Quotes about steep, page 6
Meeting
Head enlaced by graceful arm,
hand encased in hand, thigh, thigh,
dreams rapture capture, soothing balm,
feeling feelings warm supply.
Lip to lip together zipped
full exchange facilitates,
trip through tenderness is tipped
to last, cleave fast, illuminates.
Thus entwined shared essence meets,
beyond desire's steep, dizzy stairs,
as bodiless embrace completes
rebirth, time both prepares, repairs.
Shared sentiments in all finds charm
as body, spirit, find release,
tender tide soothes all alarm -
scoffs at mistrust and spurns caprice.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Gates of Innocence
Up round St John Street we walked one night, while moonlight brightly glowed,
My arm around you, yours round me, with two friends long ago.
So deep into love’s old sweet dream in moments now long flown,
And like a leaf upon the breeze my heart was not my own.
Oh the road to winning you was fraught, with quicksands all the way.
I sank and swam, I walked and ran, I wooed you night and day,
To simply hold your hand so soft, or gaze on eyes so blue,
In steep green fields at Clachanmore when I worked next to you.
But no moon nor love could quite foresee that I would wriggle free,
Against my heart, against my will, somewhat regretfully.
The roads we walked were soon to part, to sever us for ill,
To leave the Crescent we once walked, to ghosts that haunt me still.
Now the thoughts that circle round me here, they strengthen with the night.
As if the years have fallen to that young love’s breathless might,
Your eyes beguiled the doubting stars and left me void of sense,
Before the moments we fell through, the gates of innocence.
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poem by Jim Hogg
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The Young Lover Of A Thousand Lovers
Curiously he walks up this steep path,
His life brought to an end he design
Embracing his true nature in error
And on the thread mill of life he spins continuously
Thinking profoundly of his greatest agony
Now he is forced to take a walk
With his pen in his hand like the mad man he insulted
Shattered like the glass out of the hand of a maiden
The young lover of a thousand lovers
Having to contend with the struggling oceans
He brought disaster upon himself
While he walks up that steep path
With his forehead embedded with the holy mark of confusing
Every stranger turns to gaze upon him and wish to know what he thinks
Such a sorrowful young lover,
The architect of his own pitiful fate
The tyranny of loves tenderness envelopes his soul
Such sweat sour emotions lies in his heart,
The management of a thousand lovers
Look at him, a young lover destroying himself of a thousand lovers
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poem by Samuel Donkor
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Black Harry's Team
No soft-skinned Durham steers are they,
No Devons plump and red,
But brindled, black and iron-grey
That mark the mountain-bred;
For mountain-bred and mountain-broke,
With sullen eyes agleam,
No stranger's hand could put a yoke
On old Black Harry's team.
Pull out, pull out, at break of morn
The creeks are running white,
And Tiger, Spot and Snailey-horn
Must bend their bows by night;
And axles, wheels, and flooring boards
Are swept with flying spray
As shoulder-deep, through mountain fords
The leaders feel their way.
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Sestina/Creation
When all supply was in the hands of Cause,
Effect was molten primal chaos, held
Within a universal cauldren, rest
Was given to consider what the blend
Would yield. What distillation might there come
When left to steep upon the flame of time?
What essence to be poured or spooned, when time
Had separated dross from grime; When Cause
Congealed Effect as form? What shape would come?
Omniscience knew the liqued luster held
Within an orbed mold to cool, would blend
A tear so pure, that Genesis could rest.
An orb within the plumbless steep, no rest
Was had as crystal creep began. In time
A metamorphic stress; a grinding blend
Of blasting heaves had splayed the plates to cause
The core to spill its viscous blaze. Not held,
A spew and fall of flaming rock had come.
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poem by Lynn W. Petty
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St. James's Day
Sit down and take thy fill of joy
At God's right hand, a bidden guest,
Drink of the cup that cannot cloy,
Eat of the bread that cannot waste.
O great Apostle! rightly now
Thou readest all thy Saviour meant,
What time His grave yet gentle brow
In sweet reproof on thee was bent.
"Seek ye to sit enthroned by me?
Alas! ye know not what ye ask,
The first in shame and agony,
The lowest in the meanest task -
This can ye be? and came ye drink
The cup that I in tears must steep,
Nor from the 'whelming waters shrink
That o'er Me roll so dark and deep?"
"We can--Thine are we, dearest Lord,
In glory and in agony,
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poem by John Keble
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The Beacon Fires
A GLEAM -- a gleam -- from Ida's height,
By the Fire-god sent, it came;
From watch to watch it leapt, that light,
As a rider rode the flame!
It shot through the startled sky,
And the torch of that blazing glory
Old Lemnos caught on high,
On its holy promontory,
And sent it on, the jocund sign,
To Athos, Mount of Jove divine.
Wildly the while, it rose from the isle,
So that the might of the journeying Light
Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine!
Farther and faster speeds it on,
Till the watch that keeps Macistus steep
See it burst like a blazing Sun!
Doth Macistus sleep
On his tower-clad steep?
No! rapid and red doth the wild fire sweep;
It flashes afar on the wayward stream
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poem by Aeschylus
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The Door Removed
T ired men react to role reversing reels,
H arsh judgement pass upon deceptions deep.
E xit by bear pursued few locks will keep -
D oor closed and shuttered windows soon reveals
O nly introspection that will weep
O n dust of love’s rejection past. We feel
R emorseless fate exacts a price too steep.
R ise through regrets which may disguise surprise
E vents which Cause/Effect invents to try
M ost patience, represent in other guise
O ther guy’s advance to Chance defy.
V ain complaint when heart new part may chart,
EDition true heals smart, stamps vis[t]a’s start.
Windows open, idem doors, draft draught,
Ideas interlink transparently -
New horizons, visibility.
Dreams, once distant, closer draw, light shaft
Opportunity accepts as raft
Which on life's stream surfs forward looking, free,
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Mountain Squatter
Here in my mountain home,
On rugged hills and steep,
I sit and watch you come,
O Riverinia Sheep!
You come from the fertile plains
Where saltbush (sometimes) grows,
And flats that (when it rains)
Will blossom like the rose.
But when the summer sun
Gleams down like burnished brass,
You have to leave your run
And hustle off for grass.
'Tis then that -- forced to roam --
You come to where I keep,
Here in my mountain home,
A boarding-house for sheep.
Around me where I sit
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Boy Crusader
“Oh father, is that Jerusalem—
Those walls and towers so strong!”
“Ho, boy, we are yet in our own fair France,
That is only Avignon.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, are these the Jordan's banks?
Let us rest in those vineyards fair”
“Ho, boy, these are only the banks of the Rhone,
And we may not linger there.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, I fear them—the waves! the waves!
Is Jerusalem over the sea?”
“Ay, over the sea and then over the hills—
But cling, my boy, to me.”
* * * * *
“Oh father, is that Jerusalem,
Like a shell of gold in the bay?”
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poem by James Brunton Stephens
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