Written by
John Williams |
I've seen you many times in many places--
Theater, bus, train, or on the street;
Smiling in spring rain, in winter sleet,
Eyes of any hue in myriad faces;
Midnight black, all shades of brown your hair,
Long, short, bronze or honey-fair.
Instantly have I loved, have never spoken;
Slowly a truck passed, a light changed,
A door closed--all seemingly pre-arranged--
Then you were gone forever, the spell was broken.
Ubiquitios only one, we've met before
A hundred times, and we'll meet again
As many more; in hills or forest glen,
On crowded street or lonely, peaceful shore;
Somewhere, someday--but how will we ever know
True love, how wil we ever know?
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Written by
Rupert Brooke |
Safe in the magic of my woods
I lay, and watched the dying light.
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,
Silver and blue and green were showing.
And the dark woods grew darker still;
And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;
And quietness crept up the hill;
And no wind was blowing
And I knew
That this was the hour of knowing,
And the night and the woods and you
Were one together, and I should find
Soon in the silence the hidden key
Of all that had hurt and puzzled me --
Why you were you, and the night was kind,
And the woods were part of the heart of me.
And there I waited breathlessly,
Alone; and slowly the holy three,
The three that I loved, together grew
One, in the hour of knowing,
Night, and the woods, and you ----
And suddenly
There was an uproar in my woods,
The noise of a fool in mock distress,
Crashing and laughing and blindly going,
Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,
And a Voice profaning the solitudes.
The spell was broken, the key denied me
And at length your flat clear voice beside me
Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.
You came and quacked beside me in the wood.
You said, "The view from here is very good!"
You said, "It's nice to be alone a bit!"
And, "How the days are drawing out!" you said.
You said, "The sunset's pretty, isn't it?"
By God! I wish -- I wish that you were dead!
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Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET CLVII. Una candida cerva sopra l' erba. THE VISION OF THE FAWN. Beneath a laurel, two fair streams between,At early sunrise of the opening year,A milk-white fawn upon the meadow green,Of gold its either horn, I saw appear;[Pg 173]So mild, yet so majestic, was its mien,I left, to follow, all my labours here,As miners after treasure, in the keenDesire of new, forget the old to fear."Let none impede"—so, round its fair neck, runThe words in diamond and topaz writ—"My lord to give me liberty sees fit."And now the sun his noontide height had wonWhen I, with weary though unsated view,Fell in the stream—and so my vision flew. Macgregor. A form I saw with secret awe, nor ken I what it warns;Pure as the snow, a gentle doe it seem'd, with silver horns:Erect she stood, close by a wood, between two running streams;And brightly shone the morning sun upon that land of dreams!The pictured hind fancy design'd glowing with love and hope;Graceful she stepp'd, but distant kept, like the timid antelope;Playful, yet coy, with secret joy her image fill'd my soul;And o'er the sense soft influence of sweet oblivion stole.Gold I beheld and emerald on the collar that she wore;Words, too—but theirs were characters of legendary lore."Cæsar's decree hath made me free; and through his solemn charge,Untouch'd by men o'er hill and glen I wander here at large."The sun had now, with radiant brow, climb'd his meridian throne,Yet still mine eye untiringly gazed on that lovely one.A voice was heard—quick disappear'd my dream—the spell was broken.Then came distress: to the consciousness of life I had awoken. Father Prout.
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