Little Bird

I do not know the author of this poem, but it comes from anceint Celtic tradition.

Little Bird

Little bird! O little bird!
I wonder at what thou doest,
Thou singing merry far from me,
I in sadness all alone!

Little bird! O little bird!
I wonder at how thou art
Thou high on the tips of branching boughs,
I on the ground a-creeping!

Little bird! O little bird!
Thou art music far away,
Like the tender croon of the mother loved
In the kindly sleep of death.

7:13 PM - 12/5/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

My Immortal

I thought this was just beautiful. The artist is Annah Hutchings

8:53 PM - 11/22/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

De Profundis

It is a bit long, but I thought it was beautfiully written

De Profundis

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

I

The face, which, duly as the sun,
Rose up for me with life begun,
To mark all bright hours of the day
With hourly love, is dimmed away-
And yet my days go on, go on.

II

The tongue which, like a stream, could run
Smooth music from the roughest stone,
And every morning with 'Good day'
Make each day good, is hushed away,
And yet my days go on, go on.

III

The heart which, like a staff, was one
For mine to lean and rest upon,
The strongest on the longest day
With steadfast love, is caught away,
And yet my days go on, go on.

IV

And cold before my summer's done,
And deaf in Nature's general tune,
And fallen too low for special fear,
And here, with hope no longer here,
While the tears drop, my days go on.

V

The world goes whispering to its own,
'This anguish pierces to the bone;'
And tender friends go sighing round,
'What love can ever cure this wound ?'
My days go on, my days go on.

VI

The past rolls forward on the sun
And makes all night. O dreams begun,
Not to be ended! Ended bliss,
And life that will not end in this!
My days go on, my days go on.

VII

Breath freezes on my lips to moan:
As one alone, once not alone,
I sit and knock at Nature's door,
Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very poor,
Whose desolated days go on.

VIII

I knock and cry, - Undone, undone!
Is there no help, no comfort, - none?
No gleaning in the wide wheat plains
Where others drive their loaded wains?
My vacant days go on, go on.

IX

This Nature, though the snows be down,
Thinks kindly of the bird of June:
The little red hip on the tree
Is ripe for such. What is for me,
Whose days so winterly go on?

X

No bird am I, to sing in June,
And dare not ask an equal boon.
Good nests and berries red are Nature's
To give away to better creatures, -
And yet my days go on, go on.

XI

I ask less kindness to be done, -
Only to loose these pilgrim shoon,
(Too early worn and grimed) with sweet
Cool deadly touch to these tired feet.
Till days go out which now go on.

XII

Only to lift the turf unmown
From off the earth where it has grown,
Some cubit-space, and say 'Behold,
Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that fold,
Forgetting how the days go on.'

8:51 AM - 11/9/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

When We Two Parted

When We Two Parted

By Lord Byron

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well--
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.

9:50 AM - 10/29/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

To Daffodils

 To Daffodils

by Robert Herrick.

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

8:40 AM - 10/8/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

Moonbird

By Katrina Sesum

Gallery: http://www.epilogue.net/cgi/database/art/list.pl?gallery=15099&genre=2

1:58 PM - 10/1/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Wylde Hunt--Herne

This is one of my faveorite images of the Horned One that I have yet to come acorss.

Here is a link to the artist Gallery

http://www.epilogue.net/cgi/database/art/list.pl?gallery=18524&genre=2

6:57 PM - 9/26/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Star

The Star

8:32 AM - 9/20/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveler hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveler to the shore.
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

8:15 AM - 9/15/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Devil

The Devil

10:20 PM - 9/5/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

Rainbow

Rainbow

By William Wordsworth

My heart leaps up when I behold
A Rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!

The Child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

7:57 AM - 9/4/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Oak

7:42 AM - 8/30/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

Alchemy

Alchemy

3:13 PM - 8/27/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

Death

Death

Number: Thirteen/XIII

Ruled by Scorpio.

Meaning:

Transformation. A change for the better. Clearing out to make way for something much better. Harsh fate which doesn't not usually consider personal feelings or emotions.This card can someone signify death, but only rarely.

Reversed Meaning:

An enforced change, which usually ends badly. Something removed that should have been given up. The loss of friendship of a loved one.

4:31 PM - 8/15/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Flower

The Flower

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
Thro' my garden bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
"Splendid is the flower!"

Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.

8:06 PM - 8/12/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Hanged Woman

The Hanged Woman

5:46 PM - 7/30/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

Justice

Justice

7:34 PM - 7/25/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Wheel of Fortune

The Wheel of Fortune

8:50 AM - 7/23/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

The Hermit

The Hermit

8:25 AM - 7/16/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

Strength

Strength

8:31 PM - 7/15/2007 - comments {0} - post comment

For though All are not able to write books, all conceive themselves able to judge them. ~The Monk

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