the helmsman feels a conscious pride,
And while far onward the long billows swell,
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poem by William Lisle Bowles
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St. Michael's Mount
INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD SOMERS.
While summer airs scarce breathe along the tide,
Oft pausing, up the mountain's craggy side
We climb, how beautiful, how still, how clear,
The scenes that stretch around! The rocks that rear
Their shapes, in rich fantastic colours dressed;
The hill-tops, where the softest shadows rest;
The long-retiring bay, the level sand,
The fading sea-line, and the furthest land,
That seems, as low it lessens from the eye,
To steal away beneath the cloudless sky!
But yesterday, the misty morn was spread
In dreariness on the bleak mountain's head;
No glittering prospect from the upland smiled,
The driving squall came dark, the sea heaved wild,
And, lost and lonely, the wayfarer sighed,
Wet with the hoar spray of the flashing tide.
How changed is now the circling scene! The deep
Stirs not; the glancing roofs and white towers peep
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poem by William Lisle Bowles
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The Four Seasons : Winter
See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms,
Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nursed by careless Solitude I lived,
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,
Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain;
Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst;
Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd,
In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time,
Till through the lucid chambers of the south
Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smiled.
To thee, the patron of her first essay,
The Muse, O Wilmington! renews her song.
Since has she rounded the revolving year:
Skimm'd the gay Spring; on eagle-pinions borne,
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poem by James Thomson
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Beowulf
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Sleep Compared To The Sea.
The tide comes in, a surge from the great sea,
And every little muddy creek and inlet
Now sweltering in the heat, will soon be filled
With the salt sweetness; even as sleep comes
After a term of toil to the tired brain,
A-surge from out the infinite, and fills
All of life's inlets with a dewy ease.
poem by Robert Crawford
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I am India
Again I will emerge
again I will surge
Though troubles are there
challenges are there
But
I am India
I owe the will
I have the fire
Don't laugh sarcastic
don't show me statistic
You measure a nation
with his kill power
Don't you know
the miracle of a will power
I am India
I owe the will
I have the fire
I'm not worried of
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poem by Bharat Mehru
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At The Shore Of Chendur
That you feel you're a captive
Globed for the Lord's pastime
In circles of benighted spheres
Immessurable your anger I know
From your abysmal depths oh, ocean
As you surge and surge to a tsunami
You're receded albeit agonized
A waste of chaos you roll on
On your inability to touch the Lord
What you think, I am? same and alike
A captive of oceanic emotions
Ebbing, ebbing tsunami-high agitated
Just to decline to fear's feet
A mistake of an unseen creatrix
This life ours for the Lord's pastime
Behold, those captive-crowds ever tearful
In vain attempt to wash the Lord's feet
Here I await my turn as you do..when is it?
poem by Indira Renganathan
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At Dover
Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm,
That, borne on Terror's desolating wings,
Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings
The shivered surge; when rising griefs deform
Thy peaceful breast, hie to yon steep, and think,--
When thou dost mark the melancholy tide
Beneath thee, and the storm careering wide,--
Tossed on the surge of life how many sink!
And if thy cheek with one kind tear be wet,
And if thy heart be smitten, when the cry
Of danger and of death is heard more nigh,
Oh, learn thy private sorrows to forget;
Intent, when hardest beats the storm, to save
One who, like thee, has suffered from the wave.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Toy Soldiers Leaden Eyed - Acrostic Mata Hari
TOY SOLDIERS LEADEN EYED
My life foams fast, spurts sudden surge,
Appraise past fancy, sullen urge,
Then see toy soldiers leaden eyed
Attest failed flight, time, grace denied.
Here at my post I’m posted, tied,
And no-one dares to act as guide.
Right, tight, where Hell’s four streams converge:
I stand and wait... serve on lead’s purge!
5 December 1990 revised 10 January 2009
robi03_0360_robi03_0000 AXX_DJZ
For previous version see below
Toy Soldiers Leaden Eyed
My life foamed fast, in sudden surge,
All passing fancies, sullen urge, -
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Trouble Mover
When the wind blows...
The times for some may stir uneasy.
High tides surge,
And can knock some off,
A rolling courage wave.
Settle down!
And a calm will ease to please.
If one surrenders...
Their faith will prove,
God is a trouble mover!
When the wind blows...
With clouds and sounds of roaring thunder.
A brewing stew tricks to mix and kick,
Bristles in one's way!
The ship that sails may tilt and threaten,
A quick capsize.
But God is the 'Entity' that saves the brave!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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