Quotes about sere, page 5
Love's Phantom
SHUT out day's wintry beams!
Sleep, brood upon my brain!
For sweet sleep bringeth dreams
And love again!
Love cold and wan and sere
Heaped over with tears and snows;
Lo, born within its bier,
Blooms like a rose!
Its fragrance fills each vein,
Its fervour flushes my heart,
I feel through breast and brain
Its rapturous smart;
The look, the tone, the deep
Supreme smile of delight:
Ah, fickle as love, false sleep,
Why take thy flight?
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Bordas De Hielo
Vengo a verte pasar todos los días,
vaporcito encantado siempre lejos...
Tus ojos son dos rubios capitanes;
tu labio es un brevísimo pañuelo
rojo que ondea en un adiós de sangre!
Vengo a verte pasar; hasta que un día,
embriagada de tiempo y de crueldad,
vaporcito encantado siempre lejos,
la estrella de la tarde partirá!
Las jarcias; vientos que traicionan; vientos
de mujer que pasó!
Tus fríos capitanes darán orden;
y quien habrá partido seré yo...
poem by Cesar Vallejo
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Drought Won Too or Drought To One
Dewdrops on hedgerows once we knew,
Rainbows bridging the sky,
Over our heads dark storm clouds grew,
Ugly, we thought, - but why?
Grieving for failed crops we view
Here fields that once grew spry,
Too arid, unproductive too,
Dust ridden waste, bone dry.
Rose sere upon the stem, no clue
Of moisture meets the eye,
Unless the tears that filter through
Good news to bad reply.
Heat comes to roost-roast, all’s askew,
Turns wild oats sown awry...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Of Brussels—it was not
Of Brussels—it was not—
Of Kidderminster? Nay—
The Winds did buy it of the Woods—
They—sold it unto me
It was a gentle price—
The poorest—could afford—
It was within the frugal purse
Of Beggar—or of Bird—
Of small and spicy Yards—
In hue—a mellow Dun—
Of Sunshine—and of Sere—Composed—
But, principally—of Sun—
The Wind—unrolled it fast—
And spread it on the Ground—
Upholsterer of the Pines—is He—
Upholsterer—of the Pond—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Frame
FRAME
Bleached white and black ash,
slight, multi-stemmed skeletons.
Stark, sere symmetry.
Cradled between burnt hills
the sea is a silver chalice.
PULL
The passing moon leaves a single dropp of water sleeping,
but awakens and animates an ocean of linked drops.
The waves claw for purchase and their wet shadows cling to clinging grains.
CONCENTRATE
Eighteen holes of golf,
menfolk give much good advice.
Focussed attention.
Fades. I collect some red leaves
and there's an odd saw-shaped cloud.
poem by Diane Hine
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Surrender II
THE wild wind wails in the poplar tree,
I sit here alone.
O heart of my heart, come hither to me!
Come to me straight over land and sea,
My soul--my own!
Not now--the clock's slow tick I hear,
And nothing more.
The year is dying, the leaves are sere,
No ghost of the beautiful young crowned year
Knocks at my door.
But one of these nights, a wild, late night,
I, waiting within,
Shall hear your hand on the latch--and spite
Of prudence and folly and wrong and right,
I shall let you in.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Psychoanalysis
The Changing phases of the soul
‘twixt simple cils, transparent gleam: -
dear smiles appear,
cheer while revered,
love sighs, - clear skies!
Here peer the eyes sincere
of each kind mind I meet.
There, ranged disgraces written whole,
through arrant, errant, pupils scream: -
queer wiles, veneer,
sheer rile, sneer speared,
jeers, cries, fear, lies,
sere tears, disguise! – sins leer
through each blind mind I treat!
26 December 1977
robi3_1361_robi3_0000 number out of chronological order
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Where found Love his yesterday?
WHERE found Love his yesterday?
When is Love's to-morrow? say.
Love has only now.
We can swear it, we who stand
In Love's present, hand in hand,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou.
By and by and Long ago;
Last month's buds, next winter's snow;
Love has only now.
Do we wot of rathe or sere
In Love's boundless summer year,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou?
Suns that rose and suns to set;
Gone for ever and Not yet;
Love has always now.
Do we count by dawn and night,
Dwelling in Love's perfect light,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Tou Im Ser
IM SERNER KEZ HAVIDIAN.
YERPEK CHE GRTSAV ELLAL KO SIRO TAVAJAN.
IM SIRDNER KO SIRO DAJAR.
PAYTS TOU YEGHAR MER PAJANMAN BADJAR.
DZOVEROU KHOROUTIAMP KHOR IM SIRO TU JEGHAR TAVAJAN.
KO SERNER TANG OU TAKOUN, INDZ HAMAR ER IM GIANKEN TANG.
KHEGHJ IM SERDIN TOU EYIR MIAG HOUYSN OU LOUYSE.
AREVNEYIR IM POTORGOD TSMRAN.
[...] Read more
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Autumn III
The Autumn is old,
The sere leaves are flying;—
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying;—
Old Age, begin sighing!
The vintage is ripe,
The harvest is heaping;—
But some that have sow'd
Have no riches for reaping;—
Poor wretch, fall a-weeping!
The year's in the wane,
There is nothing adorning,
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;—
Cold winter gives warning.
The rivers run chill,
The red sun is sinking,
And I am grown old,
And life is fast shrinking;
Here's enow for sad thinking!
poem by Thomas Hood
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