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[123love 173]

Love is a Mighty Power

 

Love is a mighty power, a great and complete good.

Love alone lightens every burden, and makes rough places smooth.

It bears every hardship as though it were nothing, and renders all bitterness sweet and acceptable.

 

Nothing is sweeter than love,

Nothing stronger,

Nothing higher,

Nothing wider,

Nothing more pleasant,

Nothing fuller or better in heaven or earth; for love is born of God.

 

Love flies, runs and leaps for joy.

It is free and unrestrained.

Love knows no limits, but ardently transcends all bounds.

Love feels no burden, takes no account of toil,

attempts things beyond its strength.

 

Love sees nothing as impossible,

for it feels able to achieve all things.

It is strange and effective,

while those who lack love faint and fail.

 

Love is not fickle and sentimental,

nor is it intent on vanities.

Like a living flame and a burning torch,

it surges upward and surely surmounts every obstacle.

by Thomas à Kempis.

[paoladegliesposti 515]

beautiful poem. It is mind and soul!

[123love 173]

DC raw love

Jan 10

i still love her

i come with roses to your grave threw rain or shine
with a tear drop in my eye, so sad but my hearts alive

i come to tell you, how much i love you
you were my first and you will be my last

i stand here and think of our memerious of love
so vivid, so bright, so happy, with you in my life

i built my life around you and now i'm getting older
yet my love is fresh for you and always will

i would climb a moutain, just to say i love you
and to sit by your side

i now have a snow covered life from your tears of joy above
a life of happiness, love and forgiveness in heaven

20 years later i still feel the same
it feels like the first time i said

i love you

[paoladegliesposti 515]

“What I do you cannot do; but what you do, I cannot do. The needs are great, and none of us, including me, ever do great things. But we can all do small things, with great love, and together we can do something wonderful.”

 Mother Teresa of Calcutta quote

[paoladegliesposti 515]

 

DC raw love

Jan 10

i still love her

i come with roses to your grave threw rain or shine

with a tear drop in my eye, so sad but my hearts alive

 

i come to tell you, how much i love you

you were my first and you will be my last

 

i stand here and think of our memerious of love

so vivid, so bright, so happy, with you in my life

 

i built my life around you and now i'm getting older

yet my love is fresh for you and always will

 

i would climb a moutain, just to say i love you

and to sit by your side

 

i now have a snow covered life from your tears of joy above

a life of happiness, love and forgiveness in heaven

 

20 years later i still feel the same

it feels like the first time i said

 

i love you

 

beautiful, evocative and hopeful

[123love 173]

thankyou

[littlejoe3 13]

The rose of battle

 

Rose of all roses - rose of all the world !

the tall thought -  woven sails, the flap unfolded

above the tide of hours, troubled the air

and God's bell buoyed to be the water care

while hushed with fear, or loud with hope, a band

with blown, spray dabbled, hair gathered at hand.

 

Turn if you may from battles never done

I call as they go by me one by one

 

Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,

for him who hears love sing and never cease,

beside her calm swept hearth, her quiet shade:

but gather all for whom no love hath made

a woven silence, or but come to cast

a song into the air, and singing past

to smile on the pale dawn, and gather you

 

Who has sought more than is in rain or dew

or in the sun and moon, or on the earth

or sighs amid the wandering starry mirth

or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lips;

and wage God's battle in long grey ships

The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,

to these Old Night, shall her mysteries tell

God's bell has claimed them by the little cry

of their hearts, that may not live or die

 

Rose of  all roses- rose of all the world!

You too, have come, where the dim tides we all hurled,

upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring,

the bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing

Beauty grown sad with it's eternity

made you of us, and the dim grey sea 

our long ship, loose thought- woven sails and wait

for God has bid their share an equal fate;

and when at last defeated in his wars,

they have gone down under the same white stars

we shall no longer hear the little cry

of our sad hearts that may not live or die.

 

William butler Yeats 

[paoladegliesposti 515]

The rose of battle

 

Rose of all roses - rose of all the world !

the tall thought -  woven sails, the flap unfolded

above the tide of hours, troubled the air

and God's bell buoyed to be the water care

while hushed with fear, or loud with hope, a band

with blown, spray dabbled, hair gathered at hand.

 

Turn if you may from battles never done

I call as they go by me one by one

 

Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,

for him who hears love sing and never cease,

beside her calm swept hearth, her quiet shade:

but gather all for whom no love hath made

a woven silence, or but come to cast

a song into the air, and singing past

to smile on the pale dawn, and gather you

 

Who has sought more than is in rain or dew

or in the sun and moon, or on the earth

or sighs amid the wandering starry mirth

or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lips;

and wage God's battle in long grey ships

The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,

to these Old Night, shall her mysteries tell

God's bell has claimed them by the little cry

of their hearts, that may not live or die

 

Rose of  all roses- rose of all the world!

You too, have come, where the dim tides we all hurled,

upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring,

the bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing

Beauty grown sad with it's eternity

made you of us, and the dim grey sea 

our long ship, loose thought- woven sails and wait

for God has bid their share an equal fate;

and when at last defeated in his wars,

they have gone down under the same white stars

we shall no longer hear the little cry

of our sad hearts that may not live or die.

 

William butler Yeats 

Beautiful rhymes!

[paoladegliesposti 515]

The second coming

 

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi}
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at laSt,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

 

William Butler Yeats

[littlejoe3 13]

The Two Tree's:

 

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,

the holy tree is growing there;

from joy the holy branches start

and all the trembling branches they bear

the changing colors of it's fruit

have dowered the stars with merry light;

the surety of hidden root

has planted quiet in the night;

the shaking of it's leafy head

has given the waves their melody,

and made lips and music wed,

murmuring a wizard song for thee.

there the loves a circle go,

the flaming circle of our days,

gyring, spiring, to and fro

in these great ignorant leafy ways;

remembering all the shaken hair

and how the wings sandals dart,

thine eyes grow full of tender care;

beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

 

Gaze no more in the bitter glass

the demons with their subtle guile,

or only gaze a little while;

for there a fatal image grows

that the stormy night receives,

roots half hidden under snows,

broken boughs, and blackened leaves.

for all things turn to barrenness

in the dim glass the demons hold,

the glass of outer weariness,

made when god slept in times of old.

There through the broken branches go,

the ravens of unresting thought;

flying, crying to, and fro

cruel claw and  hungry throat,

or else they stand and sniff the wind,

and shake their ragged wings; alas!

thy eyes grow all unkind;

gaze no more in the bitter glass.

 

W.B. Yeats

Edited March 25, 2015 by littlejoe3