Quotes about swept, page 8
Rootless
Swept away on the ebbing tide
I long to stay but I must go
my wanderlust unsatisfied.
I go where the waters flow
(I have no choice I don’t decide)
The rolling sea has much to show.
Strange places where no men abide.
The frozen lands of ice and snow
where human needs can’t be supplied.
Sunlit isles where palm trees grow.
My urgent need won’t be denied,
there’s so much that I want to know.
I have to travel to and fro.
I ride upon the restless tide.
My ever moving friendly foe.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Seeking
You should sit-
this could take a while;
hurry won't happen here-
melting hearts take time-
the merlot is nice;
I've stopped the grandfather clock
put my eyes on lock-
on you.
Don't move an inch
I'll circle back
trace along your speghitti straps
motivate the plummeting
down to heaven's gate
so close
the wine sizzles
and I know wine shouldn't
but ours does
as I bend
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Presentiment
'Oh father, let us hence--for hark,
A fearful murmur shakes the air.
The clouds are coming swift and dark:--
What horrid shapes they wear!
A winged giant sails the sky;
Oh father, father, let us fly!'
'Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,
That beating of the summer shower;
Here, where the boughs hang close around,
We'll pass a pleasant hour,
Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain,
Has swept the broad heaven clear again.'
'Nay, father, let us haste--for see,
That horrid thing with horned brow,--
His wings o'erhang this very tree,
He scowls upon us now;
His huge black arm is lifted high;
Oh father, father, let us fly!'
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poem by William Cullen Bryant
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The Melody
The youth in the woods spent the whole day long,
The whole day long;
For there he had heard such a wonderful song,
Wonderful song.
Willow-wood gave him a flute so fair,
A flute so fair,--
To try, if within were the melody rare,
Melody rare.
Melody whispered and said: "I am here!"
Said: "I am here!"
But while he was listening, it fled from his ear,
Fled from his ear.
Oft when he slept, it to him crept,
It to him crept;
And over his forehead in love it swept,
In love it swept.
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poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Faded Words Among the Footprints
Mystic beneath the moonlight beckons
Forever humbled at my feet
The shooting star that rises in the heavens
To only fall upon the light of flint and bone
To break away the burdens of the flesh
Within the light of Heaven's soul
Am I forever humbled by the swaying in the breeze
As the lonesome traveller
Comes to pass amongst us in the trees?
For now the light has faded
Beneath the beat of Heaven's wings
The sound of angels singing
Within the depths of my very heart
As the tears fall from the heavens
Will my soul be swept away?
In the distance there's a beacon
That lights the passage of my way
Only in the shadow shall I wait
For the light of the rising day
Swept away by life's sweet sorrow
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poem by Darryn John Murphy
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You Are Everywhere
How beautiful it is to trace your footprint,
to feel the strength with which you are getting away from the past
building the present.
Where can be no pain, anguish nor sorrow
there is no pain in your absence
one empty space swept away by a flow of stars
over passing us from a distant universe.
One past between the words
when I evoke your name
I've gone over once and one more time
through the labyrinth of your existence
and I've seen how you move away,
but always reaching me.
There is no pain in your absence
only a space swept away by the time.
We will build a flying carpet of celestial bodies
we'll put together the sun, the moon and the stars.
we will decorate its sides with comets
we'll travel over the black holes and its cracks
and we'll look for God through them.
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poem by Rudesindo Montoya
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A Paean for my country
Let freedom and victory get a own song
from the fields of blood and gore
while perished the men that were young
lie in silence forevermore.
At last, at last the darkness has passed
and over us, our country a new day breaks
that is in its glory unsurpassed
while as if coming from death we are awake.
Away our doubts and fears are swept
while for too many years
sacrifices we have made, our widows have wept
tears of pain and their tears
are now of sheer happiness
a feeling without any kind of pain,
as if a kind of holiness
descends upon the land to remain
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poem by Gert Strydom
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You Came To Me In Serenity (Rondeau Redouble)
You came to me in serenity as someone beautiful and gay,
that morning was hot full of sunshine and bright
and all my fears and tears were swept away
while you stayed right through the night.
You were happy, and it was sheer magic despite
the stupid things that I did at times say,
before we laid next to the glowing firelight.
You came to me in serenity as someone beautiful and gay,
where we looked at the wind on the lake in rippling circles play
while the waves were very tiny and without might
on a tranquil, calm awesome day,
that morning was hot full of sunshine and bright
with doves fluttering in their cooing flight
and in the sky there was nothing black or grey,
only the sparkling bluest sight
and all my fears and tears were swept away.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Cinderella's Shoes
The ugly sister, Alice,
glared at the mirror with reflected malice;
gave a grin
and blew a bubble;
stroked the stubble
on her chin
and simpered, in unbridled bliss,
'What a charmer I iss! '
adding, with a grimace,
'Who's the prettier, glass face? '
'Cinderella!
Cinderella. Cinderella. Cinderella.
Cinderella. Cinderella.'
The mirror twinkled a little wintry.
'Cinderella. Cinderella....'
The tiny fragments of splintery
glass were swept up by footman Fred.
'What a wolatile woman! ' Fred said.
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poem by Brian Taylor
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In 200 B.C.
"Alexander son of Philip, and the Greeks except the Lacedaemonians--"
We can very well imagine
that they were utterly indifferent in Sparta
to this inscription. "Except the Lacedaemonians",
but naturally. The Spartans were not
to be led and ordered about
as precious servants. Besides
a panhellenic campaign without
a Spartan king as a leader
would not have appeared very important.
O, of course "except the Lacedaemonians."
This too is a stand. Understandable.
Thus, except the Lacedaemonians at Granicus;
and then at Issus; and in the final
battle, where the formidable army was swept away
that the Persians had massed at Arbela:
which had set out from Arbela for victory, and was swept away.
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poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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