Quotes about hover, page 30
Woak Hill
When sycamore leaves wer a-spreadèn
Green-ruddy in hedges,
Bezide the red doust o' the ridges,
A-dried at Woak Hill;
I packed up my goods all a sheenèn
Wi' long years o' handlèn,
On dousty red wheel ov a waggon,
To ride at Woak Hill.
The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellèn,
I then wer a-le{'a}vèn,
Had shelter'd the sleek head o' Me{'a}ry,
My bride at Woak Hill.
But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall
'S a-lost vrom the vloorèn.
Too soon vor my ja{'y} an' my childern,
She died at Woak Hill.
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poem by William Barnes
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From Faust - IV. Chorus Of Spirits
VANISH, dark clouds on high,
Offspring of night!
Let a more radiant beam
Through the blue ether gleam,
Charming the sight!
Would the dark clouds on high
Melt into air!
Stars glimmer tenderly,
Planets more fair
Shed their soft light.
Spirits of heav'nly birth,
Fairer than sons of earth,
Quivering emotions true
Hover above;
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poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Green Linnet
BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of spring's unclouded weather,
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat!
And birds and flowers once more to greet,
My last year's friends together.
One have I marked, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest:
Hail to Thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding Spirit here today,
Dost lead the revels of the May;
And this is thy dominion.
While bird, and butterflies, and flowers,
Make all one band of paramours,
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poem by William Wordsworth
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The Lost Leichardt
Another search for Leichhardt's tomb,
Though fifty years have fled
Since Leichhardt vanished in the gloom,
Our one Illustrious Dead!
But daring men from Britain's shore,
The fearless bulldog breed,
Renew the fearful task once more,
Determined to succeed.
Rash men, that know not what they seek,
Will find their courage tried.
For things have changed on Cooper's Creek
Since Ludwig Leichhardt died.
Along where Leichhardt journeyed slow
And toiled and starved in vain;
These rash excursionists must go
Per Queensland railway train.
Out on those deserts lone and drear
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Anna Nicole
In beauty and kindness, she was truly blessed
More often than not, put through life’s cruel test
Lost her son, her life she couldn’t recover
Couldn’t let her mourn alone, always they had to hover
People used and abused her, wouldn’t leave her alone
But when it came down to it, always on her own
One wealthy man, fell in love with the person she was
Tabloids and gossip were all the buzz
Maybe he was kind, and she loved him a lot
Don’t really think evil and greed were the plot
Everyone around, wanted all she could give
They made it so hard for her to live
Happiness doesn’t come to all that easy
They fed on her blood, so utterly sleazy
She had a new daughter, a light in her life
They fought over that, wanted to make her his wife
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poem by Donna Nimmo
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Paean!
[*Song of thanksgiving to Apollo]
What proof do I bring of my love:
Stand up for you like the mountain, weary and wise,
Like a river wearing its sorrow, weep in a streaking disguise,
Or like the raging oceans with its breaking high waves lay my claim,
Or soaring atop these, as my sun moon and star call your name.
Cross the seven seas to hold your hand,
Steal a siren song, to unleash the fever of the mind,
Blaze a dream that drank the meteor light,
Realign the zodiac, for our paths to reunite.
Command my muse to capture the beauty of the starlight in a feeling,
Seize my heart that has taken to hover on an untamed wing.
Sketch a familiar face in every contour of the moon,
Believing in the tale of rainbows & their pot of gold -swoon.
Call upon the stars with whom I played the counting losing game,
Who now give me their unreserved empathy in shame.
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poem by Seema joglekar
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The Song of Harold Harfager
The sun is rising dimly red,
The wind is wailing low and dread;
From his cliff the eagle sallies,
Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys;
In the mist the ravens hover,
Peep the wild dogs from the cover,
Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling,
Each in his wild accents telling,
'Soon we feast on dead and dying,
Fair-haired Harald's flag is flying.'
Many a crest in air is streaming,
Many a helmet darkly gleaming,
Many an arm the axe uprears,
Doomed to hew the wood of spears.
All around the crowded ranks,
Horses neigh and armor clanks;
Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing,
Louder still the bard is singing,
'Gather, footmen; gather, horsemen,
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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Madmen
They say you can jinx a poem
if you talk about it before it is done.
If you let it out too early, they warn,
your poem will fly away,
and this time they are absolutely right.
Take the night I mentioned to you
I wanted to write about the madmen,
as the newspapers so blithely call them,
who attack art, not in reviews,
but with breadknives and hammers
in the quiet museums of Prague and Amsterdam.
Actually, they are the real artists,
you said, spinning the ice in your glass.
The screwdriver is their brush.
The real vandals are the restorers,
you went on, slowly turning me upside-down,
the ones in the white doctor's smocks
who close the wound in the landscape,
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poem by Billy Collins
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The Master Mariner’s Song
(Outward Bound)
AWAY, away she plunges
With her white sails o’er her spread,
Like the summer clouds that gather
On some hill’s piny head;
Still away she plunges rampant
Like a lion roused to wrath,
And the proud wave lies humbled
I’ the track of her path.
Ye ho! my gallant sailors
Wear her head from off the land:
As his steed obeys the Arab
How she gives to the hand!
And now like a soul the world forsaking,
She leaves the coast behind,
And the main is her wide dwelling
And her spouse is the wind.
Then pledge we a full measure
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poem by Charles Harpur
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Don't Hie Yourself to the Hideout.
Why you dear, vanished from my sight?
If honest words hurt your heart
then hot springs burst from the snowy mountains
must also harm human folk.
Right advice will be sour to taste
but once chewed, haste won't throw you into waste.
Your mind curtseyed to hypocrisy
but turned off from melting mercy.
The gleaming stars going dim at early dawn,
come back with cheerful looks in the coming night.
The flowers shut their petals in the chill evening,
open and smile in elegance in the morn.
The birds welcoming the dawn with chirps,
do the orchestra again in the birth of next day.
The animals quenching their thirst leave the pond,
with gratefulness and trace the trails back to the spot.
The seasons bid bye not to die
but to revive again with spirit and verve.
The turtles hibernate for half year and wake up back
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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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