Best 8159 quotes in «poetry quotes» category

Number me the things that are not yet come- gather me together the dross that are scattered abroad- make me the flowers green again that are withered- Open me the places that are closed, and bring me forth the winds that in them are shut up- shew me the image of a voice: and then I will declare to thee the thing that thou labor to know.

Nuair a bhagras an nàmhaid, Air a' Ghàidheal a dh'éighear - Bidh gach morair is iarla Guidhe dian leibh gu éirigh, Bidh sibh measail aig diùcan 'S bheir an Crùn a chuid fhéin dhuibh; Ach nuair cheanglar an t-sith leibh Cha bhi cuimhn' air bhur feum dhaibh, Cha bhi cuimhn' air mar smàladh Thar sàl do thìr chéin sibh, Mar chaidh fearann a dhiùltadh 'S mar a chum iad na féidh bhuaibh, Mar a chu iad an t-iasg bhuaibh Agus ianlaith nan speuran. When the enemy threaten, It's the Gael who is called - Each earl and each lord Implores you to rise, Dukes show you respect And the Crown gives you its share; But when peace is secured by you They'll forget how you served them, They'll forget you were banished Far over the sea, And how land was refused And they forbade you the deer, And forbade you the fish And the birds of the air. - Ruairidh MacAoidh

O anima cortese mantoana Di cui la fama ancor nel mondo dura, E durera quanto 'l moto lontana

Numb to the words you have left heavy on my skin. Dipped with malice and edged with regret, it's within these shadows you have sanctioned my death. And how naive to once think us equal pillars, when really you were my soul killer. No noble knight, no sheltered haven. Just another devil casting mayhem.

Nunca hubo más comienzo que ahora, ni más juventud o vejez que hay ahora; y nunca habrá más perfección que hay ahora, ni más cielo ni infierno que hay ahora.

Obelų žiedai Žiūrim - krinta patylomis Obelų žiedai. Plaštakėlėmis baltomis, Žiūrim - krinta patylomis. Rodos, sniego atkarpomis Snigo tik andai, - Žiūrim - krinta patylomis Obelų žiedai.

October I sit with braided fingers and closed eyes in a span of late sunlight. The spokes are closing. It is fall: warm milk of light, though from an aging breast. I do not mean to pray. The posture for thanks or supplication is the same as for weariness or relief. But I am glad for the luck of light. Surely it is godly, that it makes all things begin, and appear, and become actual to each other. Light that’s sucked into the eye, warming the brain with wires of color.

Oceanic farness treasures tomorrow Mingled tears lost in the sea of sorrow Our immortal love will lead us a way When pale days remain cloudy and grey

O dear Himalaya...why are you so amazing, can I kiss your peak or can I just let your silence speak...O dear Himalaya...

O Canada I have not forgotten you, as I kneel in my canoe, beholding this vision of a bookcase. You are the paddle, the snowshoe, the cabin in the pines. You are the moose in the clearing and the moosehead on the wall. You are the rapids, the propeller, the kerosene lamp. You are the dust that coats the roadside berries. But not only that, you are the two boys with pails walking along that road.

Ode to Love Lin Huiyin I think you are the April of this world, Sure, you are the April of this world. Your laughter has lit up all the wind, So gently mingling with the spring. You are the clouds in early spring, The dusk wind blows up and down. And the stars blink now and then, Fine rain drops down amid the flowers. So gentle and graceful, You are crowned with garlands. So sublime and innocent, You are a full moon over each evening. The snow melts, with that light yellow, You look like the first budding green. You are the soft joy of white lotus Rising up in your fancy dreamland. You’re the blooming flowers over the trees, You’re a swallow twittering between the beams; Full of love, full of warm hope, You are the spring of this world!

Of all the days dropped in time's pocket This day will seek acknowledgement with a child's shy asking, because the love between us used no word uncommoner than coffee, and was never traced by graphs of huge emotion. Yet some fancy will recall this day hallowed past recognition.

O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching Earth; Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. She hath no questions, she hath no replies.

Of all nations the United States with veins full of poetical stuff most need poets and will doubtless have the greatest and use them the greatest. Their Presidents shall not be their common referee so much as their poets shall.

Of all the art forms, poetry is the most economical. It is the one which is the most secret, which requires the least physical labor, the least material, and the one which can be done between shifts, in the hospital pantry, on the subway, and on scraps of surplus paper. Over the last few years, writing a novel on tight finances, I came to appreciate the enormous differences in the material demands between poetry and prose. As we reclaim our literature, poetry has been the major voice of poor, working class, and Colored women. A room of one's own may be a necessity for writing prose, but so are reams of paper, a typewriter, and plenty of time.

Of course! the path to heaven doesn't lie down in flat miles. It's in the imagination with which you perceive this world, and the gestures with which you honor it. -from The Swan

Offerings gleam beneath consecrated trees, boulders, and caves where Kami nature spirits minister to congregations of saki cans, lotus root, and the glow of tangerines; still-lives silent as prayer.

Often it’s hard to differ pain and joy, Some give up on differentiating

Off the Santorini cliff on a dark, starless night, I tossed a message in a bottle and love found me washed up on the black lava sand of the Aegean shore. As with my previous loves, volcanic in nature. Almost destructive before it started.

Offence is an event, offended is a decision. Offence and offended we have to live through it but to stay offended? To live in that place denies the very nature of the salvation that you claimed to have received.

O, flower! If you bloom with love in spring, will you understand if my soul sings?

Often, in death, everything else fails. We are left only with the music and the meaning of poetry.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown, Student of our sweet English tongue, Read out my words at night, alone: I was a poet, I was young. Since I can never see your face, And never shake you by the hand, I send my soul through time and space To greet you. You will understand.

Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath An embassy. Their numbers as he watched, Beat on the dusty shore and were obscured. And wrecks passed without sound of bells, The calyx of death’s bounty giving back A scattered chapter, livid hieroglyph, The portent wound in corridors of shells. Then in the circuit calm of one vast coil, Its lashings charmed and malice reconciled, Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars; And silent answers crept across the stars. Compass, quadrant and sextant contrive No farther tides ... High in the azure steeps Monody shall not wake the mariner. This fabulous shadow only the sea keeps.

Of the many forms that silence takes, the most memorable is the dry husk of the cicada.

Of what use is my going to church every day and still come home and remain the same? Of what use is my attending the mosques and the next day I enter the mall with knives and start slaughtering people in the name of religion. God is a God of variety. He was not stupid creating all of us different with our uniqueness. His creating us different shows the level of His creativity. He didn't make you white to hate black or vice versa. He made it so that we can cherish and love each other irrespective of our differences just as He loved us with all our flaws and our short comings. Can we forgive those who have offended us? Yes and some will say no but never forget that you are not worthy but God still forgives you even till the last hour of your life. If God can love us against all our atrocities why can't we learn to love one another. Take a look around you, you can only see sad faces. Was that really God's intention for us on earth? Absolutely not. But we have remoulded God's creativity to suit our taste and lifestyles and now we are reaping the fruit of our labour. You should not expect to reap love when you sowed the seed of hatred. What a man sows that he reaps. We sowed on weapons of war and we are yielding war in return. We have sowed on weapons of destruction so why are we asking for peace. If you ask me....I will say let's go back to our source. He has never lost any battle. I am a living witness.

O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

Oh dear heart, save yourself. will you not sing yourself to sleep humming wishes you thought you wouldn't make. will you not step into territory you know you should avoid. will you not believe words over actions because you want to trust in pretty little lies.

O God bid my poor body to arise On that bright day triumphant through the skies!

Oftentimes in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire in the recesses of your being. Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow? Even your body knows its heritage and its rightful need and will not be deceived. And your body is the harp of your soul, And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.

Of this poetry I’m left with the emptiness of an endless secret

Oh I know it's cliché but yeah they say that great men make it in- To places few others who even do take the risk've ever been

Oh, lady bright! can it be right- The window open to the night? The wanton airs, from the tree-top, Laughingly through the lattice drop - The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, Flit through thy chamber in and out, And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully - so fearfully - Above the closed and fringéd lid 'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid, That, o'er the floor and down the wall, Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?

Oh my darling one, how long you wander from me, how weary I grow of waiting and looking, and calling for you; sometimes I shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you'll never go away, oh you never will.

Oh Sverige, Sverige du Gamla och Fria Varför dödar dina söner mig?

O! How much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!

oh. she heard it too-no waters coursing, canyon empty, sun soundless- and the beast your life nowhere hiding (p. 103)

Oh Susie, I often think that I will try to tell you how very dear you are, and how I'm watching for you, but the words won't come, though the tears will, and I sit down disappointed. Yet, darling, you know it all-- then why do I seek to tell you? I do not know. In thinking of those I love, my reason is all gone from me, and I do fear sometimes that I must make a hospital for the hopelessly insane, and chain myself up there so I won't injure you.

Oh, sweet cherry tree- how lovely your blossoms are. Spring brings joy to life.

Oh the beauty of nature! Oh the magical heart touching flower. My heart wants to bloom like you with love, joy, and laughter.

Oh my…! Love can be troubled somber, mournful and yet subtle and precise. Love is a chaotic thing, my dear!

O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Oh, precious losing streak, you're too cute for your own good. I try to laugh about it but my face is made of wood.

Oh, the pain. The pain. It always rains. In my soul.

O how we call each other names You call me schizophrenic I call you God But we do agree on one Deluded are we both.

Oh phosphorescence. Now there’s a word to lift your hat to... To find that phosphorescence, that light within — is the genius behind poetry.

Oh that's right Keep away from me Please give me a push Don't let me understand you Don't realise me Or we might tumble together Depersonalized Identical Into the terrific Nirvana Me you --- you --- me

Oh, there are unrepeated words, Who ever said wasted more than he should. Inexhaustible only is the blue Of sky and generosity of God.

oikeastaan olisin vain halunnut kietoutua hänen ympärilleen, kuin rakkolevä hänen ympärilleen

O, it's die we must, but it's live we can, And the marvel of earth and sun Is all for the joy of woman and man And the longing that makes them one.