Quotes about swept, page 9
Life's Tragedy
i am water
swept by the wind
to become waves
i am a consciousness
swept by god
to become man
inundated by
waves of
trials and tribulations
swirling, crushing,
always rushing onward to shore
soldiers on field
advancing to claim
a piece of victory they
consider theirs
the sand a smooth plain
after each swipe of the waves
i leap on towards this survival
again and again
pondering over the meaning
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Old Town Types No.1 - The Old Town
Fierce on the wheat-sown Mallee plain
The ruthless summer suns burned down,
And dust-storms, heralding the rain,
Swept thro' the street and on again
While tradesfolk cursed in the old white town.
Of sand and line-stone stoutly built,
She'd lived to prosper and to wilt,
Because, as all wiseacres knew,
'They went and brought the railway thro'.'
Deep-voiced, bewhiskered townsfolk these,
Remnant of pioneering days,
Full of high tales and memories
Of wild, rough work and wilder sprees,
When coach and teamster went their ways;
When men pushed out to newer land
And cash came easy to the hand
And went: The golden days men knew
'Before that put that railway thro'.'
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Pick Up The Pieces of The Mess That's Made
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
Make sure no remnants get,
To be left kept as toxins.
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
And don't have one regret,
This challenge you have met!
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
Make sure no remnants get,
To be left kept as toxins.
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
And don't have one regret,
You've met the challenge that's been swept.
Don't let this creep into your sleep.
As if a daydreamed lover,
Is a desire you wish to meet.
Get up and beat this need fatiguing.
If you want a peace of mind...
Don't become weakened by routines,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sandcastles
While sifting through old photographs
Of childhood, black and white,
I came across a scene that stirred
My memory, overnight,
Three children by a sandcastle,
The finest ever made,
My sister, me and Hazel,
Made with bucket, and with spade,
With towers, crenellations
And surrounded by a moat,
The sand was dry, the tide was out
It stood there proud, remote.
Though sixty years have passed since then,
That camera shutter's sight
Caught just one random moment in
An afternoon's delight,
It froze that moment of our lives,
That castle on the sand,
And though the tide swept in that day
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Aurora Australis
A radiance in the midnight sky
No white moon gave, nor yellow star;
We thought its red glow mounted high
Where fire and forest fought afar,
Half questioning if the township blazed,
Perchance, beyond the boundary hill;
Then, finding what it was, we gazed
And wondered till we shivered chill.
And Fancy showed the sister-glow
Of our Aurora, sending lines
Of lustre forth to tint the snow
That lodges in Norwegian pines.
And South and North alternate swept
In vision past us, to and fro;
While stealthy winds of midnight crept
About us, whispering fast and low.
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poem by Mary Hannay Foott
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Prayer
SHE would not keep at home, the foolish woman,
She would not mind her precious girls and boys,
She had to go, for it was Sunday morning,
Down the hot road and to the barren pew
And there abuse her superannuate knees
To make a prayer.
She had a huge petition on her bosom--
A heavy weight for such a lean old thing--
Her youngest boy made merry in the village
And had not entered into the communion;
And having labored with him long for nothing
She meant to ask of God to save him yet.
Thank God she asked that favor!
The manner of it echoes still in Heaven.
Before she dared to utter her desire
The strange old woman made approach to God
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poem by John Crowe Ransom
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Voices Of The Night : Midnight Mass For The Dying Year
Yes, the Year is growing old,
And his eye is pale and bleared!
Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely, sorely!
The leaves are falling, falling,
Solemnly and slow;
Caw! caw! the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of woe,
A sound of woe!
Through woods and mountain passes
The winds, like anthems, roll;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing, 'Pray for this poor soul,
Pray, pray!'
And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain,
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Real Fengshui
his door faced the bend of a bridge
they told him that would bend his luck, so
he had the door torn down and bore through
a wall for a new door, one that faces
the Sun well for the sunshine of life
her door opened to the sharp edge
of a building she thought was the
inauspcious razor that had slashed
her chances in life, so with much incisive
belittlements of her neighbours,
she hung a ba kua mirror to throw back
what she thought should be theirs to keep
another one with the same predicarment
bought a large cannon to aim it at the poison arrow
she thought would overpower the bad influences
one man tore down a whole house
spending a few hundred thousands on
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Song for norway national hymn
Yes, we love this land that towers
Where the ocean foams;
Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers
Many thousand homes.
Love it, love it, of you thinking,
Father; mother dear,
And that night of saga sinking
Dreamful to us here.
This the land that Harald guarded
With his hero-throng,
This the land that Haakon warded,
Hailed by Eyvind's song.
Olaf here the cross erected,
While his blood he shed;
Sverre's word this land protected
'Gainst the Roman dread.
Peasants whetted axes carried,
Broke th' invader's blow;
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poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Midnight Mass for the Dying Year
Yes, the Year is growing old,
And his eye is pale and bleared!
Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely, sorely!
The leaves are falling, falling,
Solemnly and slow;
Caw! caw! the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of woe,
A sound of woe!
Through woods and mountain passes
The winds, like anthems, roll;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing, "Pray for this poor soul,
Pray, pray!"
And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain,
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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