Quotes about chime, page 3
I hear and Reflect
A bell tolls sonorously
one single chime. Then silence reigns
It wakes me from my reverie.
Conscious again of aches and pains.
I had lost temporarily
in contemplation of the past
That single knell reminding me
Of the long years which quickly passed.
Before the years caught up with me
For old age does not come alone
It brings along infirmity.
Which hitherto you have not known.
When you are young you do not know
What future lies ahead of you
but as you live and learn and grow
You will become as others do.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ode to the Northeast Wind
Welcome, wild Northeaster!
Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
Ne'er a verse to thee.
Welcome, black Northeaster!
O'er the German foam;
O'er the Danish moorlands,
From thy frozen home.
Tired are we of summer,
Tired of gaudy glare,
Showers soft and steaming,
Hot and breathless air.
Tired of listless dreaming,
Through the lazy day--
Jovial wind of winter
Turn us out to play!
Sweep the golden reed-beds;
Crisp the lazy dike;
Hunger into madness
Every plunging pike.
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poem by Charles Kingsley
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My Last New Years Eve Party
I recently moved house to reflect my personal situation,
my neighbours asked me to their New Year celebration.
I didn’t know anyone, so I mingled around for a while
I introduced myself and tried hard to raise a smile.
The guests weren’t the most sociable that I’d ever met
they didn’t want to mingle and get to know me yet.
They were preoccupied and didn’t want to know me at all
I thought I had the plague and was just about to fall.
The back ground music was depressing and very low key,
on the sombre and eerie side to do anything for me.
When I asked about a music change to a happier kind of mood
I received stares and glares, which I thought extremely rude.
It was then that I felt unwelcome and wished I’d gone elsewhere,
and began thinking of an excuse to get the hell out of there.
A young woman approached and said, “It’s much too early yet! ”
“For what, ” I said. “Why, for leaving here without regret.”
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Three Bushes
SAID lady once to lover,
'None can rely upon
A love that lacks its proper food;
And if your love were gone
How could you sing those songs of love?
I should be blamed, young man.
O my dear, O my dear.
Have no lit candles in your room,'
That lovely lady said,
'That I at midnight by the clock
May creep into your bed,
For if I saw myself creep in
I think I should drop dead.'
O my dear, O my dear.
'I love a man in secret,
Dear chambermaid,' said she.
'I know that I must drop down dead
If he stop loving me,
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poem by William Butler Yeats
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My Sister's Sleep
She fell asleep on Christmas Eve:
At length the long-ungranted shade
Of weary eyelids overweigh'd
The pain nought else might yet relieve.
Our mother, who had lean'd all day
Over the bed from chime to chime,
Then rais'd herself for the first time,
And as she sat her down, did pray.
Her little work-table was spread
With work to finish. For the glare
Made by her candle, she had care
To work some distance from the bed.
Without, there was a cold moon up,
Of winter radiance sheer and thin;
The hollow halo it was in
Was like an icy crystal cup.
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poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Milking Time
There's a drip of honeysuckle in the deep green lane;
There's old Martin jogging homeward on his worn old wain;
There are cherry petals falling, and a cuckoo calling, calling,
And a score of larks (God bless 'em) . . . but it's all pain, pain.
For you see I am not really there at all, not at all;
For you see I'm in the trenches where the crump-crumps fall;
And the bits o' shells are screaming and it's only blessed dreaming
That in fancy I am seeming back in old Saint Pol.
Oh I've thought of it so often since I've come down here;
And I never dreamt that any place could be so dear;
The silvered whinstone houses, and the rosy men in blouses,
And the kindly, white-capped women with their eyes spring-clear.
And mother's sitting knitting where her roses climb,
And the angelus is calling with a soft, soft chime,
And the sea-wind comes caressing, and the light's a golden blessing,
And Yvonne, Yvonne is guessing that it's milking time.
Oh it's Sunday, for she's wearing of her broidered gown;
And she draws the pasture pickets and the cows come down;
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poem by Robert William Service
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Shadows On The Road
Shadows fade into nothing
after days weeks months
spent walking hitching talking.
To people to unknown people.
To chance met chance greeted strangers.
Shadows fade into nothing
as you walk ever further down fated road.
A string of shadows; uniform lean; lamp-post silhouettes;
fade upon momentum approach, individually, singularly.
With sun aligned unity creating chance met shifting shadows.
Shadows fade into nothing
in illusive life nothing lasts ultimately.
even memories fade into shadow
places people come go eventually expire.
sharp transient pain signals momentous quick goodbyes.
Shadows fade into nothing
So much to see
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Song of the Shirt
The Song of the Shirt
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread--
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."
"Work! work! work!
While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work — work — work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's Oh! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!
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poem by Thomas Hood
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Black Swans
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover
In the Western Park when the day is done.
I watch as the wild black swans fly over
With their phalanx turned to the sinking sun;
And I hear the clang of their leader crying
To a lagging mate in the rearward flying,
And they fade away in the darkness dying,
Where the stars are mustering one by one.
O ye wild black swans, 'twere a world of wonder
For a while to join in your westward flight,
With the stars above and the dim earth under,
Trough the cooling air of the glorious night.
As we swept along on our pinions winging,
We should catch the chime of a church-bell ringing,
Or the distant note of a torrent singing,
Or the far-off flash of a station light.
From the northern lakes with the reeds and rushes,
Where the hills are clothed with a purple haze,
Where the bell-birds chime and the songs of thrushes
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Creeds Of The Bells
How sweet the chime of the Sabbath bells!
Each one its creed in music tells
In tones that float upon the air
As soft as song, as sweet as prayer,
And I will put in simple rhyme
The language of the golden chime.
My happy heart with rapture swells
Responsive to the bells, sweet bells.
'Ye purifying waters swell!'
In mellow tones rang out a bell;
'Though faith alone in Christ can save,
Man must be plunged beneath the wave,
To show the world unfaltering faith
In what the Sacred Scripture saith;
Oh, well! ye rising water, swell!'
Pealed out the clear-toned Baptist bell.
'O, heed the ancient landmarks well!'
In solemn tones exclaimed a bell.
'No progress made by mortal man
Can change the just, eternal plan;
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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