When we two parted,
The dew of the morning
They name thee before me,
In secret we met,-
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.
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.
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit decieve.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?-
With silence and tears.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glints on the snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
We are the music makers,
World-losers and world-forsakers,
With wonderful deathless ditties
We, in the ages lying
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.
We build up the worlds great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample a kingdom down.
In the buried past of earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself in our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a drea that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
Everytime we part it leaves me trembling,
With memories of things best left forgotten.
I wish I could forget, I think,
But forgetting gives me nothing
But release from pain,
And casts away the gift of a
Passion's winter afternoon.
The day's needs settle deep inside me,
And I will not speak them out,
And every inch of distance kept, a thorn.
But each thorn that I will bear,
Blood though it is;
My fingers fingers curl about the stem of the rose remembered.
One last moment, my love,
To savor your sweet lips,
Your pure blue eyes.
One moment before your love disappears
Like the sun as it sets.
One moment so that I may carry your image in my heart,
Forever,
But in this last moment,
Know that as your love for me may be carried away
With the coming of the dawn,
Mine shall be eternal.
Hiking the high cliffs,
I've heard, "There are many paths to the summit,"
I begin to wonder,
Climbing higher, the trail is scarce.
My friends clamber over rough stones
Up to the high peak.
I, spotting an unused trail,
Choose a different path.
And I trust that this is one of those.
But this is the lonely way.
This is the slippery trail
And the cold side of the mountain.
I a alone, except for the few footprints
In the knee deep snow.
No one to guide me but unknown strangers
Who ahve trekked this way before.
Have I been a fool?
Have I lost my way?
Is this a true path
Or someway where I should not go?
Thorny bushes slow the pace.
But I sense that I am closer to my goal.
I reach the peak before my friends,
But I see them coming not far below.
And up ahead, another ridge, a higher peak,
A mountain glowing in the sun.
If you have time to chatter,
Read books.
If you have time to read,
Walk into mountain, desert and ocean.
If yuo have time to walk,
Sing songs and dance.
If you have time to dance
Sit quietly, you happy, lucky idiot.
Ravenwind17@hotmail.com