A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
’Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.
WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!
Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!
The past flies by, and I cannot remember:
My memories fade, my life’s not getting clearer.
My dreams and hopes are dancing with each other,
But my life’s end just seems like it is nearer.
I dream on yet I tend to just stand still.
The past just keeps on eating all my dreams.
My heart aches so, a pain enough to kill,
Because life, my life, is not as it may seem.
Deep in my heart there lies an empty rut,
I yearn to fill it someday on my own.
I know I can, the feeling in my gut,
Does grant my dreams come true, but not alone.
My airs of madness do declare today,
Do not stand still and let dreams fly away.
—-Pablo
(Source: pabloandyoda)
(Source: newjerseyhippie, via newjerseyhippie)
I am a painter,
Painting pictures all the time
Yet when I set them near you beauty
I want to throw them all away.
I am a sculptor, carving images
and filling each with life,
Yet when I compare these with your beauty
I want to dump them in a fire.
O bringer of sweet wine,
Enemy of the sober,
You have laid waste to
every house I ever built!
My soul has merged with yours—
Water into water, wine into wine.
Now there is only love
and the scent of your rose perfume
Every drop of my blood calls out,
Dye me with the color of your love.
Make me the jewel of your affection.
In this house of water and clay
my heart is in ruins.
O beloved, don’t leave this house
else it will crumble to the ground.
—Rumi
Lose yourself,
Lose yourself in this love.
When you lose yourself in this love,
you will find everything.
Lose yourself,
Lose yourself.
Do not fear this loss,
For you will rise from the earth
and embrace the endless heavens.
Lose yourself,
Lose yourself.
Escape from this earthly form,
For this body is a chain
and you are its prisoner.
Smash through the prison wall
and walk outside with the kings and princes.
Lose yourself,
Lose yourself at the foot of the glorious King.
When you lose yourself
before the King
you will become the King.
Lose yourself,
Lose yourself.
Escape from the black cloud
that surrounds you.
Then you will see your own light
as radiant as the full moon.
Now enter that silence.
This is the surest way
to lose yourself….
What is your life about, anyway? -
Nothing but a struggle to be someone,
Nothing but a running from your own silence.
—Rumi
I swear, since seeing Your face,
The whole world is fraud and fantasy
The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf
Or blossom. The distracted birds
Can’t distinguish the birdseed from the snare.
A house of love with no limits,
A presence more beautiful than venus or the moon,
A beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart.
—Rumi
Every day my heart cries out,
Every night it turns to stone.
The story of my love
is written in blood all over my face.
I ask my beloved to read it.
She asks m to ignore it.
—Rumi
And when time demands her attention,
she withers away in distraction.She reverts to a different means of preoccupation.
With a final gaze of simple contentness,
she regains her fragile focus.
(via musemonster)
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pens has glean’d my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactry,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen’d grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, faif creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the fairy power
Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
—John Keats [1848]
(Source: pabloandyoda)
I have comeback to this place,
This place of trees and rain;
Rain that washes clean the memories of yesterday,
So clean that today will be gone soon
Remember nothing from the plane.Five years and nothing remains
But the veil, left by the moon
Now it is my turn, my turn,
I must stand alone,
But can I?I stand alone on the shore,
Waiting to cross the Lethe
But I am not alone
Away, awayShe saw me and said to never leave
I told her that I would always be thereFar from Melancholy
Long since Autumn
All the mirrors are broken
In the boat I am alone
Will Lancelot find me in time?
He is the reason why I am deadThe lady dies all alone
The man doesn’t know her name
But he is too hallow to careAgain I can’t be alone
Chanteur Jovi you did not live
We are not islands, we need othersDo you remember the snow?
I miss the snow.
Remember when we lived on 2nd street,
And we would run through the park,
When it would snow at night,
what youthful exuberance.
Do you remember?
We were in our pajamas
And would run around with Champ,
In the snow.
Do you remember?We should go back and remember
Without our memories we have nothing
But remember what?A dog and house long since buried
They are gone, but are they forgotten
Will they live on in our minds?With my devise they die and fade away
Sirra, come hither and be merry again,
Forget poor Yorick and leave him in his grave
He can never return,
So be off and neigh return.
Remember me not and not shall I;
The past is gone and there is no more snow.
Pablo
(Source: pabloandyoda)
O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting with careful fingers and benign
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embower’d from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close, 5
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, or the passèd day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes; 10
Save me from curious conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards,
And seal the hushèd casket of my soul.
John Keats
(Source: pabloandyoda)
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…. 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit….
T.S. Eliot 1920
(Source: pabloandyoda)
Mary Elizabeth Frye—1932
(via littlesoulsister)
