poetry

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WhiteWitch
POETRY

The Blessing
MAY THE EARTH RISE UP TO MEET YOU
MAY THE WIND BE AT YOUR BACK
MAY THE SUN SHINE FORTH UPON YOUR FACE
AND THE RAIN FALL SOFTLY UPON YOUR FIELDS
AND UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN
MAY THE GODDESS HOLD YOU IN THE SAFETY OF HER ARMS.

Sovereignty
C Matthews
The sacred colours of life - from which creation is woven
The Triple Goddess - Maiden (white), Mother (red), Elder (black
I wove it once with colours white
With black I wound it through
Then I did dye it with a red
That binds the life in you

The Stolen Child
W B Yeates 1889
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sounds with light
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night
Wearing olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Til the Moon has taken flight
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep
Come away O human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world's more full of weeping
than you can understand.

Prayer to Terra Matris
3rd Century AD
Nature's Mother who bringest all to life
and revives all from day to day
The food of life thou grantest in eternal fidelity
And when the soul hath retired
We take refuge in thee.
All that thou grantest
Falls back somewhere
Into thy womb.

Mathnawi Book 1
Jalalnddin Rumi
Woman is a beam of the divine light
She is not the being whom sensual desire takes as its object
She is Creation, it should be said
She is not a creature

The Queen and the Huntress
Ben Johnson
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair
State in wonted manner keep:
   Hesperus entreats thy light,
   Goddess excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear when day did close:
   Bless us then with wished sight,
   Goddess excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart
And thy crystal-shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever:
   Thou that mak'st a day of night,
   Goddess excellently bright.

The Shadow People
Francis Ledwidge
Old lame Bridget doesn't hear
Fairy music in the grass
When the gloaming's on the mere
And the shadow people pass:
Never hears their slow grey feet
Coming from the village street
Just beyond the parson's wall,
Where the clover globes are sweet
And the mushroom's parasol
Opens in the moonlit rain.
Every night I hear them call
From their long and merry train.
Old lame Bridget says to me,
"It is just your fancy, child."
She cannot believe I see
Laughing faces in the wild,
Hands that twinkle in the sedge
Bowing at the water's edge
Where the finny minnows quiver,
Shaping on a blue wave's ledge
Bubble foam to sail the river.
And the sunny hands to me
Beckon ever, beckon ever.
Oh! I would be wild and free,

And with the shadow people be.

Sonnet 29

William Shakespear

When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings

Sonnet 73
William Shakespear
That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

The Lost Chord
by Adelaide A. Procter

Seated one day at the organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wander'd idly
Over the noisy keys.
I know not what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then,
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen,
Like the sound of a great Amen.
* * *
It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit,
With a touch of infinite calm,
It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love over-coming strife,
It seem'd the harmonious echo
From our dischordant life,
It link'd all perplexed meanings,
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence,
As if it were loth to cease;
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the organ,
And enter'd into mine.
It may be that Death's bright Angel,
Will speak in that chord again;
It may be that only in heav'n,
I shall hear that grand Amen.
It may be that Death's bright Angel,
Will speak in that chord again
IT MAY BE THAT ONLY IN HEAV'N
I SHALL HEAR THAT GRAND AMEN.